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Even as "designers," we have faced challenges of creating environments for our families as they have grown and our needs have changed. Through the creative and collaborative process, however, the dream slowly transforms into reality.
Interior design is an invitation that so many of us hesitate to accept, but with the right support, the dreams you have for your home and how you want to live can be a reality.
We all desire a place of refuge, or peace and tranquility. a place called "home." Personal style is more important to this mission than anything else. Our job is to assist you in the seamless interpretation of your vision – your style.
Babies grow so fast, so it’s important to remember to capture each month with adorable comparative photos. This cute baby monthly milestone blanket is perfect for their photo shoot. A unique gift, this cute monthly milestone blanket is great for boys, girls, and even twins! Set includes a silky swaddle blanket and 12 monthly stickers to place on blanket, baby’s outfit or a plush friend.
Anne Marie Biron.
Nestled in the historic Village of East Aurora, the Four Honey Bees Cottage has established itself in Western New York and Southern Ontario as preeminent boutique by offering unique personal and home furnishings. Set in a rustic two story farmhouse, our staff provides a personalized shopping experience for everyone that enters. Understanding how busy life can be, we offer only the finest products in a fun, relaxing, and beautiful setting. We look forward to working with you and transforming your house to a home. From high-end furnishing to the perfect fit and everything in-between, the Four Honey Bees staff will help you find your special gift under one roof!
We take helping you create your dreams very seriously. In fact, the Four Honey Bees Cottage is a reflection of our own personal tastes and style. Quarterly store resets can be daunting, but existing in an environment that feeds our passion for style and design is important to us, and we want the same for you.
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Producers themselves often did little to dispel this idea. Fowler recalls companies keeping and storing fan leaves (leaves that contain low levels of psychoactive cannabinoids) at a higher value than they were worth to bolster their balance sheets. “This was five years ago—nobody was asking questions. All the company has to do is say, ‘Well, we’re hopeful we’re going to find a way to make oil out of this, so let’s keep it on the balance sheet.’”
Nowhere was the hype more obvious than Smiths Falls, Ontario, where a mundane press event one hot summer day in August 2018—the opening of cannabis producer Tweed’s visitors’ centre—offered a bizarre study of an industry primed for ascension. About a dozen TV cameras were present, plus photographers, reporters, dignitaries of the local business community, and politicians, all crowding through a routine facility tour. The event was a master class in buzz generation: it featured sample chocolates and an invitation to imagine them dosed with cannabis; production rooms that were still half empty and an invitation to imagine them finally full in a few short months; a gift shop and café and an invitation to imagine them packed with happy buyers. That all of it seemed somewhat half-finished could be glossed over—the promise of prosperity was obvious.
The most poignant sign of the failure of the cannabis business, however, might be sitting in warehouses across the country. At its peak, last October, following the 2020 growing season, there was about 1.1 billion grams of harvested or processed cannabis held in storage: 95 percent of inventory has not been purchased by retailers or wholesalers, and much of it is “assumed to be largely unsaleable,” writes MJBizDaily ’s Matt Lamers, whether because of degradation or excess supply. We have more pot in this country than we can possibly sell. Producers today are sitting on a massive, and predictable, oversupply that is slowly becoming worthless—and that’s going to cost a lot of companies a lot of money.
Listen to an audio version of this story.
A drive through Tyendinaga or Kettle Point, Ontario, on the other hand, offers a window into another way forward: a sovereign, self-regulating Indigenous cannabis trade. Shops along the road are located just a few kilometres away from the field where the cannabis is grown. The quality is often quite good. Some of the shops are supported by Legacy 420’s nation-to-nation wholesale and quality-testing services. If nothing else, these operations demonstrate that safe cannabis sales aren’t the exclusive dominion of highly regulated shareholder capitalism—that safely growing and selling pot need not require a degree in capital finance.
