To Catch a Weed Faerie

These are not Weed Faeries. (See more Freedom Rally photos here.)

Is it true that every time you hear a bowl spark, a weed faerie gets her wings? That's one thing I hoped to learn when I headed out to the MassCann Freedom Rally this past Saturday afternoon. I was on a mission: to track down the fabled Boston Weed Faerie and observe her in her natural habitat. But this turned out to be no easy feat.

I first stumbled across the Weed Faerie - a/k/a Miss Merry Munchie - on Facebook. Her profile pic shows her wearing a huge crown of pot leaves, while her vague bio heralds her as "the friendly weed faerie of the greater Boston area." On Saturday, Merry posted that she would be at the Freedom Rally: "Can't wait to see everyone!" That was all I needed - I set off on my search with a pure heart and an open mind.

But alas, it seemed that nobody I questioned through the haze of smoke circulating throughout Boston Common had ever heard of Merry. Curiously, though, every last one agreed that, yes, she was probably real. The first person I queried, Tabby Cyr (who was in the company of a life-size, walking, talking Gumby), speculated that the faerie would look like "a huge stoner," with "dreadlocks, and covered in Rasta colors." Wings? Yes, definitely. "She'd have huge white wings . . . and lots of sparkles," said Greenpeace volunteer Grace Weise, after some thought. Where would a weed faerie hang out? "She'd probably be in the trees, wouldn't she?" said Frank Capone, a member of MassCann's board of directors. "She's a mystical being. . . . Like, oh, all of a sudden there's weed in my bowl!"

Andre, an eccentric older gentleman decked out in a homemade jacket covered in buttons and pins, took a break from posing for photos to weigh in. I asked him if he knew the Boston Weed Faerie. "Jesus?" he said. No, no, the Weed Faerie. "Ah, haven't met him yet."

As the afternoon wore on, and the trail grew colder, my faith began to waver. "I have nothing to say about weed faeries," a cop said, refusing to meet my eyes. I suspected he knew more than he was letting on, but I dropped it before things got ugly. Then I stumbled upon Lilith Astaroth, singer of local doom-metal band Sorrowseed . . . and close personal friend of the Weed Faerie! Or so she claimed. "She's adorable," Astaroth said. "Spreading sweetness and joy." Sounds nice, but where was she? Astaroth didn't know.

But suddenly, through a gap in the crowd, I spotted her! Just a flash of her gossamer wings, as she flitted across the Common. I took off in hot, desperate pursuit. But she was so spritely! So nimble! I feared I would lose her, my clumsy human gait far too slow to catch up. But she paused at a table (even faeries like swag) and I grabbed her. She turned and blinked at me, and my heart fell. She didn't look like the Merry of Facebook.

"I am Queen of the Faeries," she told me haughtily. Did she know Merry Munchie? "I haven't seen this faerie around," the queen said. "But she must have a garment made of all leaves of the cannabis plant. I bet she would be hiding in dark, shadowy corners, too." Is that where faeries usually are? "Yes, where they can make their own light," she said, twitching her wings. If not even the Queen of the Faeries had met Merry, I doubted I ever would. I don't know if the Boston Weed Faerie is just the stuff of myths and giant bong hits, but I'd still like to think she exists, appearing only to those who truly believe.


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