Northern Lights Seeds

Optimal Flowering and Harvest Times for Northern Lights

Timing Northern Lights? It's a bit of a dance. Not a waltz—more like one of those slow, stoned sways at a backyard party where no one's sure if the music's still playing. You watch the plant. You listen. You don’t just follow a calendar like some robotic grow guide told you to.

Officially—whatever that means — Northern Lights flowers in about 7 to 9 weeks. Indoors. Controlled lights, fake sun, no surprises. But that’s just the brochure version. In real life, she might take her sweet time. Or she might rush it. Depends on her mood, your setup, the moon, who knows. Some phenos start stacking trichomes like crazy around week 6. Others? They’re lazy. They’ll sit there, all green and smug, until week 10, then suddenly explode with resin like they remembered what they were supposed to be doing.

Outdoors? Whole different beast. You’re at the mercy of the sky. Northern Lights isn’t exactly a fan of wet autumns, so if you’re somewhere damp—say, the UK, or the Pacific Northwest—you better be watching those buds like a hawk. Mold creeps in like a thief. One day it’s fine, next day it’s fuzzy and smells like gym socks. Harvest early if you have to. Better a slightly undercooked buzz than a pile of rot.

But if you’re lucky—dry fall, good sun, no freak storms—she’ll finish around late September to early October. Somewhere in there. Don’t ask for a date. She doesn’t RSVP.

Now, the trichomes. That’s your real clock. Not the calendar. Get a loupe. A cheap one, or a fancy one, whatever. Just look close. When they’re clear? Too soon. Milky? You’re in the zone. Amber? That’s couchlock territory. Some people chase that. I don’t. I like her when she’s dreamy but not deadweight. So I pull her when it’s like 10-20% amber. Maybe 30 if I’m feeling reckless.

And don’t even get me started on flushing. Some folks swear by two weeks. Others say it’s a myth. I say—taste your damn weed. If it burns clean and doesn’t taste like lawn clippings, you did fine. If it crackles and smells like a tire fire, maybe rethink your timing.

One last thing—don’t rush the dry. You waited months. Don’t blow it in five days with a hot room and a fan blasting like a jet engine. Hang her slow. Let her breathe. She’s earned it. So have you.

Anyway. That’s how I do it. Or did it. Or will again. Who knows. Time’s weird when you’re growing weed.