When I was a child, Halloween meant one thing: candy. For my mother, it meant a chance to dress up her kids. When I was about four or five, she crafted matching Raggedy Ann and Andy costumes for me and my brother. We proudly carried those bright orange plastic pumpkins which never in a million years would hold all the candy we dreamed of collecting.
As I got older, I wanted to embrace the dark side of Halloween and dress up as a ghoul. My mother was not inclined to allow that. She preferred the cute costumes over the macabre, so my childhood remained filled with princesses and clowns, rather than ghosts and goblins.
It wasn’t until I became an adult that I got to dive into the eerie side of Halloween. For years, I threw elaborate parties with all manner of baked treats and food. And my costume of choice? Most often, a zombie. I loved finding ways to create makeup that looked real. One year I helped my son with his zombie makeup. Upon seeing him, a friend asked if he’d been in some kind of accident.
Halloween is different in Sweden. It exists, but not in the all-consuming way that it does in the states. It was a shock to me that there wasn’t really any trick-or-treating here, but it wasn’t too much of a disappointment. By the time I moved to Sweden, my youngest was in seventh grade and had already experienced trick-or-treating a great many times, so it didn’t feel as if its lack was a dealbreaker.
In the US it is an extravaganza. People dress in elaborate costumes and neighborhoods are decked out in cobwebs and giant spiders, glowing pumpkins, and spooky decor. Families plan for weeks for the big night.
When it finally arrives, October 31, you can feel the sense of anticipation in the air. In many states, kids start going door to door as the sun barely dips its last rays below the horizon. The sound of laughter, entreaties of “trick-or-treat” and even occasional screams fill the night air. Halloweens are candy-fueled and chaotic nights full of community bonding.
Autumn in the states usually brings its own sense of magic. Color palettes of oranges and browns, sweater weather, hot chocolate with marshmallows, and pumpkin spice with everything. The chill in the air is enough to remind you that winter is coming, but overall the experience is one of coziness.
Here in Skellefteå, we experience the darkness and winter creeping around the edges of our fall days. With the lack of commercialization of the holiday, it's far easier to connect with the origins of Halloween here.
Some Christian Swedes celebrate All Saints Day, often over a weekend. I’ve seen many a cemetery during these dark months lit up with candles, honoring the dead. It is another way to embrace the dark season. There is a stillness to it that is so different from the high-energy rush of Halloween in the states. The silence and reflection are a new way marking the season that feels connected to something perhaps deeper.
Of course, I’m still going to throw my parties, carve up pumpkins, make pumpkin pie, eat lots of chocolate and watch spooky movies. But now those things are tempered by the differences here.
As an expat, you quickly learn that traditions are not static. They evolve as we do, shaped by our experiences, the people who surround us, and the places we live. I can still have the noise of Halloween, even as I’ve gained something quieter. In the end, the heart of any holiday is about connection.
This is a column and the views are the author's own.