Monday, August 20, 2007

And Be There When I Feed The Tree

Mark asked the Gren, “Tell us about the first time you smoked a joint. Or, smoked part of a joint.”

I knew I was opening myself up to this sort of situation. In an open forum where readership includes high school and college friends as well as parents, grandparents, and in-laws; where members of my in-law’s church regularly swing by and where Norah herself may eventually read what I write here, I have been asked, straight out of the gate for my new “Ask the Gren” feature, to discuss my first experience with marijuana. What a fun little minefield to tiptoe through.

I’ll admit my first instinct for this was to just ignore it. Maybe meekly write back to Mark and explain my understandable reluctance to tackle this topic in such a public way. There’s a good chance he asked this just to watch me squirm. And besides, if I play along, won’t he just ask more and more challenging questions until he makes me crack? Cutting this sort of thing off at the start is certainly tempting. However, what fun is asking questions if the only ones that get answered are the ones I’m totally comfortable tackling?

In other words...fine, Mark, I’ll march into the minefield so that you can prop your feet up down there in Dallas and enjoy the tale.

And Be There When I Feed The Tree

The Lake of the Ozarks was a pretty weed-friendly place to grow up. Most of my friends were reveling in their love of nature’s psychedelic bounty by the time I was in eighth grade or so. If it weren’t for the huge stubborn streak that I still claim as my own, I’d have probably started down my road to herbal decadence at about the same time. But, I had little inclination to follow the crowd and staked my claim to a strange middle ground in the social dynamics of high school. I dressed in tie-dye shirts and rope sandals; I listened to my dad’s old stoner music from the 60s and 70s; and I studied all things hemp. I was fascinated by the counter culture revolution: Woodstock, Haight-Ashbury, etc. But I never partook of the drugs so openly endorsed by the era of my fascination and so freely available in the circle of friends I ran with. I’d sit in the circle and join in the insane philosophical discussions…but I’d simply and merrily pass the joint around.

There were several reasons for this I suppose. First, I had this idea that I was going to become a big time hemp activist once I got to college. I reasoned that my opinion would be taken more seriously if folks couldn’t quickly discount me as just another stoner. Secondly, while lots of my friends seemed to be having quite a bit of fun with their pot, several were smoking more and more and developing a habit that I just wasn’t too thrilled with. So, I sat on the side of the metaphoric pool and continued to size things up before jumping in.

As the high school years went by and graduation loomed, however, I began to give up on the dream of major legalization activism. I became more comfortable with the idea of smoking in moderation and came to feel that I’d rather smoke for the first time with my long-time friends instead of the mysterious and undefined friends I would make in college. So, on April 8, 1994, my friend Laska and I set off after dark, hiking up to the Elder Tree’s clearing on the hillside facing my mom’s house.

The town of Linn Creek is nestled in a valley, surrounded on all sides by the rolling Ozark Hills. Across the street from my Mom’s is a house. Behind that house is another house. Behind that second house is a large field that hosts a construction company of some sort, littered with dump trucks and piles of gravel. Beyond the gravel field, is the creek that gives the little town her name. And beyond the water raises the green slope that houses the bald patch. Over the years since, the mysterious patch has lost its geometric shape, but in 1994, it was a perfectly square patch of grass on a hillside that was otherwise uniform with trees. At the top and center of this patch was a massive evergreen, bigger than any other tree on the hill. The Elder Tree we called it as if this tree spirit had lay claim to this small parcel of land and none of the younger trees dared encroach. We felt it important to visit the Elder Tree on this auspicious occasion.

After finding the driest place to cross the creek, we meandered back and forth across the face of the hillside, tracking imaginary switchbacks through the thick Ozark underbrush to minimize the slope of our moonlit climb. We chatted about song ideas that Laska was working on and story ideas I was working on as we made our way through the shadows toward the general area we thought we’d find the clearing.

The moon was nothing but a sliver, but the sudden opening of the trees made the clearing seen fully lit after our time under the tree canopy. The expansion of our vision made the space feel as holy up close as it had looked from a distance. The Elder Tree towered over us to our left and the ground fell away to the tiny lights of the tiny town to our right. Above us, the stars spread in every direction through the clear sky. The ground was rocky and not nearly as plush as it had appeared from our yard, but we wiggled around a bit until we found relatively comfortable spots to recline.

