The wind kicked up first — sharp and restless, sweeping down First Street like it had someplace to be. Leaves spiraled off the maples, orange and slick on the pavement, and the clouds hung low and gray as river fog. The kind of afternoon that smells like woodsmoke and pumpkin, the kind that hums with energy before the storm hits.
By the time the first wave of trick-or-treaters reached Maple Hall on Halloween the rain came — big, round drops, the size of nickels, splashing off hoods and plastic pumpkins, dotting candy wrappers like confetti. But no one cared. Not the tiny Scooby Doos, not the millions of minions, not the two angels, or the grown-up dinosaur carrying a baby dinosaur, not the bats, the bedazzled Scream masks, the bananas — two of them! The street was alive — a ribbon of color and laughter winding from the marina to Maple Hall, 350-plus strong, kids and parents moving like a current through town.
Merchants leaned in their doorways, baskets brimming, smiles wide, handing out candy by the handful, calling greetings above the wind. The wrappers were tight and dry, rainproofed for this very thing. The pavement gleamed, the shop lights glowed and the rhythm of feet and laughter and rain made its own kind of music — tap, splash, giggle, shout.
Twenty years and counting, this Halloween parade and trick-or-treat march still has the pulse of a small-town heartbeat — fast, warm, unstoppable. The wind howled, the rain fell harder and La Conner just kept going — candy flying, costumes shining, kids laughing loud enough to drown out the storm.
Autumn came wild and sweet on Halloween, and the town danced right through it.
All photos by Nancy K. Crowell
