I'm glad Halloween is over. Yes, my husband and I spent Halloween this year much as we've done for the last two, with curtains drawn and lights out, hiding in the back of our house where no one could tell we were home.

It's not that we didn't want to see the little ones in their costumes -- the firefighters, witches and princesses parading up and down the street with their little plastic pumpkins. We miss seeing them all. The problem is, we just can't afford to buy enough candy to satisfy everyone.

We realized this the first Halloween we were in our new home, which is in a new subdivision on the outskirts of town. It went something like this: At approximately 6 p.m., vans and SUVs started pulling up in our neighborhood, and trick-or-treaters started spilling out of them. I don't know where these folks lived, but it wasn't within walking distance, apparently.

We had our fair share of youngsters, but recognized none of them. But, hey, at least they were kids. What disturbed us more was that we had adults expecting candy handouts as well. We had several women pushing newborns in strollers, holding pillowcases out and asking for some candy "for the baby." We had grown men. And of course we had high school students who rang the doorbell in street clothes and when we asked where their costume was, said, "I'm dressed as a person."

We even had one couple who sported two giant Hefty-type bags and said they were collecting for their child, who was home sick. I gave them candy, but realized I probably should have given them a box of Thera-Flu packets and sent them on their way. Sadly, those kinds of brilliant thoughts always hit me after the fact. Next year, I thought.

Just as we gave out our last piece of candy, the hundred or so visitors who'd just bombarded us, almost on cue, all loaded up their vans and drove about a mile down the street.

There they all piled out again and began working that end of the neighborhood, moving through the subdivision and cleaning it out like a Snickers-driven plague of locusts.

I don't know how many neighborhood stops it took before their king-sized pillowcases were full, but I'm guessing there were many. And frankly, it was enough to turn even congenial souls like my husband and I into Halloween Grinches.

An hour or so after we were cleaned out of candy, we got another knock on the door, and this time whoever was knocking called out to us by name. When we looked through the peephole to the dark porch, it was our neighbors, who'd brought their children around so we could see their costumes.

Luckily I had stashed some full-sized candy bars in the pantry, so they got an extra large treat from us, which they were thrilled about.

I guess it worked out, but I felt bad running out of regular Halloween candy before 7 p.m. We'd bought plenty, and by the looks of things on our street, some of the neighborhood kids were just getting started.

This story repeated itself again on Year 2, so on Year 3, a decision was made: No more supplying greater Hanford with Halloween candy. No more stuffing pillowcases. No more giving in to high school kids old enough to drive and grown men and women using their stroller-bound babies as fronts for free goodies. We were closing the candy store and heading to the back of the house on Oct. 31.

Of course we still had the neighborhood kids to think about. We have several small children who live next door and across the street from us. We were around when they were born, and now that they're old enough to dress up and enjoy Halloween, we want to enjoy it with them. So I've started baking cupcakes and handing them out the day before Halloween, so they know we care about them and want them to enjoy some seasonal sweets.

But what about the rest of the neighborhood? We have children in the houses around us who trick-or-treat within walking distance of their neighborhoods, who fill a small plastic pumpkin with goodies and then happily return home. Those are the ones we feel worst about, because sadly, we found there just isn't anything left for them once the older teens, the adults, and the drive-by candy convoys sweep through our street and our neighborhood.

So what's the answer? Be patient, apparently, until we're no longer the latest drive-to destination for hundreds of residents from other parts of town.

I've heard it takes a few years, but once new subdivisions go in, the convoys generally move onto them, and leave the older neighborhoods to the locals.

But until then, I'll miss seeing our neighborhood princesses and firefighters.

As for the stroller-pushing women and other grownups who come looking for a free candy handout by nosing in on what should be a children's activity ... them, I don't miss at all.

Diane Sayre is a freelance writer living in Hanford. Her column appears weekly in the Sentinel. Readers can write to her at The Hanford Sentinel, P.O. Box 9, Hanford, CA 93232.

(Nov. 9, 2009)