retirement

Yard haunting is a relatively new experience for me. For many years, I lived in apartment buildings which had either no yard or one in which Halloween props would have been unwelcome. When I first entered the world of home ownership, my children were very, very young, and very sensitive, and I feared that the presence of menacing creatures lurking outside their front door might traumatize them for life. Sure, I could have gone the route of sugary-sweet Halloween decor: friendly ghosts, cheery monsters and the like . . . but where's the fun in that? So for years, my "yard haunt" consisted of jack-o-lanterns in the window or on the front step, along with the occasional non-threatening scarecrow.

Then, a few years ago, the Halloween stars aligned. I moved into a house with a great front porch, and my children were finally old enough to embrace the creepier side of Halloween (with the possible exception of spiders). It was time.

I started small, and as usual, tried to make something for (almost) nothing. Old costumes were called into action and the backyard shed was emptied of flowerpots, boards and various remnants left behind by the previous owners. But it wasn't enough. I needed more to work with. And then . . . good luck shone down upon me. In September, our region was hit by a Category 2 hurricane.

Among the casualties was a large spruce tree that had dominated our backyard. Down it came and its trunk was carved into stumps. Stumps that simply begged to find new purpose as the bodies of the witches I had been attemping to construct. They were perfect. And they had literally dropped in front of me. A few old cloaks and masks, and the porch witches were born.

(The early years.)

At first, they basked in the new-found attention, sitting proudly on their bench, grinning skeletally at passers-by, occasionally posing for photographs. With each passing year, they were joined by other . . . creatures. But they remained a haunt focal point. A tradition.

The haunt eventually grew off the porch and into the front yard and began to include more polished, more elaborate, and yes, better props. Still, the venerable old witches remained. Inevitably, comments like "Great witch!" gave way to "Oh yeah, those witches are there every year." It was becoming clear that the witches' glory days had faded and perhaps it was time for them to move on. While I certainly appreciate the importance of tradition, sometimes you just need to let go.

And so it is with mixed emotions that I send the porch witches off into a forced retirement, the first victims of my plan to build this year's haunt around a unifying theme (obviously not witches) and to introduce some fresh blood, figuratively of course. Retirement, however, need not be a permanent state. One day, in the grand tradition of Cher and Celine Dion, the porch witches may indeed return for a comeback performance.

(The witches in their off-season and now their retirement home.)