“These brilliant little joints are helping to recontextualize the negative stigma surrounding weed.”

Both are an important part of weed’s medicinal yin-yang. Sativa is the sun, bright and omnipresent, while indica is the moon, deep and present only at night. Hybrids, on the other hand, represent an intrinsic balance between the two, one capable of making everything better all of the time. Something to make everything better was precisely what I needed on a recent morning when plans for a lake trip materialized before my hangover got the better of me. A mere 30 minutes later, barreling down a dirt road in the passenger seat of a blue Ford truck, the sun was hot and the window was down. Perfect time to smoke, I thought, raising the taut little joint into the sunlight. My friend glanced over and laughed, “Is that little thing it?”

As joint packs and single pre-rolls continue to explode due to their accessibility for new users who may not know how to roll a joint (and convenience for those who do), size variation within pre-rolls and joint packs has also evolved considerably. Mini joints are smaller pre-rolls, usually containing under half a gram of flower. Catering to the cannabis user concerned with things like discretion, maintaining productivity, and not falling into a stoned stupor, these brilliant little joints are helping to recontextualize the negative stigma surrounding weed and the people who smoke it. While more and more users turn to this responsible method of consumption, the stereotype of burned-out stoners sucking down comically large joints is becoming a thing of the past. There will always be a time and place for a fattie, but not every situation calls for a mind-numbingly, cough-inducing session that inhibits you from doing much of anything for the rest of the day.

I put the joint back in my bag, annoyed by my friend’s lack of knowledge regarding the market’s budding affinity for slightly smaller joints. The truck jostled over some rocks. Queasy inklings of my impending hangover began to materialize into full-blown nausea. Just as I began to regret everything about this mission, the crest of a dry, golden hill revealed the lake, sparkling blue.

With sun-grown flower and a dedication to sustainability, Sunday Goods has earned a reputation for their innovative approach to high-quality cannabis. From microdose edibles and super chic vapes, they were early on the joint pack craze, and, in my opinion, still offer some of the best on the market. For this review, I only tested the Chemdawg joint from their Delight pack and I’m so glad I did.

“Complex notes of herbs and fresh flowers tasted vibrant and alive.”

The bottom of the lake was sandy and clear in the shallow water. As my friend backed the truck to the shore, I smelled the joint in my hands. A lilting floral aroma uplifted my downer vibe before a finishing kick of diesel snapped me out of it completely. The tailgate came down with a hard metallic clunk. It was time.

On the first hit, a rush of flavor evoking the pristine beauty of nature coursed through my mouth and lungs. Complex notes of herbs and fresh flowers tasted vibrant and alive, rounded out by a pungent streak of dank earth. I blew smoke out of my nose, held it in my mouth, anything to continue a sensation I’ve since described to friends as sipping green tea in a fragrant patch of wildflowers. The immediacy of the high was equally staggering. Within seconds, my mind was activated, my hangover melted away, and my body buzzed with energy.

“You gonna pass that little thing or what?” he asked, hand extended. Despite my series of feverish little hits, it wasn’t even close to halfway gone. Whereas his second attempt at teasing my beloved mini joint would have annoyed the former me, post-Chemdawg me was incapable of experiencing anything other than the delight Sunday Goods had promised. Passing it over, I felt happy, as if the world had shed its dismal veil and was revealing itself to me in its truest and most radiant form.

“We floated up and away from worldly constructions like stress and anxiety, like two balloons vanishing into the atmosphere.”

“Oh shit, that is good,” he said, coughing a little, but not too much. After a few passes back and forth it was done. Not too big to finish alone, but not too small to share either. Alert and upbeat, I could have easily killed it in an interview or meeting with an editor had I not been in the middle of nowhere. I was excited and extremely stoned but not at all stupid, a combination I find to be the holy grail of cannabis highs.

We levitated there on the tailgate for a while, silent then not, feet swinging above calm water lapping the shore. Time felt surreal. We floated up and away from worldly constructions like stress and anxiety, like two balloons vanishing into the atmosphere. Our conversation meandered from the merits and downfalls of legal weed, to his love of keeping bees, then back to the mini joint trend, before ending with a dissection of native and invasive plants within the chaparral biome we central Californians call home.

We ran into the lake naked and swam until the truck looked as small as my problems felt. There in the cold water shimmering beneath the sun, I realized that the joint didn’t just make things better, it made things good. Suspended between sky and water, free from the existential burden that comes with being alive, I was up for anything because there was finally nothing holding me back.