The town of Smiths Falls had come to see cannabis as a path to economic salvation. It had been hurting since 2008, when chocolatier Hershey closed shop. Tweed moving into the old chocolate plant in 2013 gave residents reasons both real and symbolic to be hopeful. As far as any of the company and government folks on the junket were concerned, Smiths Falls was ground zero for a new worldwide movement. The mayor called it the cannabis capital of the universe, and perhaps he was right. A few US states had piloted recreational cannabis, but this felt different—Canadian legalization would create a national industry with the sheen of a social revolution. Prohibition and the unequal criminalization of cannabis were, in principle, coming to an end. Global brands were in the making. Multinational corporations were on the rise. Countries across the world were going to look at Canada and be inspired—we were the future.
W hile the financial losses keep piling up, the industry is beginning to change. After a sluggish rollout, more “microcultivators” are gaining licences for smaller craft operations. A smaller scale of production could be a more sustainable business model, but even these seem ill-fitting within a heavily regulated cannabis economy. Forced, in most cases, to sell to a provincial wholesaler along with everyone else in the sector, craft producers can struggle to gain traction when they come up against the marketing departments of the Auroras and Canopies. The business model that underwrote the early days of legalization has yet to stabilize, and a long-expected phase of difficult bankruptcies, mergers, and consolidation—meaning mass layoffs and abandoned growing facilities—is here.
In the early days of legalization, product shortages, illustrated by news footage of lineups for stores with emptied shelves, reinforced the idea that more production capacity was needed. Under pressure to quickly supply the legal market and to stop wasting bureaucratic time, Health Canada adjusted its approval process to require that companies have a facility in place before they could be licensed. The idea was to bump serious players with existing assets to the front of the line and stop approving licences for facilities that were still speculative. By late 2019, the market had flipped into oversupply, but even then, little was done to slow the pace of production. The capitalist logic of the market had pushed large producers to make ever more cannabis—to strive tirelessly to outproduce their competition, to drive down production costs, and to flood the market with more and more pot products whether people wanted them or not.
Barnhart also saw some of these well-funded companies using their influence to impact regulations in selfish ways. In one memorable example, Canopy Growth’s former CEO, Bruce Linton, lobbied hard against outdoor growing, famously floating the theory to Senate members visiting the company’s facility that teenagers could ransack a licensed grower via drones.
And yet, cannabis producers are throwing away more product than ever before. Since 2018, nearly 450 million grams of unpackaged cannabis have been destroyed, according to reporting from MJBizDaily . Nearly 280 million grams of that was from 2020 alone, representing almost 20 percent of all production that year. (An “expected” loss in commercial growing is between 5 and 8 percent.) Add to that nearly 3.8 million finished packages of dried flower, 1.5 million packages of extracts, and more than 700,000 packaged edibles.
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“Had you had medical growers in there, and Indigenous Canadians, I think you would have had a set of good hybrid regulations, but what you have today is the financialization of [cannabis], and it’s not working for anybody—not even the LPs,” Barnhart says, referring to licensed producers.
But, for investors who saw stock prices going gangbusters throughout 2017 and early 2018, the weed game was already profitable. The business model at that time didn’t demand actual weed sales: selling hype, selling the potential of selling weed, was proving lucrative. Stories of everyday Canadians getting rich on pot stocks fanned the flames even further. Investment was cast as a high-risk, huge-reward opportunity. Plus, it was providing massive amounts of capital to companies that needed to build highly specialized facilities to adhere to strict government regulations. With help from this investor enthusiasm, the industry expanded to 102 licensed producers by April 2018. The investments in facilities, massive hiring sprees, and fantastical marketing budgets all followed, undeterred by projections that it would be years before most producers turned any profit.
B ack in 2018 , during those months before Canada legalized recreational cannabis, things were good for the pot industry. Companies were being hyped as pioneers in “the green frontier” and “proof that money grows on trees.” Cannabis stocks were going ballistic, and three of the largest companies’ share values had each increased by more than 200 percent over the course of 2017—according to media outlet MJBizDaily , the Canadian Marijuana Index had risen by 117 percent in December of that year alone. Investors were not just making money, they were making money fast .
