Can You Say Edibles?

I will be working the HappyDay Farms medicinal cannabis booth at the Kate Wolf Festival this weekend, something I look forward to with the a great deal of anticipation. Working in a cannabis booth is highly enjoyable for me, and doing so within hailing distance of my mountain home, is as good as it gets.

The Black Oak Ranch is close enough so that if the music is amped up and the planets are aligned correctly, we can hear the action from the Bell. Already accustomed to hearing the distant sound of the Harleys on The 101 on Biker Weekend, it just goes to show that sound will travel uphill quite efficiently.

Everything about this local venue is solid gold, simply because we have been working at various Black Oak productions for decades now. Logistics become much easier when you have been connected with the facility over time, and there is mutual respect. 

When I was still teaching back in the nineties and we would do the Well Springs pizza-bread booth, my students used to express amazement that I was there. I did a great deal of bridge-building during those Pig-Nic days, and it paid off over the course of the following school year.

Having enjoyed the Kate Wolf festival as a concert-goer, it will be fun to work the festival in the booth. So many friends stop by and sample the wares, that it’s impossible not to get buoyed by the occasion. Even if thousands of old hippies do not come flooding into the 215 area to afford themselves the opportunity of indulging, we are guaranteed a good time.

That's what I'm sayin/talkin about...

I can’t help reflecting back to those days when I was working the booth, and students, former, current and future, were everywhere. Cannabis was also everywhere but not for me. In order to be able to enjoy the benefits, I had to take great precautions not to be seen. 

Oh for edibles, back in the day! I will gladly pay you Tuesday for my sanity today.

And speaking of the same-only different-I am not an alcohol-kind-of-guy for so many reasons, it’s ridiculous. Therefore, I find it almost comical that I would be taken for one, as was the case a few years back, the year Joan Baez played. It was hot and I was drinking a lot of water, but not a drop of any form of booze.  I had to make regular runs to the rows of Port-A-Potties, and every time I did so, the guards at the gate harassed me. 

I’m not kidding. Every time I went past, they searched my backpack. By the fourth or fifth time, I just went bipolar, left the venue and didn’t come back.

Missed Joan.

With my musteard extending down practically to my navel, how could they have pegged me for a boozer? I was especially incensed because of my long affiliation with the Black Oak Ranch. Was nothing sacred?

I do not anticipate any logistical obstacles this weekend, and I’m hoping Mickey the clown is there. He is a good person and fun to be around, and I like chilling with him.

Besides, when he’s there, I’m not the oldest dude anymore.

Mickey the Clown