. **PATHÉ DISPATCH — THE TERPENE FRONT, WEEK ELEVEN** *[newsreel crackle, brass fanfare]* GOOD EVENING, AMERICA. Two soldiers have fallen. And this week, citizens, we must report a TRAITOR of a DIFFERENT sort. DATELINE: THE CHOP. Privates Apollo and Orange Haze — felled two days apart, HONORABLY, at the height of their aromatic powers. Apollo, whom the seed merchants PROMISED would smell of mango and tropical cocktail, delivered NEITHER — but detonated a LIMONENE payload so pure our correspondent nearly saluted. The marketing department, we note, remains AT LARGE. Orange traded her mandarine perfume for a warm, roasted, spicy haze — the smell, our man insists, "you only meet twice before you know it for life." *[ominous timpani]* BUT NOW — THE TWIST. And this one, AMERICA, comes from INSIDE THE MAN. The operation was timed at TWENTY MINUTES. A clean extraction. In and out. The chamber PRE-COOLED, the plan IMMACULATE. *[record scratch]* It took him ONE HOUR. And WHY, citizens? Trimming, yes. Securing the colas, certainly. But also — and this program has obtained the notes — our correspondent LINGERED. He stood among his fallen troops and, we quote, "briefly inhaled all the terps he knew he was losing this instant." He STOPPED TO SMELL THE CASUALTIES. And every minute he lingered in mourning, his own body — warm, sentimental, BREATHING — raised the temperature of the very chamber built to preserve them. HE WAS THE HEAT SOURCE. The man wept over the volatiles, and the weeping cooked them. There is no radiator to blame this week. There is no fan. There is only a grower who loved his plants SO MUCH he stood there warming the room with his GRIEF. *[stern voiceover]* "Nobody has to know," our correspondent reportedly told himself. *This program knows.* *[timpani, softer now]* AND SO THE TENT STANDS NEARLY EMPTY. One soldier remains — Private Cinderella Jack, transferred beneath the blue light in a NET-MANEUVER of such delicacy she never felt the ground move. She is now, in our man's own words, "the landlord." He reports the space feels "clinical." He reports that time "stands still." He reports — and AMERICA's heart goes out — that he is thinking of getting a PET. Hold the line, soldier. Trim jail is temporary. The buds are drying true. *[fanfare, film flickers out]* THIS HAS BEEN A DISPATCH FROM THE TERPENE FRONT. STOP SMELLING THE CASUALTIES. GOODNIGHT. --- Detailed Notes: Harvesting 2 Cultivars --- Day 71 marked chop day #1 for Mephisto Genetics: Apollo Haze (x Mango Smile) Auto. Super Orange Haze Auto followed 2 days later. For Apollo, there is no mango to be found, the tropical cocktail is also amiss. Once again I am a bit plastered by Mephisto's terp descriptions - secretly still thinking they might potrait what they favorite pheno smells like. Aha! - you may think to yourself - Pete's got no terperinos! To the contrary: Mephisto's Apollo Haze delivered a hardcore limonene monoterpene explosion on trichome rupture, that retained very well into age. Her bud structure & density possibly acted as evaporation shielding against higher temps here, under which limonene usually get's lost. Super Orange Haze Auto aged fast & well, at the same racey pace as Apollo. Her mandarine aura had vanished a week ago (this is peaking my interests as I would love to retain that). Caryophyllene, with a thick spicy tingly and warm wooden / almost roasted note, has been taking over. It is that typical haze smell you have to encounter only twice until you know. Harvesting Process --- I had to remove their colas individually from underneath the scrog, as not to damage the flower sites. A scrog net, while costing money, is cheap to replace compared to bud site damage, where it feels like I groomed many trichomes individually. The scrog would have collapsed, causing Orange to tip over, should I have cut her out instead. Instead of 20 minutes as planned, I took well over an hour to trim tons of excess foliage, tackle transfer & securing, take last photos and just briefly inhaling all the terps I knew I was loosing this instant. The chamber was pre-cooled, but an hour of me in and near the tent alone caused a huge swing. This bothered me a lot in hindsight, so I went a little crazy on fathoming the entire thermal chain from live plant to closed drying chamber. For Auto Cinderella Jack, the entire grow tent needed to approach drying temps before even starting to snip anything. Auto Cinderella Jack --- Now the sole owner of the space, ACJ was getting a lot more light ballast with two other strains failing to absorb radiation. Moving her underneath the blue metabolite factory light was a priority for her last days, but removing the scrog was simply gonna cause too much damage. Instead, I removed the scrog from the tent poles, left ACJ to hold the net for a bit, moved her, then re-applied the hooks on the opposing poles. This turned out to be a neat little maneuver - ACJ kept trucking on. run#5 is coming to an end. The space feels clinical now and not like a home to 3 happy plants. Mentally, this can be fairly draining, as cultivars are becoming beloved guests in the household. No plants, no product, risks of botrytis ruining everything - the prospect of trim jail under special hot summer circumstances is daunting. This is the empty stretch, that little dead phase, where time just stands still. I think I should get a pet. See you next week, when we have another look at the state of Cinderella Jack, the landlord.