We absorbed our surroundings for a while before Laska produced his metal pipe and for the first time…I didn’t just pass it. We lay there, passing the pipe back and forth, talking about college. I had been accepted to what was then called Northeast Missouri State in Kirksville and he would be heading to Culver Stockton, a small school on the Mississippi River. With only about an hour and half separating the two schools, we discussed how great it would be to be able to zip over and see each other as often as possible…a simple plan that was only enacted once for some reason.

Intoxication of any sort is difficult to describe. A sensation in your toe can be quickly categorized, but sensation in the organ you use to analyze sensation can be much more difficult. You don’t even notice it’s happening until you catch your mind in a thought process that just wouldn’t happen otherwise. It’s like falling asleep. A dream-like pattern slips into an otherwise normal thought and you’re suddenly aware that you are drifting away. In addition, it affects each person differently and can change depending on your mood. I would spend the next several years of my life trying to come up with metaphors and descriptors to properly capture the feeling of being stoned…but after all these years, I’m still not really able. But generally, I would describe the feeling as a falling away. As if my conscious and subconscious had temporarily switched places. I was a step removed from my senses, shrunken away into the recesses of my mind just a little. Wrapped up with processes that normally go undetected, noticing little details that normally go unnoticed, dreaming while awake.

We laughed.

Eventually, Laska announced that he was hungry, but I didn’t want to move because scenery was too perfect. I couldn’t absorb the stars fast enough or stare long enough. “Can’t we just stay here?”

“Don’t you want to eat something?”

“Sure, but to get that, I’d have to give up these stars.”

“Well, that’s life. I mean…you never know, the walk down could be even better than this.”

This struck me as infinitely deep…a perfect allegory for my fears of departing for college. We pushed ourselves up, said a polite “thank you” to the Elder Tree and headed back into the darkened canopy.

Whatever care we had shown while making our ascent was abandoned for the trek down. Switchbacks be damned, we strolled straight down toward the creek. I’ll admit the trip is mostly a blur to me, but I have snippets of leaning against trees and sliding on loose leaves, aware but unconcerned that my behavior would rightly be called “reckless.” I recall resting against the truck of a thick tree and being unsure whether or not I was imagining the slimy feeling against my hands. I pushed away to get a better view and my mind reeled, unable to make sense of the pulsing vision I was seeing. The bark was covered with slugs. No, not some drug-induced vision, but real, ooze-on-my-hands slugs. We stood for a moment or two as we attempted to invent a reason so many slugs would cluster on one tree, but eventually abandoned the questioning to continue our mission to find food.

At the bottom, we splashed our way through the creek, no longer concerned about staying dry.

We laughed.

Mom was away that night, out on the town with her friend, Pam. We put on Belly’s new Star album and made some snacks before returning to the living room to watch MTV. They were showing some sort of documentary on Curt Cobain, but we were having a horrible time making sense of what they were talking about. We just sat in silence, off in our own little worlds, staring at the screen and eating our Pop-Tarts.

“Wait,” I said. “Did they just say he died?”

“No, he’s probably just on tour or something,” replied Laska.

We sat quietly for another stretch.

“I…I’m pretty sure they put up one of those…those…date range things. Like he died.”

“No, they….” Laska froze. Kurt Loder was there on the screen, telling us to call a depression hotline if the news was too upsetting.

I think I may have said something akin to, “Oh, man.” Words may well have failed me even under the best of circumstances…but they were especially unforthcoming in my current state.

We turned off Belly and swapped the cd for In Utero.

So we sat there, Laska and I, eating Pop-Tarts, and then popcorn, and drinking Mountain Dew; discussing Cobain while the speakers crooned about Pennyroyal Tea.

The term surreal gets tossed around a lot. Quite often on this very site, as a matter of fact. But it really is the only word I know to describe that night. The only word I know to encompass both the stunning beauty and the bewildering news. The brightness of the stars and the darkness of the loss of "the spokeman of our generation."

I long ago packed up my bong and now opt to keep my subconscious mind right where it is. But, I wouldn’t trade that experience or the countless experiences that would follow for anything. Someday, when Norah is old enough to ask, I’ll have to decide how best to deal with such stories.

Compared to that…in-laws and church groups seem a breeze.

15 comments:

Mark said...

At first, I explained my question. Then, I drew back because somehow I knew you would know what I wanted.

You delivered.

I must say, at first I was concerned that I had so enjoyed that Belly song and only now was finding out that it was a metaphor for smoking pot. Glad that didn't turn out to be the case.

Also glad, so very glad, that you took on the role of storyteller. That night sounds like an experience you'll never forget, pot or not.

