Through the 'Boo

Surreal: adjective, marked by the intense irrational reality of a dream; unbelievable; fantastic

I did not have to search far to find the perfect word to describe this past weekend, one that I spent in the HappyDay Farms medicinal cannabis booth, at the Kate Wolf Festival. The oppressive heat may have slowed matters down a notch, but it did not seem to impact the crowd, a little long in the tooth anyway, too much.

"Let us be happy in our work."

I don’t mind the heat myself, partially because I employ the somewhat dubious practice of stocking my hat with a couple of ice cubes. It gives my head a lumpy appearance, but I’ve been called worse than lumpy, so I consider it an upgrade.

We were also provided with a portable fan, so that our booth had air movement for those who chose to pause and smell the flowers, or just to pass the time of day. In a venue such as Kate Wolf, as opposed to that of the Emerald Cup in Sonoma County, we had the luxury of being able to exchange pleasantries, while 215 patients were trying to determine which of our medicinal strains of cannabis best suited their needs.

Down at the Cup, we barely have time to sneak in a change of water for the bongs, with the response to what is being offered, as high (no pun intended) as it has been. What we take for granted in our cloistered niche in this world, others still get quite rabid about, and when there are 30,000 of them over a two-day period, that’s a lot of bong water changes.

I label the weekend surreal for a number of reasons, the first to which I just alluded. Were my father Robert still alive, his joy at being behind the counter of our booth, would have no boundaries. I made frequent reference to Himself this past weekend, a pioneer who does not get the credit he deserves.

It was he in our family, who first planted six sativa plants on the Bell. It was back in the late seventies, and he put them in a greenhouse within his expansive vegetable garden. A few weeks later, when his girls topped out at fourteen feet, the roof of the greenhouse having been long since set free, the neighbors got a good chuckle.

The rest of us could hardly believe our eyes.

This past weekend, situated beneath the oaks for which the Black Oak Ranch is named, we were mostly in the shade, with a couple of skylights presenting themselves, during which times things warmed up a bit. Nonetheless, our comfortably large space was never crowded, it was stocked with several sofas and numerous chairs, and when folks dropped in, they sometimes took it literally. 

They flopped on the couches as though the air were slowly seeping out of them, and they needed no more of a sign, than a landing spot within our paradise. Though immensely appealing to most, I never did take a moment to sprawl out on the sofas, being far more comfortable within the confines of our booth.

This was a pretty typical crowd,
but some were huge.

While just outside the bamboo fence that surrounded our space? At times the crush of humanity, as concert-goers would jam the space to catch the action on the Revival Stage, was unreal. By peering though the ‘boo, I could see the crowd, elbow to elbow, taking in the music, at times hardly able to move due to the crush.

That this insignificant bamboo fence was all that separated us from the crowd, was what made it surreal for me. All in all, I liked things on my side of the fence, far more than I would have liked being on the other side.

There were some interesting moments, though. I was looking through the ‘boo at one point, when I realized that my glance was being returned by a woman of indeterminate age. Without a second’s delay, she elbowed her significant other in the side, while exclaiming, “Hey, Honey, turn around and get a look at this dude.”

Who, me?

I know I must have presented a goofy exterior, to a certain extent, except that I like to refer to it as eccentric. Eccentric has a little more credibility than goofy.

“Look at his mustache!”

Oh heck, do I need a hankie?

Then I realized that I was looking at a dude who was rocking the same mustache as me, including the color white. 

“Great minds think alike, huh?” he inquired.

“Why not? But I must tell you that I had mine down to my navel until last January, when I shaved it off the day I marched with the women in Sacramento.”

Under the oaks

Another time I glanced over at the fence, to see a tall gentleman, with a hat that couldn't conceal the envy in his eyes. I noted that it was crowded on the other side, just before we made eye contact. 

“It looks like Paradise inside your space,” he remarked.

“Another in a long string of days in Paradise,” I returned. “I hope your weekend is vastly surpassing excellent.”

He glanced around and said, “It is but I can see it could be a lot better.”

What can I say? I agreed with him 100%.