MANY PRODUCTS FIT TODAY'S HEMP DEFINITION.
Adults buy hemp-derived drinks, gummies, tinctures and other products under the laws of some states.

Three words on a billboard in Billy Graham country, beside a picture of Willie Nelson singing with a joint in his hand. We mean it.
BILLY LOVES WILLIE ISN'T A PUNCHLINE.
IT'S A POSSIBILITY.
That is the whole board. Three words and one URL — no product shot, no slogan, no sponsor logos. We took them off on purpose so nothing explains it away. The sponsors live on this site, not on the highway.
Not funded, directed or authorized by Billy Graham's family or ministries, or by Willie Nelson. No permission was asked. Craig Rose is a fan of both — and Franklin Graham is invited to come talk, listen and share his lens on any of the forty days.

We mean the man, the songs, and what he is smoking while he sings them. Willie's Remedy hemp is already sold all over this town — legally, today. On December 11 that ends. Which is why the billboard exists at all: this is a campaign to save hemp.
That is the campaign. Not a slogan about weed — a collision between two names this country already has strong feelings about, happening on the same expressway.
Billy Graham is Asheville. His name is on the expressway, the training center, the parkway, the Cove. He was also the outlier of his own generation — integrating his crusades when it cost him money, going on television when the church called it vulgar, standing beside presidents and prisoners in the same week. He did not win people by agreeing with them. He filled rooms with people who hadn't decided yet.
Craig Rose — the name every Christian in America knows as Craig Gross — is the outlier of this generation. The pastor who took a booth at the porn convention, put Jesus Loves Porn Stars on a Bible cover, named actual human beings instead of categories, and has said the same five words the entire time: start with I love you. Now he lives here.
So we mean it exactly how it reads. Billy loved the people the world had written off, and Willie Nelson is the most beloved written-off man in America — the man, what he sings, and what he is smoking while he sings it. That is Craig's read on Billy, and it is the whole argument for saving this plant.
This is a campaign to save hemp, run with the playbook of the biggest evangelist who ever lived. Argue with it for forty days.
A 40-day cultural revival in the Blue Ridge · West Asheville, NC
THE RULES ARE CHANGING. WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?
America built this marketplace in public. We are not going to let it disappear in private. Forty nights of music, mountains, plants and one honest question — then we keep going anyway.
If Washington moves the deadline, we move the clock.
Congress already passed a law that narrows which products count as hemp. The Senate voted to delay most—but not all—of it. The House has not approved that proposal.
Adults buy hemp-derived drinks, gummies, tinctures and other products under the laws of some states.
Under current law, the new definition begins November 12 and many products sold today would no longer count as hemp in their present form.
The Senate voted for December 11. The House has not approved it. Congress may delay, rewrite, regulate—or let the current law take effect.
The posture. How you walk into the room, and the URL printed on everything.
Visit →The public clock. Forty days, forty nights, one changing law.
An eight-page mini-zine folded from one 11 × 17 sheet — a Billy Graham tract designed by an underground record label. Everybody gets one, whether they consume cannabis or not. Alongside it: that day's question card, and a four-minute audio ritual with Craig, Kenny and rotating artists.
Start With I Love You is the playful public door into all of this — carried by shirts, vans, secret shows, songs and plants. You never needed the whole map. You only needed one clue: love is a practice.
If a van stopped you on the street and you scanned the code, you already found one door. This is the other side of it.
Four words on a chest: WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE. Forty nights of people asking each other in person instead of online.
Music reaches the feeling system before the explaining mind catches up. Every night here opens with the same eight notes.
Reverence, relationship, ritual. The plant was never the point. It was the excuse to gather.
131 acres at Shope Creek. The website is the map. The land is the destination.
There is a sixth clue. It isn't on a shirt and it isn't on the van. Curiosity is the whole qualification.
Credit Where It's Due · 1986–2026
In 1986 a Swedish rock band wrote a song about leaving Earth and accidentally wrote the theme music for every deadline, every ninth inning, every last call in human history. This year it turns forty. Our countdown is forty days. We are not going to pretend that's nothing.