I always was one of those kids who believed all the horror stories the schools told us about drug use, and heeded the warnings. I kept it far away from me, visions of PCP- or LSD-laced marijuana dancing in my head (without even so much as a single hit).

I must say, however, that I never considered Cobain a spokesman for my generation. He and his crew created some good songs, but that's about as far as my Nirvana fandom went. Whether Cobain fans think it's cool or not, I'm not sure, but I'm a big fan of Foo Fighters.

Still, it's very surreal, indeed, that on the first night you toked, you first heard of Curt's death. (I'm fairly well convinced that he was killed not by his own hand, by the way.)

Mark said...

A little more on why I asked you this (and it wasn't to make you squirm).

One of (if not THE) smartest guys I know, with whom I was best friends since 2nd grade, became a pot smoker, and yet I never touched the stuff. We diverged widely on that issue, and the one time he asked if I minded if he lit up, I said, "Yeah, please don't." And we were in HIS house. So, he was cool about it.

I was curious how folks get into it the first time.

Anonymous said...

I was wondering how you could remember the exact date so well. As soon as I read that you were watching something on MTV about Kurt Cobain it all clicked. I too remember that day, but not for the same reason :)

Mus and I disagree on the importance of Nirvana. He thinks they are hugely overrated and that Cobain was pretty terrible. I, however, think they were a major influence and changed the music of their day. I must admit though that I was a bigger fan of Soundgarden. And I agree with Mark...I love the Foo Fighters.

Anna said...

Wow....what a tale! Mountain Dew...havent had that in awhile! You know...I think with these types of things...honesty goes a long way in a childs eyes...and by child I mean...old enough to hear it! :)

I love the comments on music...I loved Nirvana, managed to rock out to a few Courtney Love songs that were actually good and the Foo Fighters hold court on my iPod. Great music and it is SO college for me!

Thanks Mark for asking that question...

Greeat read here Gren...brought back lots of memories! :)

Simon said...

Oh yes, a very great read. That could have been much less of a tale than what you made it. "My friend and I went to this big tree and we toked up while talking about college. Then we went to watch MTV while eating Pop Tarts and heard about Kurt Cobain's death. Talk about bouging my high!"

I've actually heard (read) articulate criticism that condemns a lot of what's taught in programs like D.A.R.E. That all it does is turn little kids into bleating automatons who spew vitriol at their parents for smoking tobacco and don't understand what to think about drugs any more than religious zealots understand about a spiritual fraternity among mankind.

I've never done more than take a couple puffs on a joint as it got passed around, so can't really say I've ever 'experienced' it. Heck, I've come closer reading this, now, than I ever did in a circle of friends!

Josh & Emily said...

I have never been so enthralled over a story about smoking pot. I felt like I was high for a brief moment.
I will tend to agree with Stephanie on the ifluence of Nirvana. I was not a huge Nirvana fan, but I believe Cobain still have influence in the music world today.

Moksha Gren said...

Mark - The whole, Cobain as spokesman for our generation thing is perhaps a bit over the top. But that's how he was spoken of at the time. Then again, for me it was more than justhe made some good music. He was the frontman for the first musical revolution Gen X could claim as our own. Musically, there are lots of bands I'd rather listen to, but Nivana was just symbolic of ripping down the veneer of the overly polished 80s pop-rock.

As for pot, I had smart friends who did and smart friends who didn't. I had friends who used it repsonsibly and friends who reached for the alarm clock in the morning and came back with a pipe. It ran the gamut. I basicaly came away with the thought that with this specific drug, it was much more about the person than the devilish power of the weed.

Stephanie - Mus is welcome to his opinion on this matter...but I've never held much stock in his music taste, personally ;)

Soundgarden was great, but my favorite Seattle band from that era was always Screaming Trees. Perhaps I loved them becasue they never broked huge so I could claim them as my own. But, I still love them to this day. I'm lukewarm on the Foo Fighters.

Anna - Glad you enjoyed it. I'm planning to use the honesty approach as much as possible. But it's still a fine line.

Simon - Thanks for the kudos, although your retelling did have a certain brevity that some would find appealing. A Cliff's Notes eye for the critical.

Jet - I'll admit that one of the reasons I talked myself into to telling the story is because I thought it was a fun story to tell. Enough details still fresh in my mind that it wouldn't just be a "whoa, I was so f'd up that night." But "enthralled" is even better than I'd been hoping for. Thanks.

Everyone - Many of you guys hit on the topic I brought up about how to reconcile our "wild" past with our new roles as parents. Even had one friend email their comment in secret to suggest my story could be construed as encouraging drug use.

