I HAVE suddenly found myself involved in a very unlikely relationship. It started about a month and a half ago, just about the time our hot summer days shifted to more moderate temperatures and our family began to enjoy the out-of-doors again.
I was sweeping off the front stoop and doing a little tidying around the house when I met her for the first time. She was also busy at work, which, I think, was one reason I was so taken with her.
Under the eaves, just above my head, a garden spider was spinning the most beautiful, most perfect circular web I’d ever seen. This was no cobweb. It was at least two feet across, with rings upon rings of spiraled silk, not one rip or tear to be seen. But I probably wouldn’t have even noticed it, if it weren’t for her distinctively large, black and gold body delicately making her way clockwise around the web.
With my broom in hand, of course my first instinct was to use it. But watching her work so precisely and so fervently, swaying with her web in the gentle breeze, captured my attention for a moment or two and… well, it was just too marvelous to touch.
I decided she would stay.
My children, Grace, 7; Hattie, 5; and Will, nearly 2; agreed. We made a promise to her that day: As long as she stayed outside, we’d let her be — and we’d even help her with supper by turning on the front porch light in the evenings after the sun went down.
Since then, she’s become a fixture outside our front door, keeping our fly count down and charming us with her skills. We named her Corky (before we knew she was a “she”) and Daddy received very strict orders not to bother her.
We check her throughout the day and have made mini-science lessons out of the opportunity.
Much of the time she’s just hanging upside-down, on top of what we’ve learned is the stabilimentum, a zig-zag pattern of silk in the center of her web in which, according to our research, some people claim to see written messages. We haven’t yet, but we still think she knows we’re watching her, or perhaps that we are her friends, because she seems to like our attention. From eight-legged acrobats to her remarkable ability to hold on in wind and rain, I’m certain she knows we are a captive audience. And when she really wants our applause she will delight us with her ability to capture, wrap and consume a grasshopper, a moth or even a praying mantis twice her size.
In addition to her stout work ethic, I can’t help but admire her tidiness. Some mornings her web looks like she hosted a block party over night. But hours later it’s back in shape, each row returning to perfect proportion and width.
We were all very comfortable with Corky taking up residence on our front stoop and have even come to love her in a way, until one morning last week…
The kids went out to greet her like they do each day before school. But on this morning, Corky had an extra special surprise waiting for them to discover.
“Mommy, mommy!!” I heard the girls shrieking with excitement. “Corky made a gold sac!! Come and look!”
I guess in the midst of the warm-fuzzies we’ve felt for this spider over the past several weeks, I forgot to consider what all this work was really for — her babies! Up to 1,400 of them, we learned after the whole discovery called for a lesson on the reproductive habits of the garden spider.
I can handle one pretty spider spinning outside my front door. But 1,400?!
It was an ethical dilemma of gargantuan proportions. Do we evict her just because of her babies? (Not very politically correct, I thought.) Or, do we let her stay to finish what she started?
After deliberating with my jury of three, who reminded me of the promise we made to her six weeks ago, it was clear that none of us was ready to say good-bye to our friend, even if it meant welcoming 1,400 of her children to our front porch in the coming months.
I guess we’ll worry about that then. Because Corky will be gone soon, long before her babies arrive next spring, and I’m afraid explaining to my own children why their new friend and her beautiful web has suddenly disappeared from our front porch is going to take quite a bit more time and compassion than a simple science lesson will be capable of.
But before she finally bids us farewell this fall, we want Corky to know how much we will miss her when that time finally comes. So, borrowing words from one very famous spider, Charlotte A. Cavatica, we say to Corky, “Even though you are just a spider, ‘You have been my friend.’”
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Posted by madpoet (anonymous) on October 10, 2008 at 1:42 p.m. (Suggest removal)
We have garden spiders at our place too. We really like them and have never seen one inside the house. My 3 year old son is enthralled with the one that took up residence by his sandbox a month ago. She's enough out of his way that she's mostly safe from flailing shovels etc. Don't worry about scads of babies, they seem to disperse pretty quickly and you'll be left with just a couple on your porch. We've had to explain how some things don't live very long to our son. All the dead grasshoppers lately have brought this up. I don't know if he understood my explanation or just gave up on it for now.
Posted by create (anonymous) on October 10, 2008 at 2:59 p.m. (Suggest removal)
Awwwwwwww.
Posted by mythoughts (anonymous) on October 10, 2008 at 3:30 p.m. (Suggest removal)
eeeeeewwwwwwwww
Posted by tillie (anonymous) on October 10, 2008 at 3:32 p.m. (Suggest removal)
Oh my goodness; I'm blinking back TEARS! :) What a glorious story!!!
Posted by hottopics (anonymous) on October 11, 2008 at 11:01 p.m. (Suggest removal)
I think it is absolutely wonder that you took the time and the compassion to take in mother nature at its finest. It is so easy in our busy lives to forget to stop and well, watch the spiders on their terms.
We had the opportunity to watch a butterfly emerge from its cocoon. To witness a birth of nature. Within 15 minutes the wings were dry and exercised. In a instant it took off into the daylight.
So the phrase, "Stop and Smell the Flowers", can be a reminder to appreciate what mother nature provides.......LIFE!!!!
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