Opinion story by Brad Harvey. Photo courtesy of Dexter Co.
Brad Harvey is a former marketing executive turned cannabis hospitality advocate based in Arkansas. He’s the founder of Dexter Co and a writer exploring how Southern traditions and cannabis culture can create more meaningful moments around the table.
Southern hospitality has been described by outsiders as an endless refill of sweet tea or a warm smile from a stranger, and by Southerners as a deeply rooted sense of generosity and grace. Some define it as an obligation to open your home, while others call it a sacred social ritual. But to me, it’s simpler and more meaningful: Southern hospitality is about intention. It’s not always about the finest china or the perfect playlist—but about making people feel welcomed, loved, and honored. That’s the heartbeat of every gathering I’ve ever cared about.
So why don’t we extend that same intention to our cannabis guests?
As cannabis becomes more accepted—and legal—I’ve found myself wondering why it’s still treated like an afterthought. If we’re pouring wine with ceremony and shaking cocktails with flair, why are joints passed like a secret?
Cannabis Belongs at the Table
Cannabis belongs at the table—not just physically, but symbolically. When offered with intention, a joint or an edible becomes just another thoughtful detail—a gesture of care. Some of the best conversations I’ve had didn’t come from the second glass of wine. They came from a shared joint around the firepit. When used with purpose, cannabis enhances the moment.
This isn’t about turning your dinner party into a dispensary—or getting super high like it’s high school again. It’s about the same care you give gluten-free or non-drinking guests: options, clarity, inclusion.
Meeting Guests Where They Are
Great hosting means meeting people where they are. For the canna-curious, I like to greet them with a low-dose edible and a warm conversation about the evening. For others, maybe it’s what I call Southern style: a perfectly selected joint paired with two fingers of great bourbon on a single rock—simple, smooth, and just right. Or maybe it’s yoga style: a low-dose edible with a chilled glass of cucumber mint spa water—clean, calming, quietly refreshing.
The point is, everyone deserves a welcome that feels personal.
From Stigma to Ritual
Especially in the South, cannabis still carries a layer of tension. And yet, hospitality is one of the best ways to push past that—not with lectures, but with warmth. A microdose gummy served with the same ease as a glass of wine makes a quiet but powerful statement: this is normal, this is welcome.
I once hosted a group that included a few first-timers. I kept it simple: charcuterie, soft lighting, a Marvin Gaye playlist. And beside the bourbon and sparkling water? A modest tray: a few joints, some low-dose edibles, and handwritten notes about each. One guest told me, “I’ve never felt more comfortable trying something new.” That moment stuck.
Rethinking Rituals
Our culture is craving ritual—moments of pause that feel a little sacred. Cannabis fits beautifully into this space. Lighting a joint can be as intentional as lighting a candle, a quiet moment of intention that slows the rush of the world. It doesn’t have to be loud to be meaningful—sometimes the quietest gestures are the ones that last.
When we weave cannabis into our hosting—not as a centerpiece, but as a thread—we begin to normalize it. Especially in the South, where tradition still means something, thoughtful cannabis hospitality carries real power and offers a new kind of welcome: open-hearted, easy, and full of grace.
Why This Matters Now
I’ve always believed hospitality is a form of leadership. It’s not about control—it’s about creating space for people to feel safe, seen, and valued.
When we offer cannabis as part of that experience, we say something bigger: that this belongs. That people who use cannabis deserve the same care, presence, and intention as anyone else.
In a world that feels increasingly divided, maybe the things that bring us together aren’t flashy or complicated. Maybe it’s just a long table, a shared meal, a warm laugh, and a little green passed with the same ease as the biscuits. Maybe it’s about reviving something older and deeper—the simple, radical act of truly welcoming one another, without caveats or conditions. Hospitality, in its purest form, reminds us: there is always room for one more at the table.
Final Thoughts
Hosting is about how you make people feel. And when we sideline cannabis users, we’re unintentionally saying they don’t quite belong. I think we can do better—especially in the South, where showing up for others is still sacred.
Cannabis deserves a seat at the table. Not to be the main event—but to be part of the moment. Thoughtfully. Beautifully. Intentionally.
Every time we set out a tray with care or offer a joint with the same ease as a glass of wine, we’re doing more than hosting. We’re participating in a quiet rebellion—one that favors connection over judgment, inclusion over fear. In a world that rushes to divide, creating moments of real welcome is a radical act.
And if we can do that, maybe we make space for a little more empathy too.
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