The doorbell rang. Baxter barked. He jumped off the den sofa and ran through the living room, barkingbarkingbarking. I followed, hoping the kids ringing the bell weren’t afraid of large dogs.
The bell kept ringing. It was Halloween. Baxter kept barking. He’s my late niece’s dog; homed and loved by my brother and sister-in-law. I’m staying at their house and dog-sitting for a few days. It’s the first Halloween I’ve experienced in the States since 1989.
I tried shushing Baxter. Didn’t work. I tried opening the door so that he couldn’t reach the screen door to nose it open. I never managed. Every trick-or-treater got a face full of happy dog and a handful of candy. If any seemed alarmed to see the big black-lab mix, I said, “Don’t mind him—he’s just a ghost.” The parents at the bottom of the porch steps, just out of lamplight would laugh. A kid or two laughed. One boy said, “Can I pet him?” He sure could! As I closed the door, the boy’s parents said, “Good job, Cody.”
In the spring of 1990, I moved to Switzerland. By the end of October, Markus and I were settled in our first apartment in Kaiserstuhl and several weeks shy of having our first baby. The stores didn’t put out Halloween displays. They didn’t sell bags of bite-sized candies. I couldn’t even find pumpkins to buy. On October 31st, a Harvest Moon rose on a small Swiss town devoid of trick-or-treaters.
Fast forward ten years. We were living in small town west of Paris. Halloween decorations appeared in the big grocery stores along with bags of bite-sized candy. Here’s something new, I thought.
While standing in a grocery store line, I overheard the man in front of me say to the checkout clerk, “What’s going on with the skeletons and winter squash with faces?” The clerk shrugged. “It’s Halloween,” she said. The man said, “Halloween? What do we want with Halloween? We don’t need Americans exporting their holidays!” Of course. Introducing modern-day Halloween to Europe is a money grab by local vendors selling candy, costumes, and decorations. Not much to do with us. And what missing from the transition is the meaning behind the customs of the traditions. I told the man, “We’re not exporting our traditions. You’re importing a selling opportunity.”
Meanwhile, I had a bag of candy in my shopping cart. My kids anticipated Halloween with excitement. Their school was playing up Halloween’s arrival in France. My three had no plans to go trick-or-treating, but their classmates were talking about going, and we wanted to make their visits to our house memorable. We planned to peel several bunches of grapes and cook up a packet of spaghetti. In one bowl, we’d hide treats under the grapes. In another, we’d hide them under the cold spaghetti. Kids ringing at our door were to put on blindfolds and reach in one or the other bowl for their treats—and my three would tell them one bowl held eyeballs and the other worms. My kids loved the idea!
We hit a snag though. Our first French Halloween fell on a Sunday. And we got kids in costumes ringing our bell on Saturday—when we weren’t yet prepared for them. They told us that the Catholic priests were telling them they’d be committing a sin by trick-or-treating on a Sunday. They were allowed to do so on Saturday or Monday only. We got only a handful of trick-or-treaters on Halloween. Lots more came on Monday. What a memorable introduction to Halloween European style!
Thanks for reading!
You can check out my latest publication, “From a Swiss Moraine,” at the wonderful Emerge Literary Journal. While you’re on the journal’s site, pop onto other featured works, fiction and poetry. You’ll enjoy your visit!
You can also find me on BlueSky: @meredithwadley.bsky.social
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