Europe · "The Final Countdown" · Forty years of that keyboard
The song drops. Sweden. Big hair, bigger keys.
2026 is its fortieth year on this planet.
Which is exactly how long we have left.
Everybody on earth already knows the intro.
The Homage
They sang about heading for Venus not knowing if anyone would miss them. Forty years later a federal rule is about to send an entire industry somewhere it's never been, and the same question applies: will anybody notice we're gone? So the riff opens every night. A local band covers it at least once. And on day forty it plays one last time, at volume, with the room singing the part nobody knows the words to.
Not affiliated with Europe. Enormously indebted to them.
He came to Shope Creek the first time as a retreater. He came back as an artist, and said the sentence that named a whole documentary. Now he is launching a record across forty nights in Asheville. Everything else on this page is a room. Kenny is what happens inside it.
"The first time I came to this space, I was a retreater. This time, I felt like an artist."
Kenny plays across the forty nights — not one slot, a residency. Songs from the album land in different rooms, in different orders, in front of different people.
They Call Me Trinity launches inside the countdown. Three names, one man, a record about who you are allowed to become when nobody is asking you to pick a lane.
He is the emotional spine of The Deer Trail — the retreater who came back an artist. The line the whole documentary turns on is his.
Papa Roach is the ask for the last night. Kenny is the reason the last night means anything — forty nights of him building to it.

A music documentary, spiritual road movie and origin story about following something before you understand where it leads. Kenny McCormick IV thought he was trying to become an artist. Instead he found himself on a trail — mushrooms in Denver, 5-MeO in Mexico, sleeping in cars in Sedona and building Past N9NE with Craig Rose and Patricc Reed, studios in Los Angeles, then the body's own reckoning in Orange County.
The trail ends where the campaign begins: Stephen Sedmak and Shope Creek Wilderness in Asheville, and Camp Mary — founders, artists, fathers, healers and elders all standing at the edge of an old identity asking the same question. Let go of what has been. Allow what can be.
Filmmaker Jackson Averett documented all of it. The film doesn't tell you what happens next, because what happens next is these forty days. The film becomes the invitation, the city becomes the theater, and the audience becomes part of what happens next — culminating in Asheville on December 11, 2026. Screening dates and venues are announced as the forty days approach.
"The first time I came to this space, I was a retreater. This time, I felt like an artist."
A fully functioning government office—except the desk is on the ceiling, the plants grow down, and the rules change while you are filling out the form.
The October 31 opening is the creative plan if Congress makes December 11 real. Until the House acts, the legal fallback begins October 2.
Halloween press preview, reveal and opening night. At midnight the clock flips to 40.
Official campaign opening: What do you believe?
The first synchronized national-city activation.
Ten days of consequences, daily national stories and official responses.
Final conversation, concert and national broadcast.
Whatever Congress has done becomes the documentary ending.
Spirit, recovery, meaning
Facts, myths, evidence
Medicine, pets, science
Lawyers, regulators, government
Farmers, workers, hospitality
Full music night
Art, comedy, culture, 21+
No curated lineup, no gatekeeper. Haywood Road built its reputation by letting weird, sincere people try things in public. That's the whole booking policy. Pick your lane below and email us.
Songwriters, bands, DJs, painters, potters, printmakers, dancers. Forty nights means forty slots and we'd rather fill them with West Asheville than with a booking agency.
Send two songs or five images and the night you want.
Count me inFarmers, nurses, pastors, chemists, lawyers, veterans, recovery folks. Twenty minutes, no slides required, disagreement welcome and encouraged.
Tell us your topic in one sentence.
Count me inCoffee roasters, breweries, kombucha, bakeries, bike shops, outfitters, record stores, tattoo shops. If you're a Haywood Road kind of business, there's room on the wall and in the room.
Cross-promo, pop-ups, window space, day-of catering.
Count me inUnderwrite a night, a poster, the sound system, the shuttle, or the whole final show at the Orange Peel. Named credit, real audience, zero pretending.
