My Grandpa smoked a pipe. One of those deep bowled ones with the silver covers on it. He stuffed every damned kind of herbage in the planet in it, "Jist tae see how it smoked".
There were times that going for a walk with Grandpa was like following a smouldering compost heap

He was incredibly mellow one Summer though; a bit odd because though he was a really clever man he could be a thrawn old blighter. Anyway, my youngest Uncle came home from University, and watched his faither wandering around the garden and then said to my Granny, "Why are we growing cannabis, Mother ?", "Are we, son", replied my rather bemused Grandmother.
In those days the hemp seed for the budgie wasn't irradiated, the budgie's cage was cleaned out regularly, and the compost heap had sprouted it. In his usual fashion the Grandpa had stuffed some of the greenery in his pipe, just to see how it smoked

If I mind correctly he liked mugwort and coltsfoot, and before anyone decries the old blighter, he lived until his late nineties, with all his marbles intact.
M