Halloween in our part of Madison County, North Carolina, came with its own set of traditions, and none of them required much money. Mama had four children to get ready, two boys and two girls, and she managed to turn us into a collection of ghosts, hobos, and witches with an old tin of makeup and whatever clothes she could find around the house. Store-bought costumes were out of the question, so Mama became our costume department, makeup artist, and chief Halloween organizer.

I can still picture the four of us sitting around while Mama worked on our faces, each waiting to see what she would come up with. An old shirt, a pair of worn trousers, and a little makeup could turn a child into almost anything. We thought we looked wonderful, and that was all the approval we needed.

Our trick-or-treating equipment was equally sophisticated. We took pillowcases from home, the same ones we slept on, and carried them along the road through the holler. Those pillowcases held a surprising amount of candy, although candy wasn’t always what came home with us.

Most neighbors gave us whatever sweets they could afford, and we were happy with Tootsie Rolls and hard candy. One particular visit, however, gave us something we hadn’t expected. A gentleman answered his door and explained that he couldn’t afford to buy Halloween candy. We were ready to move along when he went back inside and returned with potatoes. He gave each of us one. There we were, four costumed children out trick-or-treating, carrying potatoes in our pillowcases. It might sound like an unusual Halloween haul, but nobody in our family was going to turn down food. Another neighbor gave us cans of corn and beans, which meant our Halloween collection was beginning to resemble a grocery order.

We didn’t think much about the circumstances behind those gifts at the time. We were children, and a Halloween adventure was a Halloween adventure. The adults in our community understood that some families had very little to spare, and people helped one another in whatever ways they could. Those neighbors gave us what they had, and their generosity has stayed with me far longer than the candy ever could.

The older boys in our holler had another Halloween tradition, one that probably wouldn’t have earned them any community service awards. Whenever Halloween fell on a school night, some of them would sneak out and cut trees across the road. The school bus couldn’t get through, the driver would turn around, and the children got an unexpected holiday. I doubt the school administration considered this an acceptable form of civic participation, although the children certainly appreciated the effort. Mountain mischief had its own rewards.

Getting home was only half the fun, because Granny had her own Halloween entertainment waiting for us. After we returned from our rounds, she would settle in and start telling ghost stories. She knew tales about mountain haints, restless spirits, and creatures that supposedly wandered the Blue Ridge. The Phantom Hiker was among them, a figure said to roam the trails searching for his lost way. Then there was the Demon Dog of Valle Crucis, with its red eyes and terrifying growl. Granny could make a story sound convincing enough to send a child checking the dark corners of the room.

I loved those stories, even when I was scared out of my wits. Granny never needed television, special effects, or a book of scary stories. She had a lifetime of mountain folklore to draw from, and she knew how to keep her grandchildren listening. Those evenings helped spark my own interest in Appalachian legends, an interest I still have today.

Halloween in the 1960s and 1970s was a different experience from what many children enjoy today. Organized trunk-or-treat events and neighborhood celebrations have replaced much of the old-fashioned door-to-door adventure in many places. I understand the appeal of keeping children in one supervised location, although I am glad I experienced those long walks between mountain homes, never knowing whether the next neighbor would offer candy, a can of vegetables, or something else entirely.

We certainly didn’t have everything other children might have had, and our family had to make the most of what was available. Mama never let a lack of money spoil a holiday, our neighbors shared what they could, and Granny made sure Halloween ended with a few good ghost stories. Between the homemade costumes, the pillowcases full of surprises, and the boys who occasionally managed to cancel school, we had plenty to talk about.

I have written about Appalachian folklore for years, and I suppose some of that interest began with those evenings at Granny’s house. Still, when I think of Halloween, the first images that come to mind aren’t the legendary creatures or the candy. I see Mama working on our costumes, my brothers and sister getting ready, and four children heading down a dirt road with pillowcases under their arms. Somewhere in that collection of memories is a gentleman handing out potatoes because he couldn’t afford candy, and a group of older boys who apparently believed cutting down a tree was a perfectly reasonable way to get out of school. That was Halloween in our holler, and I wouldn’t trade those memories for all the store-bought costumes and candy in the world.

-Tim Carmichael