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Strawberry Gelato seeds. Just the name makes your mouth do a little dance, doesn’t it? Sweet, sticky, loud as hell in a grow tent—this one’s not shy. It’s the kind of strain that walks into a room and everyone turns. Not because it’s obnoxious, but because it smells like someone smashed a fruit cart into a bakery. And then lit it on fire. In the best way.
I’ve grown these. Twice. First time was a mess—overwatered, under-loved, didn’t know what I was doing. Still got a few sticky nugs that tasted like strawberry milk and pine needles. Second time? Dialed in. Pheno leaned heavy on the Gelato side, but the strawberry still punched through. Like a candy shop in the middle of a forest. Weird, but it worked.
These seeds aren’t for lazy growers, though. They stretch. Not like sativa-jungle-vine stretch, but enough to make you rethink your light height. And the smell—Jesus. Carbon filters cry. You’ll need one. Maybe two. Or just embrace it and let your whole block know what time it is.
THC levels? High. Like, “forget what you were saying mid-sentence” high. But not couch-lock. More like… floaty. Euphoric. Creative if you catch it early, sleepy if you keep going. It’s a mood shifter. A vibe resetter. Good for when your brain’s stuck in a loop and you need to smash the reset button with a sledgehammer.
Bag appeal? Off the charts. Frosted like a donut, with those weird purples and oranges that make you stare at a nug for way too long. Sticky, too. Grinder-clogging, finger-gluing sticky. You’ll need alcohol wipes. Or just lick your fingers. I don’t judge.
Indoor or outdoor? Both, but indoors gives you more control. These girls like stable temps and low humidity late in flower—mold will ruin your day if you’re not careful. Outdoors, they’ll thrive if you’ve got the sun and the patience. Harvest late September, maybe early October if the weather holds.
Honestly, if you’re into fruity strains that still hit like a truck, Strawberry Gelato is worth the space. It’s not subtle. It’s not discreet. But it’s damn satisfying. Like eating dessert before dinner and not giving a single damn.
Would I grow it again? Yeah. Probably next season. But I’m still chasing that one pheno—the one that smelled like strawberry Pop-Tarts and made my neighbor ask if I was baking something. I wasn’t. I was just trimming. And grinning like an idiot.