I n the middle of California’s Central Valley, in a modest milky-blue home on one acre of farmland, lives a small group of nuns˳ They wear habits and abide by a set of vows, but as the door opens, it’s clear that the Sisters of the Valley, as they’re known, aren’t living in a traditional convent˳ Because as the scent wafts out, it’s unambiguous: It’s the earthy, pungent smell of weed˳
When we visit, five women live in the home: Sister Kate, 62; Sister Sophia, 49; Sister Quinn, 25; and at the moment, Sister Luna and Sister Camilla, both 34, who are visiting from Mexico˳ Sister Kass, 29, lives off the property with her two children and her partner, Brother Rudy, the collective’s crop manager˳ On this sunny day, the Sisters of the Valley home is flooded with golden beams of light; a cream-colored piano stands against the wall with an ashtray and joint placed on top˳ Sister Kate picks it up, lights it, and thoughtfully inhales as she sits down to play “America the Beautiful˳” She’s using a piano-learning app filled with Christian songs and national anthems — the two genres of music she dislikes the most˳ But there is an underlying motive: “The Christian kids nearby have contests, so if I do a lot of practicing in a month, then I can beat them,” she says with a raspy laugh˳ “There is some gratification in beating the Christian kids˳”
The Sisters of the Valley are not a religious organization, but an enclave of self-proclaimed sisters who are in the business of spreading spirituality and selling healing cannabidiol products˳ “Look, the average age of a new Catholic nun in America is 78,” says Sister Kate, founder of the sect, which has 22 sisters and eight brothers worldwide˳ “Christianity is dying all around us˳ What are people going to do? They need spirituality in their life; we need it for meaning˳ We are very spiritual beings walking a physical path, and so for that reason we will find ways to connect˳ And we are just one example of that˳”
Their property is a peaceful setting, with ashtrays everywhere˳ There’s a craft yurt, vegetable beds of kale and spinach, a trailer where Sister Quinn resides, and tall potted cannabis plants, which were cultivated in a shed and planted outside in preparation for the upcoming full-moon harvest˳ (All of these are hemp, from which they extract CBD, but they also grow marijuana for personal use˳) A secondary home on the property, known as the abbey, is used for medicine-making˳ The scent of their lavender salve consumes this space˳ The walls are lined with photos of nuns and female religious figures, some with joints, some without˳ Sister Sophia smiles as she stirs a pot on the stove, heating up their CBD topical salve before packaging it into jars˳ When it comes to their products, it is always referred to as medicine, not cannabis, and all steps from planting, to trimming, to packaging are scheduled around the moon cycle˳
Born into a traditional Catholic upbringing, Sister Kate spent a considerable amount of her youth surrounded by nuns˳ Prior to founding Sisters of the Valley, she was a consultant, traveling to assist clients who were opening telecommunications and internet businesses˳ But as a single mother, she gave up her career, which had required her to be away from home˳ With an undergrad in business, a half-completed MBA, and extensive experience working with deregulating businesses, she looked toward the cannabis industry as a new frontier˳ She moved to the Central Valley and started a nonprofit cannabis collective in 2009, where she provided medical marijuana to local terminal patients˳
According to Sister Kate, her fall into nunhood began in 2011, when the Obama administration lost a fight to have the Department of Agriculture declassify pizza sauce as a serving of vegetables in school lunches˳ “I said, ‘Oh, my God, if pizza is a vegetable, then I am a nun,’” she explains˳ Soon after, when she was planning to go to an Occupy protest, her nephew reminded her of a nun costume she had in her closet, and suggested she wear it˳ “When I protested with the Occupy movement dressed as a nun, people wanted me to organize myself into a religion and I kept saying, ‘No, this is meant to be crazy˳ This is meant to be a thumb at the establishment, that everything is broken in this country˳’”
During her years of protests against tuition hikes and budget cuts throughout California as a self-proclaimed nun, the question arose: What would a new order of nuns look like? “I thought everybody would think I was crazy because I was this single, self-declared sister, but really it sparked a debate about what a New Age order of nuns would look like if they were refounded today in this environment,” says Sister Kate˳ In August 2013, she was invited to a gathering of Native American tribes at the Tule River Reservation in the San Joaquin Valley˳ There, she talked to the women elders who held ancient knowledge of making medicine from plants˳ “When I came off of that mountain, I’m like, ‘Damn, I’m going to form my own sisterhood,’” she says˳
