My thermometer read -8 yesterday evening, but it felt colder. Fog rolled in through the door every time we opened it for trick-or-treaters, and we had frost building up on the screws around the doorknob. We couldn’t shovel wood into the stove fast enough, and going out to pee (between visits from kids) was a dread chore. Looking at it now, online, I see that the airport recorded -29 degrees, so I guess I need a new thermometer for the house.
Halloween is a little different around here.
There’s a knock on the door, and you open it. Maybe you’re expecting a witch or a zombie, but instead there’s a cloud of freezing fog and child in winter gear, fully covered from head to toe to keep out the frostbite ducks under your arm. In most places, trick-or-treaters come in costume. Here, they just can’t. You close the door behind them.
In Arctic Village, instead of handing over the treats and sending the trick-or-treaters on their way, Geoff and I greet them by name and invite them in to warm up. Kids whip off their gloves and gravitate to the wood-stove, where the pink gradually recedes from their cheeks. Warm, they start looking around.
Somewhere in there, I’ve passed out home-made chocolate chip cookies (which I probably wouldn’t even try in a different community) so when the kids start wandering, they shed crumbs everywhere they go. They poke around and ask questions (is that your garden? What’s in there? Can I taste it? Whose bed is that? What’s making that big cloud behind your house? Can I have some cookie dough?).
Eventually, the adult driving the four-wheeler or sno-go to pull the sled for them makes it clear that it’s time to go, and they suit up, pulling on hats, neckwarmers and gloves and shoveling candy back into their bags from where it’s spilled, inevitably, all over the floor.
“I don’t like green onions, but that spicy stuff [cilantro] is goooooood” said N. “Can we come over and help cut meat again sometime? And make dinner with your garden?”
“Can I have some more cookie dough?” K, looking hopeful, reached for the spoon.
“You’ve been here twice tonight. You can’t double trick-or-treat!”
She left happy, again.