In my own family, this is one of the few areas of disagreement between Moonshot and I. She comes down firmly on the "it's illegal and that's that" camp. Why blur the lines of right and wrong by introducing lots of shades of gray at an early age? I, on the other hand, tend to be ok with that idea that Norah will most likely try pot at some point in the future. My goal is to postpone that date as long as possible, but not by demonizing the substance. I knew so many people who threw out all of DARE's message once they realized that pot wasn't the devil weed our teachers told us it was. They'd try anything, figuring all the horror stories were made up. Personally, I want Norah to feel like she can talk to me about these issues and to believe me when I tell her to stay the hell away from the hard drugs.

There's no easy answer, but luckily, we've got a few years before we have to have this sort of conversation.

Simon said...

As evinced in my own post today, I'm all about the grey areas. Is anything, really, black and white? I would argue not. The amount of contention around an issue is not necessarily a direct correlation between how black or white it is, but more that there are camps who perceive one extreme or the other. My fear has always been blinding myself to all the options or other points of view that MAY exist, and so I don't cling so tenaciously to any one... in most cases.

I would argue that drug use of any sort - but especially the illegal sort - is definitely one of those issues.

Not to get all windy on another comment, but I would MUCH rather see tobacco made illegal and the government tax the hell out of the wacky-tobacky to compensate for the loss of revenue. It really is MUCH less harmful to the human bean, and it would open the floodgates to the myriad of other uses for its constituent parts. Which is the reason it's illegal in the first place, seeing as how it was the cotton growers of America (I think) who perceived the competitive threat of hemp and so focused their attention - and the government's - on the hallucinatory effects of one part of the whole plant. Stupid lobbyists.

It's a goddamn conspiracy, man!

PS -- my fave Seattle band that came out of that whole Cobain-era generation was definitely Pearl Jam. Their live show was my first ever experience with a mosh pit, so they hold a special place in my heart.

Anonymous said...

I quote: 'However, what fun is asking questions if the only ones that get answered are the ones I’m totally comfortable tackling?'
Would not the fun be that you don't get irritated by feeling like your privacy is being invaded by the blogosphere and therefore you do not quit writing this lovely blog that so amuses me while I wait for my computer to finish doodling along?
I know you're a smart guy who generally doesn't do stuff he doesn't want to do without a good reason. Just thought I'd point out that you are not in fact obligated to answer every uncomfortable question that gets posted, in case you feel yourself backed into a corner in the future.

I'm on a roll with the run-on sentences today. :)

Anonymous said...

Very very good storytelling. Sort of makes me wish I tried pot - which is probably not exactly what you'll want Norah to get away from that story, but I'm with you on the open approach, although I have no clue how I'll handle it when the time comes, as I've naturally mostly been a rare-drinker and no-drug user at all, so I'll have no experience to base myself on.

Still many years to go!! *High five*

Simon said...

Something else this post brings to mind - and it was Mouse's comment that triggered it - is that we, as bloggers, will use nefarious means to talk about ourselves. I don't mean that in a bad way, either. But I've done similar things with prompting questions to be asked, and it creates the sort of interactive, sometimes contentious environment that is, in some respects, a blogging utopia.

There is a prepared pulpit from which we may proselytize, willing proselytes who will listen because, well, they asked! And the sort of questions posed that force the author to dig a little deeper than he would probably have been willing to do on his own. It's the sort of scenario where everybody wins, from the perspective of author and reader, both.

So, in so far as Moksha would not normally have been willing to divulge stories like the one just shared here, his presence in this demesne signified a readiness to take the next step, and we the readers need only catalyze that process, prompting the introspective chrysalid to break free of the cocoon.

Spread your wings, mighty Moksha! Add a little gargoyle to your Gren!

Moksha Gren said...

Simon - "Well, it's quite unlike me to just ramble on endlessly about myself," said the blogger innocently, "but since you asked..." ;)

Rebecca said...

Wow, who knew a story about pot could be so impressive. I'd have to agree with a lot of what you said. Well put. :-)

Anonymous said...

If it makes you feel any better, I tried pot once. Didn't like it.

My brother on the other hand, was a true hippie of the 60s and experimented with many drugs.

What to tell your daughter???? You'll know when the time comes.

Steven M. said...

Good story. I am amazed that you remember details so well. Later I went up to that same spot with a few people, Laska and his cousin, maybe you too? It was magical and a little eerie I remember, but quite a hack through the undergrowth to get there. Good times.