Celebrating Halloween in Yarmouth
I grew up across the street from a cemetery. I played there, climbing and hanging on the wrought iron fence that surrounded it. In the daylight there was no problem, but sometimes, perhaps sitting on the front porch at night gazing across the road into the graveyard, my imagination wandered. O ver the 50 year span my family spent in our Bass River (Lower Village) home, we experienced several ghostly encounters. A door that separated our front den from the "big" living room would open and close on its own. Witnesses were most often dumbfounded, but once and a while a brave soul would invite the invisible to "come on in." Cats, especially sensitive, would jump from a deep sleep to wide-eyed frantic scampering in the opposite direction. One night sitting in the den with my father, the loud sound of clanking glasses rang out from the kitchen. No one else was home. Our eyes met for a moment, and he said to me, "it's one armed Jim Baker making a toast....