For much of his adult life, Brett LeMay grew and sold marijuana.

He preferred growing in trailers. They offered lower overhead costs, and most of the time, neighbors didn't care what he was up to. He'd outfit the trailers to maximize production; cannabis plants would crowd the bedrooms, the kitchen, the bathroom. LeMay slept in the living room.

The illegal grows gave him the money and freedom to live as he wanted in Anchorage. He set his own salary, careful not to sell so much as to draw attention to himself. A self-proclaimed home-body, he used his spare time to teach himself computer programs or go on long drives with his girlfriend.

Now LeMay, 38, lives a very different life. In 2008, he was convicted of heroin possession. Two years later, still struggling with addiction, he skipped a urine test and broke his probation. Police soon arrived at his doorstep and discovered a marijuana grow inside his home.

Sitting in his father's home in the Matanuska Valley, LeMay recounted the moment he got busted. He was standing outside as the cars pulled into the driveway. Time seemed to slow as the officers stepped out of their cars.

"I thought my life was over," LeMay said.

Ultimately, getting busted forced LeMay into treatment. Four years later, he's served his sentence and finished parole. He's moved past a crippling heroin addiction and lives with family members, who he says saved his life.

But with two felony drug convictions now on his record, the next step for him has been unclear.

The convictions follow him as he looks for a job. Applications to fast food restaurants and box stores go unanswered and each rejection leaves LeMay more frustrated and depressed.

"There are times that I wanted to lay down and cry and give up," LeMay said. "But how do you give up?"

Then, a turning point: In November, Alaska voters passed Ballot Measure 2, legalizing recreational marijuana in the Last Frontier.

Suddenly, a skill set that he honed for years was no longer a crime, but a commodity.

LeMay realized that he had a real chance to use everything he has learned over years of marijuana cultivation.

Then it clicked: He could be a "growing coach," helping people set up and maintain personal grows.

With that, "907 Grow" was born. For LeMay, 907 Grow is his way into an industry that could otherwise shut its doors to him, given his criminal background.

"If I could shake everyone's hand that voted yes on (Ballot Measure) 2 I would," LeMay said. "Because now I have hope. I don't know where I'm going exactly, I don't know where I'm going to end up, but at least there are possibilities now."

Homeless at 14

LeMay's life has been filled with ups and downs over the years. He says he is lucky to be alive.

LeMay's family moved to Anchorage's Fort Richardson from the Puget Sound area of Washington in 1989.

At 14, a rebellious LeMay left home. He spent two years on the streets of Anchorage, where he would travel in packs with other homeless young people. He spent a lot of time at the transit center downtown. Sometimes the teens would bum enough money to split a hotel room. He went days without food and got used to dumpster diving.

"You get creative," LeMay said.

At 16, LeMay started forging work permits. He had quit high school by that time. He ran the cash register at fast food joints and made enough money to afford rent.

LeMay left Alaska for a few years while he lived and worked in Miami, but gave up steady employment there to return to Alaska with a plan of growing marijuana with a friend.

So in 1998, back in Anchorage at the age of 21 with $400 in his pocket, he started growing pot. He read growing manuals. His friend helped him with the basics, too. By the second harvest, LeMay bought out his friend's operation and he was on his own.

For more than a decade, LeMay's main occupation was growing pot. The income was steady over the years, he said, selling 2-3 pounds of pot every month for $4,000 a pound.

Dark days

LeMay says heroin first began infiltrating his social circles in the early 2000s. "It spread like wildfire. It's still spreading like wildfire," he said.

In 2007, LeMay was bartending at an Anchorage restaurant and was introduced to the drug by a waitress friend.

"I got to a dark place," he said of his decision to starting using heroin. "I had too much time, too much money, no purpose, no direction ... I didn't feel welcome or wanted."

His children were born during his dark days of heroin use: His daughter was born in 2007 and his son in 2010. LeMay credits his children with saving his life, with giving him a reason to eventually get clean.

He was busted for heroin possession in 2008.

Even after the felony drug conviction, he kept using. "I wasn't ready … I hadn't hit rock bottom," LeMay said. Lax outpatient treatment didn't help. The methadone clinic had a long wait list and he couldn't get in.

