Danksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, second only to 4/20 and the Eighth of July. This past year, I was fortunate enough to spend it in Santa Cruz, California, which is one of the dankest cities in the world. I was also fortunate enough to stumble upon a quarter pound of low grade marijuana shortly before the dinner was set to take place at my house. With the help of my 215 card-carrying housemate, I turned that shitty weed into cannabutter and cooked up a feast of super salad, rasta pasta*, mashed pot-atoes, green green beans, and of course cannapple pie.
We had about twenty guests, all of whom contributed something to the festivities. One girl brought a “dank tank”: a tank-shaped chocolate cake covered in canna-cream cheese frosting. My brother and a friend drove two hours from San Luis Obispo with a Volcano vaporizer and glass blunt in tow, the latter of which we managed to cram a good eighth or so into. Others brought hash and kief, joints and blunts, homegrown herb, and all kinds of munchies.
Two of our guests were in fact themselves a contribution to the festivities. It was sometime after we had devoured several sticks each of deep green butter and were slouched around the living room, dripping like honey onto the floor, when they showed up. The two boys seemed as though they belonged there--unkempt facial hair, tie dye shirts, glazed red eyes--and my housemates and I all assumed it was someone else who had invited these late arrivers. We each grunted some kind of greeting as they wandered in, not bothering to look up from the food or joints or silly putty we held in our hands to determine if these people were indeed our friends or if they were wanted serial killers. Even when they admitted they were in the wrong house, the swelling Volcano bag drew more of a reaction from us. The uninvited guests looked around, looked at each other, commented on the fact that maybe this is where they meant to come after all, and eventually found their way to whatever destination it was they were looking for, but not without first partaking in a little Danksgiving action.
For those of you who have never celebrated Danksgiving before, I highly recommend indulging in this stoner tradition. The main point is to enjoy a night of tasty food and even tastier weed with your favorite stoners but, like all holidays, Danksgiving is celebrated differently by everyone. Some opt only to smoke a single shared joint before munching on weedless food, whereas others, such as the Grateful Dead, know how to truly celebrate Danksgiving (excerpt from A Long Strange Trip: The Inside History of the Grateful Dead by Dennis McNally):
“The Dead family had much to give thanks for, and they celebrated Thanksgiving Day 1966 from the heart. They borrowed chairs and tables, opened the room dividers, and ran a table from the front door back to Pigpen’s room, seating forty to fifty people, including the Airplane, Quicksilver, the Oracle people, the Thelins, and many others. Kreutzmann’s friend John Warnecke brought two kilos of pot, and there was pot tea, pot cookies, and pot stuffing. Jack Casady, a highly dexterous roller, left a souvenir joint at each place setting. Lesh rose and toasted the moment: ‘These are the good old days.’” A beautiful Danksgiving, indeed.
When my friends and I decided to add Danksgiving to our growing cycle of stoner holidays, the first tradition we planned to adopt was that of Jack Casady’s: a joint at every place setting. With a qp of disposable weed, we could have easily made this happen. But, as stoners are known to do, we got a bit sidetracked. Somewhere between making the cannabutter and loading every piece available so that everyone had at least one bowl in front of them, we forgot about the joints. Still, we managed to initiate several traditions which will last for years to come.
Starting at 4:20 p.m. on Danksgiving Day, my friends and I are sure to say something we are dankful for before every hit we take. Of course, we all take many, many hits as the evening progresses and things can get repetitive. But there are so many things a stoner has to be dankful for--lighters, the Beatles, forks, gravity--that the tradition lives on. We also listen to a play list of the chillest stoner songs imaginable, ranging from Bob Marley to Bob Dylan. I can’t really remember what other traditions we have…but I do remember the morning after Danksgiving when I tried to look at the pictures I’d taken only to discover there was no memory card in my camera. I was high.
*Rasta Pasta has been a favorite among my friends and I ever since our first real Pot Luck. To make it, just cook up a ridiculous amount of your favorite noodles and add equal amounts of pesto and cannabutter. One to three bowls is prime, depending on how stoney you want to get.
