No Halloween tricks — weather scary enough

Our neighbor was forced to lower her 10foottall skeleton zombie figure on Saturday, Oct. 26. She was worried the weekend’s unprecedented wind would topple her Halloween decor. Still, we stood on the sidewalk and admired her home’s remarkably spooky theme, complete with faux bubbling cauldrons, glowing gravestones and hundreds of twinkling orange lights. Her house, I mused, might be visible from space.

An hour later, PG&E shut off the power. As I type this, it’s been about 40 hours since we had electricity, and the dimming of the Halloween decorations is the least of anyone’s problems. Friends and family have been evacuated from their homes due to the Kincade Fire north of us. For some of them, this is an all too familiar and traumatic experience. We’re grateful that thus far, our only inconvenience is a warm fridge full of funky food. Still, I’m curious how the local children plan to celebrate Halloween without electricity. When you’re 7 years old and your entire culture has promised one night of free candy, the consequences of climate change and utility company mismanagement mean very little.

I’ve always wanted to live in a Halloweenfriendly neighborhood. My childhood home, now also without power, was never once the recipient of a costumed child in search of sweets. I grew up in what a visiting friend once called “a tree house.” It clings to the steep surface of Mount Tamalpais and requires a genuine hike to reach the front door. No one’s going to venture all the way up there in search of a funsize Snickers.

This Halloween was going to be a big one for us. I’d been assured we’d be charmingly inundated. New neighbors stopped to introduce themselves as I was unloading groceries last week. “I just want to let you know that we get a lot of children on Halloween,” one of them announced, as if she’d been officially dispatched as the one to warn us. “Hundreds. You should get your candy at Costco.”

So we purchased candy at Costco, a store that, as I type this, is one of the few open in our area of northern Marin. Nextdoor, the neighborhoodbased social media site where residents can connect over complaining about one another, has been a source of helpful information throughout the blackout. But there’s been little talk of how we’ll handle Halloween.

The site has a little “Treat Map” widget where people can tag their houses with one of three emoji: a candy corn on a home means it’ll offer sweets to trickortreaters; a turquoise pumpkin image lets folks know that this home will provide allergyfree treats; and a little purple building emoji reveals the spot of a “haunted house.” Presumably, haunted houses are neighbors who’ve created some sort of spooktacular experience on their property and not actual locations of supernatural activity. (Although that is an emoji map in which I would be very interested.) Will these haunted houses be open tonight? Are current conditions spooky enough?

In any event, I have tagged our house as candy corn (I do not yet feel qualified to tackle allergens), and as we ramp up our enthusiasm to participate in the neighborhood’s Halloween activities — with electricity or not — I’m learning new tricks for passing out candy, aside from the obvious “no raisins.” For example, we should not demand kids scream “trick or treat!” at us to receive candy. Children with special needs might be unable or unwilling to speak to costumed strangers. For lots of kids, braving dozens of new homes and new people repeatedly can be overwhelming, even without wildfires and blackouts.

Batterypowered string lights and faux candles will be lit and lined around our front door, both because it’s on theme and because even if the lights come back on, PG&E warns they could go off again. Information from the utility company is as spotty as my current WiFi.

For kids that do brave the wilds of our potentially unlit suburban streets, I want our front door to wordlessly imply “safe, nice people.” Actually, I’d like that to be my yearround decor aesthetic. Perhaps as my child gets older, I’ll lean into a superscary Halloween, with fake blood and guts splattered against my windows like the folks across the street. But for tonight, for this year, when the wind, smoke and uncertainty is enough to scare even the sturdiest grownup, I’ll be a friendly witch with a toothless smile passing out (almost) all of her Skittles.

We don’t need to make things any scarier than they already are.

Braving dozens of new homes can be overwhelming, even without wildfires and blackouts.