That’s how the host described the hundreds of fans who attended the outdoor concert celebrating the 40th anniversary of my favorite band, Poi Dog Pondering, where the sweet smell of marijuana was clearly in the air. And I loved every whiff of it.

I seem to be hypersensitive to the smell of marijuana, even though I’ve never smoked it. I call it my superpower. In public places, I can walk, run or bike past that aroma and immediately stop to enjoy the moment. I’ve done it in parks, alleys, festivals, sidewalks and of course, music concerts.

“We’re going to have some moments tonight,” Stevie Nicks told his fans two years ago at another open-air concert.

The legendary magician enchanted her audience that night as a brightly lit moon hovered over the stage. The smell of marijuana swirled through the crowd like Nicks swirls around a microphone stand. It was the perfect scent for this open-air show. Well, for any entertainment event, I would say.

I prefer the smell of burning marijuana to any other type of smoke, especially cigarettes. I grew up in homes where cigarette smoke was constantly in the air, where the term “secondhand smoke” was ignored or laughed at. I never took a puff, but was a loyal accomplice to my nicotine-addicted family members.

“Hello, please sell my grandson three packs of Virginia Slims Menthol. Thank you, Diana Davich.”

Each of these letters, on crumpled stationery, was written by my grandmother in sloppy cursive. Simple. Polite. To the point. With just a hint of elderly desperation.

I put the folded letter in my back pocket and filled my front pockets with change that my grandmother had lying around the house. You see, back then every quarter counted.

Then I set out on a pilgrimage on foot from her house to the nearest gas station.

I went to the cash register, emptied my pockets, and stood quietly with the handwritten note, as if I were waiting for a communion wafer in church on Sunday. Not once did anyone behind the cash register say “no” to me. He or she counted up the change and let me know if there was anything left for candy. For me.

Cigarette smoking was part of my life as a child. My father, my aunt, my uncle, my cousins ​​and most of the neighbors smoked tobacco. It was as common as lung cancer. Luckily, I didn’t get addicted.

In my twenties, I began to enjoy the aroma of marijuana, thanks to my brother Joe, who smoked joints like the Marlboro Man smoked cigarettes. When we were together, we often carried a small plastic bag of weed, rolling papers, and a cheap lighter—the holy trinity of stoner paraphernalia.

Back then, it was more of a secret obsession for stoners. Today, it’s much more ubiquitous and socially accepted, as most Americans live in states where marijuana is legal in some form. According to the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORM), most adults in the U.S. support legalization. But there are still critics, including many of my readers.

“I find it inappropriate that we don’t allow people to smoke cigarettes indoors, but now marijuana is being smoked in homes and cars even though it is illegal in our state,” one woman wrote to me. “I can smell the odor of marijuana coming from four of my neighbors’ houses and from cars with the windows closed on the street.”

“The worst thing is when someone smells like it in a store. I’ve smelled smokers who didn’t smell that bad!” she wrote. “Now it smells like a skunk and permeates everything. I’m almost, but not quite, ready to let smokers smoke indoors again!”

Cigarette smoking damages almost every organ in the body. Smoking marijuana only damages brain cells. (Just kidding.) It’s the smell of cigarettes that bothers me. I have no disdain for smokers. I don’t care what their preferred addiction is. I have some myself. It’s the secondhand smoke that I avoid at every encounter.

Not so much with the smell of weed, pot, grass, ganja, Mary Jane, or whatever you want to call it. I’ve been known to stop, take a deep breath, and carry on with a smile on my face. This happened to me again recently as I was riding my bike across an overpass in a park near my house. I returned home the same route to smell it again.

There’s something to that. Maybe it’s because I grew up with Cheech and Chong and there were stoners everywhere. Or maybe it’s because I was born on April 20th, or 4/20. It’s a true story.

One thing is certain: cannabis culture is spreading further and further in our society.

Marijuana use in our country is higher than ever before. In the last decade alone, the number of Americans who report smoking marijuana has doubled, from 7% to 13%. from 2013 to 2023accordingly a national survey of Gallup.

Just look around and watch it grow. Or better yet, just take a deep breath.