Trick-or-Treating on the Res.

When we first moved here - no, maybe even when we first came here to look for a place to live - one of the first things our neighbors told us was this: prepare well for Halloween.  The trick-or-treaters come here in flocks.  The reason for this was, supposedly, that the houses out on the reservation are very spread out.  Obediently, Ben and I stocked up on otter pop-type goodies by the hundreds and waited for the predicted onslaught.  Two days ago, on the eve of candy collecting night, I got to see for myself, why the little teacher housing loop, with houses right next to and across from one another, was so popular.

Helping Mom with the Halloween treats

I was being led to the house of a friend of mine, whom I hadn't gotten the chance to visit before.  About a mile from the freeway exit, the road was no longer paved and smaller dirt roads appeared frequently on either side of it.  We turned off on one of these, which was uneven and muddy from the recent snowfall.  The Elders who serve here have told us stories about getting their truck hopelessly stuck while driving form house to house.  I began to understand how that was very, very possible.

After about thirty yards, the road forked - not a ninety-degree angle, geometrical fork, as I'm accustomed to, but a very narrow fork, so much so that, as we veered to the right, I half-expected the left road to re-merge with us.  It didn't.  And thirty yards later, it forked again.  And thirty yards later, yet another split.  If I hadn't been following someone who knew the way, I would easily have gotten lost.  On the way back home, I finally put the pieces together, realizing that so many kids flock to the teacher housing neighborhood, not just because the houses on the reservation are far apart, but because they're each on their own little road.

Personally, I found it charming in a way I can't exactly describe, but I see why it's not exactly conducive to door-to-door trick-or-treating.  All evening, Ben and I got to enjoy the parade of costumes as something like three hundred kids knocked at our door.