Historically, spiders and I have never gotten along all that well. This despite the fact that spiders have been portrayed rather well, for the most part, in children's literature. I mean, Charlotte's Web was (as was probably also the case for millions of children) one of my favourite books, growing up.
But actual spiders, now, that's always been a different story. One of my earliest memories is of watching a gigantic (okay, so it was probably only twice the size of a quarter, but we're dealing with childhood eyes, here) spider build its web in one of the tires of the van that sat in my parents' driveway. Thinking about it still makes me shudder. During my last year in Victoria, I lived for a few months in a basement apartment. Lesson: do NOT live in a basement apartment in British Columbia if you have a dislike of spiders. Seriously, folks: the emotional distress simply isn't worth it.
Today, though, brought me a different kind of spider story.
Today I did some yardwork. It's part of the daily routine now, with the advent of this insta-summer weather. (Where did spring go, again? Washed away by all the downpour?) I water the wee little trees, make sure that the perennials haven't yet wasted away, and generally putter around in the sun for an hour or two in order to get my fix of vitamin D. Today I also spent a good chunk of time raking grass. When you live on a seven acre farm, there's lots of grass. Lots of grass, and lots of blisters. Fun times. Anyway, while raking up another load of grass this afternoon, and dumping said load into the bonfire pile, I found a rather substantial black spider in the bottom of my wheelbarrow. This one was DEFINITELY bigger than two quarters. It was also trying to climb out of the bottom of the wheelbarrow, and not having any success.
Understand--my toes curl when I see spiders. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they frighten me, though you won't ever catch me watching Arachnophobia of my own free will, but they do make me intensely uncomfortable. I'd just rather not be where they are. Yes, I know that you can't go six feet without encountering a spider. I understand that they're everywhere. I'd just, you know, be perfectly happy if I lived the rest of my life and never saw another one.
But today, for some reason, something inside me went all warm and fuzzy when I saw that spider in the wheelbarrow. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the fact that it was trying so gosh darned hard to get out of that wheelbarrow. Maybe it was the recognition that the outdoors is definitely not my domain, and therefore I was on Ms. Charlotte's turf. I don't know. But I found myself reaching for the spider. And what do you know, suddenly it was in my hands, scrambling about (I was wearing gardening gloves -- this was not an outright conversion, folks, never fear), and then I placed it on the ground, and watched it scuttle away.
All I could think about was how tiny it was, in the grand scheme of things, and how very big indeed the world must seem by comparison. I usually feel that way. And suddenly I felt all protective of and hopeful for it--a spider--and caught myself blessing every one of its long black legs as it sped away in the grass.
How bizarre. But today, nonetheless, I rejoiced in the fact that I'm so small, and the world so huge, and sooner or later, if we work hard enough, something happens to show us the way. And I have a little black spider to thank for it, oddly enough.
But actual spiders, now, that's always been a different story. One of my earliest memories is of watching a gigantic (okay, so it was probably only twice the size of a quarter, but we're dealing with childhood eyes, here) spider build its web in one of the tires of the van that sat in my parents' driveway. Thinking about it still makes me shudder. During my last year in Victoria, I lived for a few months in a basement apartment. Lesson: do NOT live in a basement apartment in British Columbia if you have a dislike of spiders. Seriously, folks: the emotional distress simply isn't worth it.
Today, though, brought me a different kind of spider story.
Today I did some yardwork. It's part of the daily routine now, with the advent of this insta-summer weather. (Where did spring go, again? Washed away by all the downpour?) I water the wee little trees, make sure that the perennials haven't yet wasted away, and generally putter around in the sun for an hour or two in order to get my fix of vitamin D. Today I also spent a good chunk of time raking grass. When you live on a seven acre farm, there's lots of grass. Lots of grass, and lots of blisters. Fun times. Anyway, while raking up another load of grass this afternoon, and dumping said load into the bonfire pile, I found a rather substantial black spider in the bottom of my wheelbarrow. This one was DEFINITELY bigger than two quarters. It was also trying to climb out of the bottom of the wheelbarrow, and not having any success.
Understand--my toes curl when I see spiders. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they frighten me, though you won't ever catch me watching Arachnophobia of my own free will, but they do make me intensely uncomfortable. I'd just rather not be where they are. Yes, I know that you can't go six feet without encountering a spider. I understand that they're everywhere. I'd just, you know, be perfectly happy if I lived the rest of my life and never saw another one.
But today, for some reason, something inside me went all warm and fuzzy when I saw that spider in the wheelbarrow. I don't know what it was. Maybe it was the fact that it was trying so gosh darned hard to get out of that wheelbarrow. Maybe it was the recognition that the outdoors is definitely not my domain, and therefore I was on Ms. Charlotte's turf. I don't know. But I found myself reaching for the spider. And what do you know, suddenly it was in my hands, scrambling about (I was wearing gardening gloves -- this was not an outright conversion, folks, never fear), and then I placed it on the ground, and watched it scuttle away.
All I could think about was how tiny it was, in the grand scheme of things, and how very big indeed the world must seem by comparison. I usually feel that way. And suddenly I felt all protective of and hopeful for it--a spider--and caught myself blessing every one of its long black legs as it sped away in the grass.
How bizarre. But today, nonetheless, I rejoiced in the fact that I'm so small, and the world so huge, and sooner or later, if we work hard enough, something happens to show us the way. And I have a little black spider to thank for it, oddly enough.
This is the most horrifying post. I literally flinched when I read you reached for the spider. What the hell is wrong with you?! Rejoice with medication and/or chips my friend! Leave the spiders to die.
ReplyDeleteH.