Ask for the sponsorship tiers.
Count me inEvery night gets documented. Photographers, editors, doc filmmakers, podcasters — come take the footage and make it yours.
Send a reel or a link.
Count me inSunrise hikes, river days, trail work at Shope Creek, foraging walks, plant ID, cold plunges. Half of this belongs outside the room.
Pitch a morning, we'll bring the people.
Count me inEverybody gets an answer · Rolling submissions until night forty
The Edit Button is not a petition nobody reads. Learn the fact. Tell your story. Contact the actual people writing the rule. Then bring the question home.
Your words stay in your browser unless you choose to share them.
Hi, I'm [NAME], a constituent from [CITY]. I'm asking you to support delaying Section 781 while Congress creates clear, enforceable rules for adult hemp-derived cannabinoid products. Please bring farmers, workers, consumers, public-health experts and responsible businesses to the table. Build 21+ rules around testing, labeling, serving size, packaging and traceability. Regulate the market. Don't erase it.
Campaign language must be reviewed against the live bill status before public launch. No automated harassment. No fake signatures. No legal advice.
The whole argument, in six chapters
Forty days is a lot to explain on one page, so it isn't on one page anymore. Each chapter stands alone. Start at the law if you're a skeptic, start at the finale if you just want to know where the party is.
The man, the songs, and what he is smoking. A forty-day crusade in Billy Graham country
Four words on a billboard, the Jesus Loves Porn Stars lineage behind them, a campaign to save hemp run with the biggest evangelist's playbook, and one five-minute ask.
Federal, North Carolina, Texas — three rulebooks, one plant
What Congress actually did, what is only proposed, and what consumers, workers and businesses need to understand right now.
The mothership, the rooms, the Haywood Road ecosystem
Two neighboring doors become one living cultural space: hemp, vinyl, music, education, hospitality and an open conversation.
Every day, one understandable question
The working calendar, the forty questions, nightly programming and an installation that turns the paper trail into culture.
Farmers, artists, workers, witnesses and city hosts
The first four hundred carriers turn one Asheville clock into a network of local tables, stages and daily stories.
Start with I love you
Billy preached. Bill presented. Willie smoked. Craig kept asking. Belief opens the room; agreement is not required.
Every possible ending, then everywhere
Whatever government does becomes the documentary ending. The clock, the questions and the toolkit keep moving city to city.
1,050 people, the last hour of the countdown, a benefit for the Hollow Bone Initiative
The proposed final night: the bill, the room, the run of show, forty nights of covers, and the wall of names asking to be there.
Patricc Reed paints all forty nights
Headphones on, brush moving, forty originals made in front of the room — plus the text message that started this whole thing.
For immediate release — copy it, print it, run it
The official announcement, the dates, the quotes and the media contact — in one page anyone can lift straight into a story.
Every note left here gets printed and hung in the room during the forty days. Say it to someone you can't say it to in person. We'll put it on a wall in a mountain town and a stranger will read it out loud.
“Mom — I'm sober, I'm happy, and it wasn't the way anybody planned. Come to Asheville with me.”
Dani · Asheville, NC
“To the nurse on the third floor who held my hand at 4am. I never got your last name. I love you.”
R. · Knoxville, TN
“To the band that played that song in 1986 and had no idea it would be a countdown to this.”
Craig · Asheville, NC
“For my dad, who still calls it the devil's lettuce and still drove me to chemo every Tuesday.”
Marcus · Charlotte, NC
“For everybody who worked their whole life to build something legal and got told in one afternoon it wasn't.”
Anonymous · Austin, TX
“For the friend I lost arguing about politics. I'd rather have you back than be right.”
Tom · Greenville, SC
This is not a merch table. It's a delivery system. Every piece is a sentence somebody else gets to read on the street — no wellness vocabulary required, no argument attached, no explanation owed to anyone.
Front: I LOVE YOU. Back: WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE? The oldest shirt in the catalog, reprinted for the last forty days of a legal era.
