I view pipe smoking as one of the greatest celebrations available to us. It is a celebration of life, an exultation of the beautiful moments with friends and family, a jubilant shout that will not allow us to forget that being happy is a goal beyond value.

In March of this year, I traveled to Weston, Missouri, to celebrate my the birthday of my closest friend, Jesse. Weston is a small city, located just a short drive from Kansas City, and is home to the oldest whiskey distillery west of the Mississippi. Also located in Weston is a fantastic micro-brewery and a vineyard.

Jesse’s lady, Alicia, had contacted me months earlier to start planning his birthday, since Jesse is a man who works many long hours and rarely gets time to relax and simply enjoy life. Then again, he works at a brewery, so I don’t have too much sympathy for his whinging. Despite all of the plans, some of the best moments were those that were unplanned and unhurried.

When I arrived in Weston after a late night’s drive, I was the first of the guests to have shown up. It was late and no lights were on on the street except for those in Jesse’s house. I got inside and could barely contain my excitement to give my friend the present that I had picked out carefully and meticulously. I passed Jesse the small green bag and watched, giddy, as Jesse slowly unveiled what waited inside. Giving presents is honestly better to me than receiving them, because I get to give part of myself in physical form and provide someone that I care about with a reason to be happy.

The rusticated Peterson with a bent P-lip fit perfectly in Jesse’s hands, though his jaw instantly dropped. I am sure that he was exaggerating his reaction, as most friends do, but the joy was genuinely apparent in his face and the giant bear hug that he gave me afterwards — next to Jesse, I look like a lethargic three year old standing next to the Hulk.

One of the greatest joys about being a pipe smoker is the community and connection that you have with fellow members. Due to the fact that there are so few of us around, we instantly create strong and powerful bonds around our briar. With Jesse, we already had a strong friendship before pipes ever entered my life, so this simply became a strengthening factor.

For the rest of the evening, which was not too long given the hour, Jesse barely let the Peterson out of his hand, leaving me terribly satisfied.

Saturday morning, I woke up to join Alicia and Jesse in going to the store to buy fresh vegetables and eggs for omelets. After we got home, I packed my black sandblasted Rubens Rhodesian II with the re-release of Balkan Sobranie and filled my cup with strong, black coffee. Truthfully, this was the first time that I had ever started my day with an English and it really illuminated why every blend containing the words “Morning”, “Early”, or “First Pipe” always include Latakia.

A short while later, the next member of our party arrived: Patrick, also known as Patch. Patch is another member of our group of friends from the St. Louis Renaissance Faire who always walks around with smile on his face that cannot help but be adopted by everyone around him. The previous Summer, this same group of friends had traveled to the Bristol Renaissance Faire, where Patch had picked up his very first pipe and tobacco. Since that time, he had become a full-fledged Brother of the Briar and brought along his newly acquired pipe.

Since I was still enjoying my coffee and pipe, Patch loaded up his pipe with an aromatic blend that he bought from a local tobacconist, while Jesse sat down across from me and “borrowed” some of my Balkan Sobranie for his clay pipe. The next couple of hours were simply beautiful, with friends who live hours away from each other united by genuine affection and pipes.

“All right, boys!” Alicia barked with a smile. “Let’s go do something.” I knew that Alicia had a plan for where we would go, so I threw on my shoes, grabbed my pipes (just in case), and headed out.

After a short walk past the distillery and brewery, we ended up in Weston’s downtown area. A few turns later, we were standing in front of Weston Tobacco. I had been to a number of tobacconists, but I have to say that this place was really fantastic.

First of all, the place is still family run by a father and son. When I walked in, the one gentleman working was behind the counter hand rolling cigars. The establishment had a modern yet rustic simplicity, with brick walls, antique desks, and shelving units made of bare metal. Even with this, the building was full of necessary comforts: there was lounge in the back with a television and leather couches, while the front of the house had a number of chairs in front of another TV, this one playing the new Star Trek movie, which made me a very happy geek.

I started looking around as soon as I walked in and was informed by Jesse that Weston Tobacconist had recently, partly due to his prodding, decided to add more pipes and pipe tobaccos to their offerings. The offerings in terms of pipes were still minimal, but it made me extremely happy to know that some tobacconists are working against the trend of eliminating pipes in favor of cigars.

For a while, I watched the owner rolling cigars, an art which I hope will never be lost, because it truly was a hypnotizing process. Once a few customers walked in, he hopped out of his seat and helped them select their cigar from the offerings found all around.

In the mean time, Jesse, Alicia, Patch, and I all gathered around the high table and stools, pulled out our pipes, and relaxed. Jesse had brought along his Peterson and looked as happy as could be. Before long, the owner had joined us once more to talk and ask a question: “What kind of beer do you all like more: lagers or stouts?”

I couldn’t help but answer the latter, but I was slightly perplexed as to why he asked. A minute later, he reappeared from the back of the store with four beers in hand, one for each of us. “Put that away,” he smiled at me when he saw me reaching for my wallet. Grateful and truly touched by the gesture, I happily sipped from both the bottle and my pipe, talking with my friends about nothing and everything, while Kirk worked to defeat the Romulan renegades.

Truthfully, I was reluctant to leave. Soon, however, we had all changed and were enjoying a delicious meal of lamb, Ouzo, and gyros. We laughed loudly, danced, ate and drank our fill, and loved life.

The rest of evening consisted of even more friends joining us, including Jon, affectionately known as “Ogre”, because of his height. Jon had brought along his pipe, too, so more celebration was in order. After Ogre arrived, the festivities included, but were certainly not limited to, many bowlfuls of tobacco, some people trying snuff for the first time (highly entertaining), and singing Les Miserables over glasses of bourbon, vodka, micro-brewed beer, and homemade moonshine.

The trip down to Weston was short, but very sweet. There was a lot of laughter, probably more drinks than were needed, great food, close friends, and many, many pipes. While I truly love smoking a pipe, it is nothing compared to smoking a pipe with your closest friends who share your enjoyment of the experience.