Ann Arbor — This city has its quirks, but prior to Covid-19, there was no shortage of family activities for my three young children. We have beautiful parks, nature areas, museums, restaurants, and indoor play centers.
The hardest part of planning any day was deciding which activity we wanted to do and making sure it didn’t overlap with nap time.
I recall many mornings downtown, the smell of Zingerman’s wafting through the air as we walked to the Hands On Museum. Sadly, that scent has been replaced by the pungent stench of marijuana, and many of our favorite childhood hangouts have slowly become pot stores.
In 2018, Michigan voted to legalize marijuana. The first recreational dispensaries opened in 2019, just before Covid.
We didn’t know it then, but not only would our state be shut down and slowly reopened over the next year, but that among other cultural changes, Michigan would rebrand as a dystopian weed farm.
One of the many hidden consequences of lockdowns was a rapid influx of cash to growers and a quick proliferation of dispensaries.
Soon, they would be on every corner, often cleverly disguised as bakeries or restaurants in former gyms, play centers, and office spaces. Clever billboards began popping up between Tree City USA, featuring alluring neon candy edibles
“Mommy, what’s Kushy Punch?” was my first wakeup call.
Sometime in the post-Covid era on a drive to school, my 8-year-old noticed the first hot-pink bubblegum billboard on the way to school. I wasn’t prepared for the question, so I told him I would look into it.
Their curiosity didn’t fade until finally, at the very young ages of 8, 6, and 4, I had to explain to them that it was marijuana, a plant that is used as a drug to make people feel silly, but it’s only fun for adults.
I didn’t realize that would be the first of many conversations as our city and state slowly became infested with dispensaries and billboards.
One afternoon after swim practice, we decided to check out a new bakery on Stadium Boulevard. It was Cookie Monster blue with eyes on the side and named “Cookies.”
I approached the door with three excited, slightly wet children in tow. It was strange that we couldn’t see inside. It was also odd they didn’t seem to have a lot of business. It wasn’t until I got to the door that I realized this was another cleverly disguised pot store.
Embarrassed, I told the kids it was not really a bakery, and we left. I wish I could say that was the last time we made that mistake.
Pretty much any new establishment should be assumed to be a pot shop unless it’s confirmed otherwise. They never tell you they are a pot shop, you have to drive right up to the door.
When “Butter” replaced one of our favorite former indoor play centers around the corner, I fell for it again, texting my new neighbors if they had heard anything about the new restaurant opening around the corner.
We excitedly pulled up the menu, only to find… vapes, pot, gummies, CBD oil, and other pot products. We should have known. But how could we?
There is no universal sign or signal that alerts consumers of a pot store.
My kids have experienced pot saturation in Michigan for long enough that they no longer expect new bakeries or candy stores. Just last week, on a drive back from Yost, my 9-year-old daughter noticed “The Cake Store.”
The excitement and prospect of a yummy treat has been replaced with skepticism: “Is that actually a bakery or just another weed store?”
It’s a bittersweet reminder of what we had—innocence and hope. Small businesses and bakeries have become a distant memory shrouded in nostalgia. She may never remember Pure Michigan and life before the rampant weed.
On road trips, we are reminded the pot rebrand is not just unique to Ann Arbor. Personal injury lawyer billboards are now matched by ads for Sky Mint and Jars.
Crossing into Michigan from Ohio, you’re immediately greeted by billboards for pot before the shock of the first pothole wears off.
Alcohol and tobacco advertising are extremely regulated. When was the last time you saw an ad for cigarettes on I-94? We need to treat the pot industry with the same scrutiny, limiting the constant exposure, especially to children.
Michigan’s new stench actually makes me miss the days when everything smelled like cigarette smoke. We can’t go anywhere without smelling “skunk.” There are “skunks” everywhere, especially indoors.
On more than one occasion, we have left a restaurant due to the overwhelming stench. If you are reading this and you partake, please change your clothes and shower before going out in public. You smell.
Young children do not need a contact buzz off your presence.
A more disturbing aspect of Michiuana is the increase of use in young adults. The Michigan Department of Health and Human Services reports almost 40% of high school students have used marijuana.
Last spring, Detroit Public Schools noted a significant increase in the number of hospitalizations due to edible use in children. This isn’t a surprise, as many of the products are deceptively packaged to look like candy.
Why are we allowing Michigan to rebrand as a seedy, hazy marijuana capital of the Midwest? We used to create things, not just get high off them.
It’s not that I’m opposed to the decriminalization of marijuana, but I’m certainly opposed to the deceptive marketing, glamorization of pot, and rebrand of Pure Michigan.
I want more for the state. We’re hardworking, innovative, and family friendly. We the right combination of grit and class to keep the rest of the world guessing what we’ll do next.
Anna Hoffman is a hockey mom of three living in Ann Arbor. Follow her on X @shoesonplease.
