Deep in the heart of Alabama, where fields ripple under the summer sun and centuries of tobacco smoke still linger on the breeze, one grower dared to rewrite the rules. Kyle Colpack — once a kid sneaking a glimpse of green in the back yard, now running full‑tilt into the light of a new era.
He grew up where cannabis was whispered about, not grown openly: the Deep South, where legalization pitched its tent slowly and stigma ran deeper than the roots of an old oak. Yet Colpack kept reading the horizon—via High Times magazine, of all things. It lit him up, gave him idols: the growers, the voice‑fighters, the culture warriors he’d seen only in print. He told himself, “This isn’t about ‘getting high’ — it’s about doing right.”
FROM HEMP FIELD TO CUP STAGE
After high school, Colpack hopped west. California, then Oregon: the places where cannabis law was bending, where Opportunity hung heavy in the air. He started growing, studying, learning from the masters. He didn’t begin with flashy buds designed strictly for “adult‑use.” No — he looked at hemp, the “otherness” in the cannabis world.
But here’s the kicker: in 2018, he took his hemp flower — yes, hemp — packed with THCA, and entered the Cannabis Cup. Against the full‑fledged cannabis veterans, he placed second. The move cracked open conversations: “Wait — hemp can show up here, too?” he asked. And people listened.
BACK TO THE SOUTH, WITH A SOUTHERN FIRE
Now Colpack’s back east, in North Carolina, navigating the old‑school stigma like a drummer in a grunge band trying to break into the top 40. In California the vibe was laid‑back — smoking is no big deal. But here in the South? Tobacco is king, smoking a plant is still wrapped in shame and questions. He laughs about it: “I’m a blunt guy. I start with blunts, I end with blunts.” The ritual remains.
Still, he carries a vision: quality cannabis — whatever you call it, whatever label the law gives it — available, tangible, real. And he knows the fight is uphill: regulators balk, MSOs lobby hard, states ban “intoxicating hemp” with one breath and tax cannabis like gasoline with the next. “Tomorrow isn’t promised in this industry,” he says. But the work goes on.
WHY THIS MATTERS
Because Colpack’s story isn’t just a grower’s tale. It’s a microcosm of a revolution. Where society once drew a hard line between “hemp” and “cannabis,” between legal and illegal, between medicine and vice — he’s blurring those lines. The fields of Alabama, the bold green leaves, the trophy stage of the Cannabis Cup: they all point to a shift, cultural and plant‑based.
He doesn’t pretend his path is simple or clean. He acknowledges the money games, the politics, the lawsuits, the licenses that cost a fortune, the stoned stigma that won’t vanish overnight. But still — he puts seed to soil, smoke in the air, conversations in motion. Because for him: it’s not just about winning a trophy. It’s about rewriting an ecosystem.
THE FINAL BLAZE
So when you light up, think of the roots. Think of Colpack, in Alabama, reading High Times in the dark, dreaming of leaves and sunlight. Think of hemp leaf landing on a legit Cannabis Cup stage, making the crowd pause. And think of that — the act of choosing quality, planting in a place where others said “no,” making green grow even where the red tape is thick.
Because change doesn’t come easy. But when it arrives — it smells like freshly grown flower, and it tastes like the future.
Dabbin-Dad Newsroom
