John Rolfe surveyed the plantation, arms akimbo, forehead beaded with sweat in the Virginia sun.
The new crop was doing well. Every year, the quality improved and yields increased. Feeding the new European craze was making Rolfe a rich man.
A good thing, too, he thought. Pocahontas, for all her being an Indian maiden, had become a high-maintenance wife. A real Jamestown American Princess, that one.
Who would have imagined that inhaling the smoke from burning leaves would be so pleasurable to so many?
Rolfe smiled, thinking: Centuries from now, they’ll still remember the man who brought Ganja-Farming to Virginia.
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