Heavyweight, garment dyed, printed in Asheville
One screen-printed poster per night, numbered 40 down to 01. Only printed the morning of. Only sold in the room. Never restocked.
18x24 · Signed by that night's artist
Show up, get the number. Collect all forty and the last one is a key — literal, brass, opens something at Shope Creek.
Embroidered · Not for sale, only for showing up
A black-and-white countdown clock with no logo and no explanation. Goes on laptops, bumpers, bathroom stalls, guitar cases and gas pumps in every state.
Free by the fistful · Take 20, place 20
Billy Graham Freeway on one sleeve, ASHEVILLE 40 on the other. Made to look like it was already yours for ten years.
Sand, forest, clay
A one-time can with the final night's date on it. Half the run gets drunk. Half of it sits on shelves forever as proof you were there.
Numbered run · Available final week only
No hashtag campaign, no influencer budget, no brand voice. Take a line, take it as your own, send it to one person. That's the whole media plan.
A black-and-white card for every one of the 40 days with that night's question on it. Post one a day. Nobody can tell if it's an ad or an art project.
Upload a photo, get a countdown frame with your number on it. The whole feed becomes a wall of strangers holding the same clock.
Play the first eight notes of the song any way you can — trumpet, kazoo, church organ, car horn. Tag it. We screen the best ones on the final night.
No mass tagging. Send the door to exactly one person who needs it. Forty days of that is 2 to the 40th power of nobody being lonely.
Let's be honest about what this is. If the deadline slips, gets rewritten, gets sued into a coma or quietly ignored — we don't cancel a single night. We show up and we keep talking about how to move forward.
Because keeping hemp alive was never the ceiling. It was the floor. We want the whole plant, in every state, for every adult who wants a relationship with it. And in time, the rest of the medicine cabinet the earth grew on its own — mushrooms and every other spiritual plant that got criminalized for being older than the paperwork.
So there is no version of the next forty days where we go quiet. Win, lose, or delay, we've got a room booked and a whole lot left to say.
We're not asking anyone to distrust their doctor. We're pointing out something everybody already knows — the official answer has been confidently wrong before, and it gets corrected by people who wouldn't shut up.
Six to eleven servings of bread a day, fat is the enemy, margarine is health food. Replaced in 2005, replaced again in 2011. Trans fats were finally banned outright in 2018.
Cannabis was placed in the same legal tier as heroin: 'no currently accepted medical use.' By 2023 the federal government's own health agency recommended moving it, while 38 states already ran medical programs.
Masks don't work, then masks are required. Six feet, then three feet. Surfaces, then aerosols. Guidance changing is how science is supposed to work — pretending it never changed is how trust dies.
Dietary cholesterol limits stood for decades, then quietly disappeared from the 2015 federal guidelines. Nobody apologized to the omelet.
We roast the process, not the people.Absurd rules are hilarious. Nurses, farmers, cops and legislators' kids are not the joke.
We claim opinions as opinions.What's documented gets a date and a source. What we believe gets labeled as belief. No medical claims, ever.
We keep the door open.Anyone who disagrees can sit down, take a drink and say so out loud. That's the entire format.
Nothing here is medical advice. Historical items above reference publicly documented changes in federal guidance and are cited as history, not as an accusation against any individual.
You do not need to know the ending to begin the story.
Keep the doors open. Add tracks. Document the absurdity.
Show exactly what changed and who changed it.
Capture the stores, workers, farmers, products and people as history changes.
The plant will
always grow here.
A law can narrow a definition. It cannot uninvent a plant, erase a culture or make millions of people forget what they already learned.
FIREPROOF is the editorial standard: every claim has to survive the source, the date, the jurisdiction and a person who disagrees.
Fitting the federal definition of hemp is not blanket federal legality. FDA rules concerning THC or CBD in food and interstate commerce are separate.
The federal statute preserves industrial hemp and some compliant products. It may also affect some full-spectrum CBD products. “All hemp dies” is false.
Campaign information is educational, timestamped and not legal advice. Local hosts must verify their own state and municipal rules before activating.