A long time ago, and in a world very different from the modern one, I had a one kilo "pillow" of rollable Vietnamese that we bagged and moved as 35 $10.00 "ounces".
The year was 1969, and we had three of the pillows, and something in excess of 100 of the preroll 10 packs that everyone in the Nam knew all about. How it happened to be sitting in my possession stateside waiting for my brother to discharge is actually a far better story in my mind than the one I'm telling here, but I've looked at it a number of times over the years and still can't figure how to do it justice.
Anyway, did you ever climb up into a tree just to get high there? I mean, that era still seems to me to have been far more spiritual than the present is so I'm not sure how many people the question even makes sense to. And the decision to go that route so often was ceratinly influenced by the fact that my summer work partner and I were an hour drive from anywhere, and even that was nowhere. And though we didn't have many neighbors all we did have were government lifers. In other words, not the kind of people that you would ever want to be yourself in front of.
So a nice, comfortable old growth Pinon Pine as a place of relaxation and reflection actually made more sense than might first seem to be the case. And we needed some place that we could lay out in because, even though we only ever took one joint per night for the two of us, we could never get it together to climb back down safely until out minds had been engulfed by the tree, the forest, the night, the night sky, and our own quiet and inadequate reflections for at least three to four hours. (And strangely every tree was unique.) But, for the doubters, it was the weed that provided the power because when we did have an occasional visitor or two, we'd share the experience, complete with only a single smoke per night, and they would each still be trying to find their way back down an hour our two after we had finally reached a place where we were ready to move on to the beauty of a small campfire.
Strong weed? How many times have you ever seen someone take a hit and go blind? For me, that would be exactly once, and for that particular friend it was obviously once too often. And she took it well enough once her vision returned a couple of hours later. And, yeah, it clearly was a combination of the smoke and the smoker, because she did plenty both before and after that batch, and would have long since quit if the only thing she ever got out of it was loss of eyesight. But, still.
And then there was a party where everyone sort of laughed about it later, but at first not so much. It was days off from the mointain job, and back in the big city, and we stopped in at a place well into the evening where we found some folks all sitting around a giant table socializing with some smokes and drinks. Wanting to add to the night, and without a second thought, we lit a number and passed it, and it was not long after that that everyone had hit it and we noticed that the room had gone quiet. And then the tentative voice asking "fuck, what is this shit", and the observation started to dawn on everyone that three of the folks had literally slipped out of their chairs and we're trying to figure out how they ended up on the floor. But alls well that ends well. When we left a couple of hours later we were three joints lighter, everyone was in great moods, and the answer turned out to be as simple as small hits, long spaces.
So ten bucks a bag? Why not? We had plenty, money supply was a bit up at the end of the summer job, really even at $350 gross, the profut was excellent (I later learned to scale those things a bit more in my favor, but always leaned towards the side of delivering value), and, hey, pot was ten bucks an ounce back then.