Fifteen months later, she made a Weed Nuns Facebook page; she soon amassed 5,000 followers˳ In 2015, one of those adherents landed on her doorstep, declaring she would work for free˳ “I thought, ‘Huh, if four of us lived together and made medicine together, we could share our Netflix bill and I wouldn’t have to give up cable,’” Sister Kate says, so she went about starting a commune˳ “We didn’t want to be a religion˳ A religion forces you to be in the business of begging, and we know we can support ourselves˳ It had to be something that supported women ownership of businesses, and here we are˳ As it turns out, we end up looking like an ancient order called the Beguines˳”
A now-defunct religious order, the Beguines date back to the Middle Ages˳ Due to a multitude of unmarried women and a desire for spirituality, all-female groups found a way to live in devotion without officially joining a religious order˳ These women, who lived communally and supported themselves by making cloth or caring for the sick, stressed living like Christ; they were spiritual, and some even delved into mysticism˳ “We are not trying to romanticize the past, but there are things we like about it,” says Sister Kate˳ “It’s the way that these women worked in harmony with nature that we are trying to emulate˳”
Part of the Sisters of the Valley business plan involves devoting their work and life to the cycles of the moon, which they believe is what their ancient ancestors did˳ Their harvest ceremony, which takes place during a full moon, begins with a reading from the “Book of the Beguines,” a pamphlet written by the enclave˳ “There’s no such thing as a ‘Book of the Beguines,’” Sister Kate confesses˳ “They were all burned˳ We make our own readings˳ We have to imagine what our ancestors would have said, what they would’ve done, and how they would have reacted to local political forces˳ Our closing prayer is from Season Four of Game of Thrones,” she says, laughing˳
By afternoon, the Central Valley sun fills the craft yurt˳ Sister Kate takes a seat under the skylight to explain the meaning of their vows, represented by the acronym SOLACE: Service, Obedience, Living Simply, Activism, Chastity, and Ecology˳ Service relates to their work making plant-based medicine — cannabis, and more recently, mushrooms˳ “Obedience is not to any order or person but to organize our lives by the cycles of the moon,” Sister Kate says˳ Living simply, as she puts it with a smirk, “means we can’t own a yacht — but you can, and can invite us all to join you˳” The fourth is activism, meaning holding local officials accountable˳
Chastity, Sister Kate says, is not to be confused with celibacy˳ “Some people think that means you can’t do anything intimate, we can’t ever have a relationship, but that’s not true,” says Sister Quinn˳ “Our interpretation is that we are privatizing that part of our lives˳” Ecology is for their intention to decrease their environmental footprint˳ And then, of course, there’s the full nun’s habit; it’s required on the farm, Sister Kate says, and is worn as a meditation to be in touch with their ancient mothers, to protect their hair and skin from medicine-making, and as a sign of respect for the plant that has been disrespected for hundreds of years˳
With tens of thousands of followers on TikTok and Instagram, their message is spreading˳ Sister Quinn, their social-content creator, is aiming to make them more accessible˳ As an eco-feminist who studied business economics at University of California, Merced, she believes in microeconomies and sustainable communities˳ “I know that some things need to be on a bigger level, but I think that people living in small communities and sharing the work — the gardening and living together — I think that that’s a really positive direction that we should be going in society,” says Sister Quinn˳ In regard to the enclaves’ focus on feminism, she says, “it’s more about realizing that women and female entities are more connected with the Earth˳ We are the healers, portals for life; we create everything˳ We like to have a certain amount of harmony, a certain amount of balance˳ Everyone does their part˳”
As for how local officials feel about the enclave, it’s taken the Sisters of the Valley years to get in the good graces of the sheriff’s department˳ The sisters are regulars at city hall and have emphasized building a relationship with local authorities — with good reason, since they have yet to receive a business permit to grow hemp for profit˳ “They haven’t given me a permit, and I don’t think they ever are going to give me a permit,” says Sister Kate˳ “We are in our seventh year of operations and to shut us down, I think, they would have to take us before a judge, and I don’t think a judge would shut us down when we have 10 people working on a one-acre farm˳”
Jobs in the Central Valley are far and few, so Sister Kate is set on expanding their business and creating work and leadership opportunities for women˳ As a small business having been left rocked by Covid-19, the sect is saving what they can and searching for a farm to be able to manufacture hemp on a larger scale, furthering Sister Kate’s goal of hiring more of her local community and advancing her spiritually charged, cannabis-laced mission˳ “The idea is that the sisters set up their own business, set up their own commerce, have their own store,” she says˳ “[They] start out by earning either through wholesale or as an agent, but always plan to be making their own medicine and having their own little territory˳… Everything about us is about female empowerment: women owning property, and women making the rules˳”
