As you'd expect from a writer of witchy fiction, I love Halloween. If it could stretch all the way to springtime, I’d gladly trade Christmas for a few more months of eerie fun and autumnal beauty. There. I’ve said it. Autumn has always been my favourite season—the light is magical, the weather crisp and sometimes mild, and nature puts on a dazzling display of colour, reminding us to seize the moment while we can.
As a child, autumn was a time of traditions: the local September Fair, the ritual trip to Woolworths for new stationery (the only part of school I looked forward to), and the double celebration of Halloween and Bonfire Night. Sparklers, hot dogs gripped by mittened hands, and fireworks lighting up the sky made the season feel full of life. In our house, autumn was also marked by birthdays—my mum, grandmother, and even the family dog were November babies—so the season was one of cake, comfort, and joy.
Happy Halloween
When Halloween arrived, my grandmother would carve a swede lantern for me using a knife so blunt that even butter was a challenge. My witch costume? Well, until my mum got the sewing box out, I wore one fashioned from black bin bags. Boys scrambled for white sheets to dress as ghosts, and those too slow resorted to wrapping themselves in toilet paper and proudly declaring themselves mummies.
But why all this nostalgia? Because I needed to remind myself that Halloween hasn’t always meant buying mountains of plastic decorations. It used to be simpler and way more considerate to nature. This weekend, on a visit to a local garden centre, I was confronted by aisle upon aisle filled with plastic tat. Even the fabric pumpkins had polystyrene innards!
Irony and tragedy
We’ve transformed a celebration of nature’s beauty into yet another reason to pollute it. The irony would be funny if it weren’t so tragic. Microplastics have infiltrated every corner of the Earth, and yet, plastic consumption is on the rise. Walking through those aisles, seeing the Halloween tat vying for space besides the Christmas tat, well, it was all a bit much.
In an attempt to escape the plastic overload, I wandered into the flower department thinking that it's nigh on impossible to be miserable around flowers. But even there, every glorious bunch came wrapped in cellophane. Defeated, I went home.
Honouring the season
Determined to do something to honour the season, I pulled the Halloween decorations from the loft and found an old willow ring I could repurpose. After stripping it down, I spent a peaceful hour crafting a new autumn wreath using ivy, ferns and flowers from my garden. It may not win any prizes, but we honour the seasons with our energy and intention not our Instagram reels. Unlike the plastic wreaths, who will outlive us all, this one will of course wilt and decay and that's just how it should be. Once its time is up, it will return to the earth, leaving no trace behind.
Halloween used to be about creativity, not consumption. As a lifelong environmentalist, it often feels overwhelming to care so much in a world that seems indifferent. But every small act of resistance—even making a wreath—gives me hope.
Maybe this Halloween, we can all take a step back from the shiny plastic and remember that nature’s beauty is the real magic of the season.