My neighborhood, a grid-based streetcar suburb, certainly scores high on walkability, with excellent Halloween door density. But I think there’s even more potential for Halloween to be something that makes people feel part of a community—part of something bigger than themselves. The beauty of Halloween night as a community event is that it’s completely distributed; there’s no coordination or group collaboration required. You can participate or not, but the more people in close proximity who do, the more vibrant the street feels, and the more you crave that feeling all year round.It's emergent, and it's emergent moreso when you don't have those helicopter parents cruising along the street while their spawn ring the doorbells. (My practice is to offer to toss a few fun-sizes to the parents along for the walk. Those in their motorcars? I can't throw that far any more.)
I absolutely love going out with my kids on Halloween night: The quick exclamations of “hi! bye!” as you pass families you know, going in different directions. The surprise and delight of seeing a great costume and realizing you know the kid inside it. Younger kids wearing costumes their older siblings had worn in previous years, and older ones out without a parent for the first time. The friends and neighbors who prepare extra special treats for the kids they know. The magic of a mild October night, the grin-and-bear-it commiseration of a windy or snowy one.There's a hard freeze and snow flurries in the forecast for Cold Spring Shops. For all that talk of climate change, there have been more than a few snowy Hallowe'ens of late. Headquarters is on a street that's heavily into blinging the houses out, and there might be more kids on the prowl incidental to looking at the decor.
We’ve got a neighbor a few doors down, who, for the better part of two decades, has created a massive, one-night-only Halloween extravaganza in his front yard. It’s so big that he takes the day off work to set it all up. He’s got decorations in the boulevard tree, in his second-floor windows, and on every inch of the front yard. Animatronic, inflatable, motion-activated, you name it, he’s got it. And he sits on his front steps to give out candy, reveling in the throngs of trick-or-treaters who are drawn to his home, having spotted the lights and crowd from a block away. A couple of doors down from him, there’s a church. They, too, get in on the fun, typically having a bonfire and giving out hot chocolate and candy from the churchyard.Thanks to planned use zoning, there's no church on the street, although there are two or three along the section road nearby. Trick or treating, though, tests your neighborhood's robustness in a traditional way.
When asked about his mindset transformation, Michel says that as he was becoming more involved in the neighborhood, and seeing it through a Strong Towns lens, he began to realize that Halloween wasn’t really about the candy, as he’d previously believed.Possibly. To encourage trick or treating presupposes a minimal level of comity among the neighbors.
Now he could see that opening one’s doors to any and all strangers who showed up was really the ultimate act of neighborliness and hospitality. What’s the first thing you do when someone comes to your home? You welcome them warmly and offer them something to eat or drink. Around the world, hospitality looks like some variation of that. So, Halloween is like a neighborhood-wide expression of low-stakes, high-yield hospitality.
Thus concludeth our October posts. Perhaps there will be an after-action report once the candy is distributed, and the seasonal music rotation goes from Hallowe'en to Christmas.







