Strings of pumpkin lights are appearing in windows, tombstones are springing up on front lawns, and kids are planning what to be. Halloween is almost here.

My first Halloween in Evanston, in the fall of 1961, I was in fifth grade. We'd just moved here. I was miserably homesick for my old neighborhood and friends. I only went to my new school's Halloween party because I loved my costume. It was a glorious, golden, lion suit, with a plumed tail, and a mask with a curly yellow mane.

Miller School greeted Halloween with a huge bonfire. I'm sure the fire would be forbidden today. Too dangerous and probably polluting. But it was a night I'll never forget. The night was cold, and extra dark and windy like Halloween usually is. Sparks from the fire shot up into the air. Logs snapped. Masks glowed in the firelight; witches, and ghosts, dolls and dragons, all pressing against each other to get closer to the flames. There was a costume contest too, and I won the prize for best store-bought costume.

I don't know if I really had the best costume, or if my wise teacher intervened to make a child happy. If that's what happened Mrs.Kirchoff, thank you, wherever you are. Because that night I started to accept my new home. That night was a beginning for me, the beginning of a new year, just like Halloween used to be -- bonfire and all -- way back when it was called something else, in another place and time.

Halloween used to be called Samhain, an old Gaelic word for the month of November, or summer's end. Meanings, spelling, and pronunciation vary but the tradition is clear, at least as much as anything from six centuries ago can be. The ancient Celts celebrated Samhain more like New Years Eve, although without the champagne and noisemakers. It was a time of demarcation, a divider between the past and the future, the light half and the dark half of the year. It was a time to gather in the last harvest, make peace with what had already happened, and to receive messages from the dead.

That's where the ghosts came in. They didn't used to be scary. They were spirits of departed loved ones. The Celts believed the veil that separated the spirit world from our own was at it's thinnest around Halloween. That was the time when it was easiest to see the future, and for the spirits of the dead to actually visit the living. If you were lucky, the dead spoke to you. It was the Christian Church that turned their visits into spookings.

To this day, much of what we do at Halloween comes from the way the Celts celebrated Samhain. Lighting candles inside pumpkins comes from lighting your ancestors' way to your door. (Of course there were no pumpkins in Ireland, so the candle was probably stuck in a turnip.) Giving out candy comes from leaving out food and drink for the hungry ancestors. As for the wearing of costumes, the origins are more mysterious. People have been putting on masks since the beginning of time. Who knows why we dress up like animals, or something we are not? Perhaps we're giving ourselves traits we wish we had, hoping to learn something from the identity we temporarily assume. Perhaps I dressed like a lion because I wanted the lion's courage. Perhaps the Celts dressed like spirits so the spirits could more easily find them.

I'm not saying you should hollow out a turnip, spread a supper on your porch, and sit in the living room with a sheet over your head, instead of taking the kids trick-or-treating. But I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to think about that bonfire at Miller School, how the lion gave me courage, and what I may face in the coming months. I'm going to set out an apple and a glass of milk. Leave a white candle burning on my doorstep. And pay attention to my dreams.

Who knows? Maybe more than one type of visitor will drop in, on Halloween night.