He kept growing pot, too. "You trap yourself in a box of your own making," LeMay said. He had a $6,000-a-month heroin habit to support and saw no other way to keep himself afloat.

Then one day, instead of submitting a urine test, he ran. Police soon tracked him down at his second address that he kept for the marijuana grow. They seized 50 starter and immature plants from the trailer, 11 bags full of plants and cannabis stalks and root balls, according to court records.

He was charged with misconduct involving a controlled substance in the fourth degree, a class C felony.

LeMay got out on bail. Then he ran. Instead of appearing in court, LeMay disappeared. With no cellphone, no bank account, no home or bills, LeMay left no paper trail as he "floated" between friends' homes.

Ten months later, police found him napping in a car. LeMay was taken to the Anchorage jail, where he was held on $10,000 bail.

After the bust

LeMay says he "won the convict lottery." He was sent to Anchorage's Cordova Center, where he waited out his four-month sentence.

The halfway house was teeming with drugs, LeMay said, but he was able to stay clean. He didn't want to give up the privilege of having his kids come visit and sit on his lap.

Serving time, and his subsequent three-year probation, also forced him into treatment. Treatment "teaches you to own it," LeMay said. "I learned a lot about boundaries and root causes … I became more self-aware."

The treatment also included anti-marijuana messaging. He believed some of the warnings -- how drug use is a crutch. How spending your entire life stoned is a waste of time. But it also fortified his belief that "I love this plant," he said.

"Really in my heart, I didn't feel that pot was wrong," LeMay said. He said he's lost three friends to heroin overdoses, but has never seen a person die from marijuana use.

Once he was released, LeMay moved to his father's house in the Valley, where he waited out his probation. Getting back on his feet has been a challenge. LeMay hasn't been lawfully employed since 2006. "I fought with depression a lot. I was pretty angry. I wanted to blame-shift," LeMay said.

Zane Baldwin, LeMay's great-uncle, said that the last four years have been a "rough road" for LeMay.

"The job thing especially," Baldwin said.

One night a few years ago, the two were sitting outside the family's Wasilla home. "He broke down. … He said, you know, 'what am I going to do?' " Baldwin said.

"If you can't find a job, create a job," was Baldwin's advice. "He's a very good gardener -- doesn't matter if it's pot or not."

907 Grow

LeMay said "the light at the end of the tunnel" came when marijuana was legalized.

On Nov. 4, after it seemed apparent that the initiative had passed, LeMay remained wary. It seemed too good to be true. He waited until the election results were certified, 20 days later, before he truly accepted it.

For LeMay, marijuana legalization represents new possibilities, "the chance to apply a unique set of skills," LeMay said.

His excitement quickly soured after he realized his background would likely hinder his chance of getting a license.

His hunch appears to be a good one: A Marijuana Control Board bill that has passed the Legislature and awaits the governor's signature would ban anyone with a felony conviction within the past five years from getting a license.

LeMay had also contacted Wasilla-based cannabis education business Midnight Greenery and was turned down for a spot on the business team due to his felonies. Owner Sara Williams said she supports LeMay, but the business has to be cautious, as the final rules regarding criminal backgrounds and marijuana businesses are still unclear.

The application process for licenses hasn't been created yet and ABC Board Director Cynthia Franklin said that having a criminal background would not necessarily preclude someone from getting a license but "is something we would consider."

LeMay disagrees with that line of thinking. "You're turning your back on an entire group of the population that has the knowledge, that has the expertise," he said.

In January, LeMay contacted Alaska Dispatch News' Highly Informed column. His question: Would a grow consulting business be legal?

Columnist Scott Woodham did some research, and in early April, published a column giving an optimistic, but tentative answer: Yes, that business is legal under current law.

Since receiving the reply, LeMay has gotten a business license and cellphone, set up a Facebook page and ordered business cards. He's working on his website design.

He envisions being a "growing coach" -- someone who can help set up and maintain someone's legal, personal grow.

He's not the only one with this idea -- other marijuana consultants are already offering their services in Alaska -- but for LeMay, it's one of the best employment options to come his way in a long time.