Happy Fall, Ya’ll

It’s hard to do Halloween in the South.

In fact, there are many seasonal challenges that I have encountered since moving here from the Midwest 7 years ago. True, the weather is pretty sweet in January when my Northern brethren are shoveling out from the 8th blizzard of the season. And Christmas Eve is a nice night to lounge in a hot tub, but the tropical weather presents some unique obstacles for the successful celebration of Allhallows Eve that continually befuddle me.

All of my Northern Autumnal traditions must be abandoned in 95 degree heat. When I was growing up in the frozen tundra of Michigan in October, we used to plan our costumes around if we could wear a parka above or under them. As a result, no one really knew what your real costume was; it just looked like K-Mart had a special on Eskimo garb. Here, it is much of the same problem, only in reverse: they all look like Baby New Year shed down to their skivvies. If some of the Trick-or-Treaters started out with make-up for their disguise, they all look like Tammy Faye Baker by the time they get to my house.

And there are not too many fall activities we can attend in October. Or at least not that are the same as those of my youth. People wear bikini tops and muscle shirts to football games, and the only haunted houses around are the ones that don’t have air conditioning. Like Christmas trees, pumpkins don't grow naturally here in Florida, so we get gourds from Wisconsin that have been picked in July and sent down just in time to rot in the sun for a couple of months before we buy them. They cost $78,000. Apples are waxed and imported; we have to resort to bobbing for kiwis. Somehow walking through a field of neatly ordered strawberry fields isn’t the same as a corn maze at the cider mill. When we were little, after we’d carved our pumpkins, my Mom would roast the seeds with salt and butter for a warm, toasty treat. My poor children get burnt fruit flies and trichinosis from my efforts.

When we would return home from our candy collecting, a big pot of hot chili would be waiting on the stove to warm the house and our bellies. I still make that meal every Halloween out of culinary nostalgia, but my kids want theirs served over ice cream with a cold compress. It actually goes well with the side of chocolate syrup that their bags of candy have become now exposed to the elements.

The only benefit I can see to a Florida Halloween is that it is quite frightening to live here sometimes. The spiders are as big as houses, and I have seen some pretty scary creatures lying on the beach. After a weekend at Disney World with the little ghouls, or a trip to Home Depot during hurricane season, I am a walking zombie for a month. And Florida politics seem to offer one terrifying trick after another, and so I suppose it is easy to get into the macabre holiday spirit.

And so I will continue to concentrate all of my creative power and maternal powers on making Halloween a fun and memorable day for my children living in the Sunshine State.

Because that’s what good mummies do this time of year even when the climate begs you to become completely unwrapped.

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