Northern Lights Seeds

What Does Northern Lights Look Like at Each Growth Stage?

First time you see a Northern Lights seedling, it’s almost underwhelming. Tiny, pale green, with those awkward little cotyledons poking out like it’s unsure whether it wants to be a plant or not. The stem’s thin—spindly, even—and if you didn’t know better, you’d think the whole thing might just give up and die. But it doesn’t. It’s tougher than it looks.

Give it a week or two. The real leaves start to push through—those serrated, classic cannabis fans. They’re wide, almost too wide for the size of the plant, like it’s trying on clothes too big for it. The color deepens. Not quite emerald. More like forest green with a touch of blue if the light hits right. The stem thickens. It starts standing proud. You can almost hear it saying, “Yeah, I’m here now.”

By veg stage, Northern Lights gets bushy. Like, surprisingly bushy. Not tall—this isn’t some lanky sativa reaching for the ceiling. It squats. Stays close to the ground, stacking nodes like it’s hoarding them. The leaves get huge. Fat-fingered, overlapping, sometimes hiding the lower branches entirely. You’ll need to tuck or trim or just let it go wild, depending on your vibe. The color? Deep green, sometimes almost glossy. Healthy as hell if you’re doing it right.

Then boom—flowering hits. And everything changes.

Week one, two . . . you start seeing pistils. Tiny white hairs, poking out from the nodes like shy antennae. The plant stretches a bit—not much, but enough to notice. It’s like it’s waking up from a nap and realizing it’s showtime. The leaves stay thick, but now the buds start forming. Little clusters at first. Like popcorn. Sticky popcorn.

By mid-flower, it’s a damn spectacle. Buds swell. Trichomes start frosting everything—leaves, calyxes, even the damn stems sometimes. It glitters. Not in a fairy dust way. More like crushed diamonds under a grow light. The smell? Sweet, earthy, with this weird spicy undertone that hits you in the back of the throat. Some people say pine. I say it smells like a forest after rain—if that forest was also on fire a little bit.

Late flower, she gets heavy. Buds dense as bricks. Leaves might start yellowing—that’s normal. She’s using up everything she’s got. Trichomes go cloudy, then amber. Pistils darken, curl in. It’s like the plant’s aging in fast-forward, going from young and wild to wise and ready in a matter of days. You’ll know when she’s done. She looks tired. But in a good way. Like she just ran a marathon and won.

Harvest time? She’s sticky, fragrant, and honestly kind of beautiful. The buds are chunky, tight, with that classic indica structure—short, squat, no fluff. Covered in frost. Like they’ve been dipped in sugar. You trim her up, cure her slow, and when you crack that jar open weeks later . . . damn. That’s Northern Lights. From awkward baby to absolute queen.