They’re everywhere! They’re everywhere! In what seems an appropriate time and place, I love to ramble off this line, in a high-pitched, cartoon-character voice. As my husband remembers at sometime, someplace we lived had a TV commercial with a “Chicken Man” who was…everywhere, everywhere! His memory for such things is far better than mine. I only remember the line and the many times I’ve used it.

In early spring, hordes of tiny hatchlings appear. We leave most of them be, knowing the good they ultimately do and their place in the greater scheme of things. Some, however, we cannot abide — those who always take over the mailbox, set up camp in my husband’s workshop, rally ’round the back door. In those cases, it’s all-out warfare: them against us. No contest — there’s always more of “them” than “us.”

One winter, I decided to abide a spider which had taken up residence in a small hole in a wall of our living room. I figured it was only one small spider — what harm could it possibly do? All went well for some months… Then, near spring, I was cleaning the room in anticipation of the arrival of members of my book club that afternoon for a regular meeting. On inspection of one of our skylights (which happened to be situated right above a couch), I discovered a HUGE hatch of tiny baby spiderlings. Trying to be helpful, my husband said he’d gladly take care of them. “NO!” I cried, not wanting chaos when the women arrived, as not all of them care for spiders, babies or not. “We’ll wait until after the meeting.” And so, that is what we did. We found a way to humanely get rid of them, and while I did feel a bit sad for doing that, my amicable feeling for that lone spider in the hole had disappeared and I shooed it away, also. While I love and respect spiders, I have no desire to share my home with them!

Gluing down one end of a silken strand, spiders crawl, rappel, or float on the breeze to an often-distant site — spinning from their own body as they go — to firmly attach the other end. Other supporting strands are tacked down to twigs, leaves, or what-have-you. First, a framework of scaffolding upon which to work. Then, the interweaving of connecting lines, one delicate strand at a time. When complete, it is an intricate work of art, especially enchanting when sparkling with morning dew or fresh drops of rain.

The spider’s occupation is “Webmaster,” and she does it well. The future of her kind depends on it; she must have insect protein to produce her eggs. Routinely, she checks her web. If it is damaged, she repairs it – over and over again. If it is destroyed, she will often eat it (ultimate recycling?), spinning another as many times as she needs to. Each week I used to descend a hill to change the message on a reader board. Without fail, I would find webs attached to the sign that I could not help but destroy as I opened it. Week after week the webs were back in the same place. It is not easy to discourage a spider!

Oh, that I might be as diligent in my life’s work…

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Thanks so much for your interest and your support.