H. A. Espy – 1954

My grandfather, Harry Albert Espy, has been dead since August 7, 1959.  Even so, about this time every year I think about his birthday.  He was born here in Oysterville on November 5, 1876 which, in his dotage, he confused with 1776 and felt that he and the United States were about the same age.  When I was a very little girl, I didn’t doubt that a bit.  Grandparents seemed very old, indeed.

We all (and by ‘all’ I mean his children and grandchildren) called him Papa.  I was seldom here to celebrate his birthday.  Except for the one memorable year in seventh grade when I attended Ocean Park School, I was in far-away California.  But I remember that every year, right around Halloween time, we put together a package to send to Papa in Oysterville.  Among other things, it always included peanut brittle.

And therein lies the association.  It’s the candy.  Even this morning, all these years later, as I headed for coffee and passed the untouched basket of candy waiting for the trick-or-treaters who never arrived, it was Papa I thought of – not Halloween.

Halloween Witch

Truth to tell, we don’t think much about Halloween these days in the village.  Ten years ago or so, when Rose Driscoll still lived here, she would come around and show off her costume.  Since then… nobody.  Still, we dutifully turn on our porch lights and have our candy at the ready.  We get dark chocolate treats if we can, knowing that they won’t go to waste in this household.

I understand that the Peninsula’s young people now converge on Ilwaco for their Halloween fun.  Last night one FaceBook entry from an Ilwaco friend said that they had counted 600 trick-or-treaters thus far and the evening was yet young!!  An Ocean Park acquaintance told me that his family always heads for Ilwaco early in the evening and then comes back to the Ocean Park Fire Hall for the traditional Halloween Party.  All of which leaves our little village unscathed.

So, here we are, the morning after, with a basket full of trick-or-treat candy, and not a piece of peanut brittle in sight.  I always wondered why Papa was fond only of peanut brittle – not chocolate like the rest of us.  Maybe it was that he knew he’d have most of it to himself – no little girls to be sneaking bits and pieces when he wasn’t looking.