As I sit and wait for the next installment of wit in the War of the Words that I find myself in a battle that I am only half equipped to engage in (kudos if you got that), indulge me if you will as I attempt to again shed light on my position regarding recreational marijuana and our fair metropolis. In deference to my learned opposition, I will use the number that has been advanced by them, of 66 percent or two-thirds of you fine folks are high right now. Stoned out of your gourd and still contributing to our economy and our society, here in our little hamlet. Calling that number 1,000 (I, too, was stoned that day in math class, and need to make it simple), to those beloved folks, who I love dearly, I continue to offer rehab, unabashedly, unashamedly, unequivocally. In the beauty to be found around Haines, the artsy, quirky individuals who inhabit our community, the art to be found on our main avenue, our vistas unparalleled from Cordova to Ketchikan, even the bear that ate my dumpster (no, I wasn’t high – it really happened): These all are adequate reasons to be entranced by our locale. Seriously, though, who is out there saying, “Wow! This recreational marijuana high makes the northern lights so much better”? Pot isn’t needed to love Haines – you can see it better sober. Disclaimer: No scriptures were harmed in the writing of this letter. Go to our Facebook page and give us a “like.”

Lt. Dave Kyle

Haines Salvation Army