“Maybe this is a feature of capitalism,” Sa’d says. “We are throwing out food while people go hungry; we have empty houses and people are homeless. So to see that replicated in the cannabis space is unfortunate but perhaps unsurprising.”
L egalization has always had critics from within the cannabis world, people who see a lost opportunity to support smaller, more sustainable producers as the bedrock of the cannabis industry. The know-how already existed in the many operations that had supplied unregulated markets for generations. Rather than constructing a hybrid system that legitimized parts of the existing cannabis market, the federal government set up a highly regulated system over which Health Canada maintained significant control. The result was an industry that was politically palatable but whose corporate character could feel alienating to some veterans of the cannabis world.
By the time legalization took effect, Tim Barnhart had already been selling weed commercially for a few years, beyond the reach of the Canadian government, out of his Legacy 420 store on Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory, east of Toronto. He has watched the way cannabis legalization has played out from an Indigenous vantage: seeing corporations claim to be pioneering what he was already doing pretty sustainably for his own people.
T he industry’s woes can be traced in part to its temporarily lucrative early relationship with investment capital. After Justin Trudeau’s Liberals took power, in 2015, elected in part on the promise of pot, large producers, including Canopy Growth and Aurora, sought out listings on a variety of Canadian stock exchanges. They were after retail investors, and producers hired third-party investor-relations firms to promote their stocks as a once-in-a-generation chance to get in on the ground floor not just of a company but of an entire industry. Strong retail investment soothed whatever lingering anxieties Bay Street might have had about the sector. “The cannabis boom was an investment banker’s dream,” wrote Mark Rendell and Tim Kiladze in a 2019 Globe and Mail article. “With so much retail investor demand, it was easy to underwrite share sales—and to dictate the terms of the game.”
Fowler makes a similar point. “It was advantageous for companies to keep that legend alive,” he says. “When the market was still giving people credit for so many years of forward sales, nobody wanted to stick up their hand and be a wet blanket and say, ‘Hey, we don’t think those sales are going to happen.’”
There is a growing sense that things have not gone to plan. Since its high point in January 2018, the Canadian Marijuana Index has dropped by about 82 percent. There has also been turnover among many high-profile executives—Linton and Fowler, as well as leaders at Aphria and 48North, among them. The largest companies still rarely, if ever, report quarterly profits as an era of mergers and acquisitions begins to consolidate the market. The first half of 2021 saw Canopy Growth’s purchase of Supreme and the merger of Tilray and Aphria—two of the first and largest companies on the scene.
The logic governing the industry ahead of legalization tended to assume that any pot a company could grow would ultimately be sold. Licensed producers were accounting for their cannabis in ways that didn’t always make sense—valuing their inventory on their balance sheets similarly to stable commodities like vegetables, which have relatively consistent market prices and are more-or-less guaranteed to sell. (That many of the executives in the industry at that time had backgrounds in alcohol and commodities, where the price of a product and its path to market are more stable, likely played a role.) Really, cannabis had neither: nobody was exactly sure what the market price for retail pot would be, nor did anyone have a concrete idea of what consumers actually wanted. But pretending otherwise made the companies look great on paper. Valuation corresponded most with funded capacity, which is how you got a $20 billion company that hadn’t sold a single gram to recreational buyers. “Gross margins in the sector are distorted as a result, making firms look more profitable than they really are,” wrote Joe Castaldo in Maclean’s in early 2018, peeling back the layers of this accounting practice.
“Just as I don’t think any company in the industry would tell you they’ve gotten every decision right, nor should we expect that the federal government has gotten every decision right,” says Ryan Greer, former co-chair of the National Cannabis Working Group. The government is required to undertake a review of the Cannabis Act’s wider impact starting no later than this October, but the industry is getting a head start by leading its own analysis, highlighting issues like burdensome regulations and supply chain issues—or, as Greer summarizes, “general overall regulatory burden. It is a very costly and cumbersome process to navigate.”