Recently I was getting ready for a trip from the sleek, modern metropolis of Craig, Alaska, to the wilds of central Virginia. My sister Laura always stops by my little cottage before I come to make sure no possums have moved in, and this time she said casually, “Oh, by the way, there is a spider in your bathtub. I tried to catch it, but it ran down the drain.” I asked if it were a large spider. “Oh, no,” said my sister. “Its legs are very slender.”
I thought no more about this shy, slender creature until my first night when I decided to take a shower. Squatting malignantly in my shower was, by my lights, a very large spider. Its legs were indeed slenderer than some, but it was big enough to easily span the drain with its delicate extremities. It gave no sign of going anywhere, even down the drain (which would have comforted me not a bit).
What did I do? Modern woman that I am, I shouted for my husband. He stuck his head in the bathroom, and said, “let’s call him Bob.” Now, please understand, I had no intention of killing this spider, or allowing anyone else to. It’s a complicated pathology, my attitude towards spiders, but my goal in life was to cover Bob with a large clear glass container (so I could see what he was doing), slide a piece of stiff carboard under the container, and with Bob thus contained I would rush to the door and fling him into the bushes. My husband suggested we wait until morning, because if the operation went south, Bob would be running all over the house all night, totally unsupervised. Then, he took a large coffee cup, placed it upside down over Bob, and assured me that he would be just fine until morning.
I fretted that poor Bob might die in the ensuing hours, from dehydration, asphyxiation, or simple despair, but he survived the night with no ill effects. (My sister explained to me that spiders can go dormant whenever conditions warrant.) Anyway, I know that Bob was fine, because in the early hours I slid the cardboard under the cup, made sure no tiny spider feet had gotten trapped, and flung him with great energy out the front door. I saw where he landed, and within a few minutes he had disappeared.
I told Laura about this adventure, and that I was keeping an eye on the bathtub in case Bob’s wife might still be hanging around, in which case I would quickly relocate her using the method I have described here. Laura told me about visiting the cottage when my father was living there. She had found a spider much larger than Bob on the bookshelf near my Dad’s chair, quickly relocated it with the cup-and-cardboard method, and returned the next day to find it sitting on the chair. She also expressed the opinion that both Bob and this other spider were probably females.
We tried to imagine such experiences from a lady spider’s point of view. I can just see Bob looking around at where she has been so rudely flung, and muttering “dammit, not again.” Then she resets the pedometer app on her tiny cell phone and starts the long trek back home.
I like that your spiders became people with long legs. That is because I connect with them as sister spinners and weavers.
In my thinking all spiders can be traced back to Arachne, the human who challenged Athena to a contest in weaving, and won. She gained a beating with a shuttle by Anthena and was turned into a spider. This seems like enough hardship to me. Why I ask myself, did Athena not ask for tips or adopt Arachne as a daughter or sister? A number of goddesses including Minerva and Ariadne were associated with weaving. Minerava was Etruscan. She was also a poet and believed to be able to look forward and plan for the future.
That soft spot in my heart for my kin, Arachne is touched when I see all but the most vicious and deadly of arachnids, of which there are almost none in my environment. Thank you for your gentle treatment of your spiders. They are sure to be related to Ariadne who was able to find her way out of the maze through the use of a ball of red thread which allowed her to retrace her steps.
I have always loved the story of Arachne, and wondering myself at Athena’s bad behavior. Thanks for your thoughts!
Excellent piece, Ev. I have a similar relationship with spiders. There’s one that loves on my bathroom most winters. We call them all Boris. (Boris the spider, get it? And I sing to him to boot).
Theres often a big orb spider that spins her web between the upright column of my back porch and the wall of the house. I watch her with great interest every time I see her out there either dismantling or responding her delicate web.
I’m of the opinion that spiders get big because they eat little things that are *actually* problem critters ( like ticks and the big bouncy flies that give me anxiety with their buzzy flight). So yeah, if Boris and his siblings want to be the guardians of my house, I’m happy to song to them up in the corners of the ceilng.
Hmmm, Boris the spider is familiar. . .I must google. When I was directing a community theater version of Charlotte’s Web, a web spinner showed up in my dining room and stayed throughout the run. I called her “Dear Nellie.”
Great story. I laughed for 5 minutes.
And laughter is good for the soul!
That is hysterical. Remember the giant wood spiders all names Alice
Oh, indeed I do. I think they were first cousins to Bob and his missus.
Bob visited my bathtub recently, and came back three days in a row.
Good times!
I am not sure that all of your readers will understand that we are all lucky enough to share the distinction of being original members of the Arachnid Society. What is the spider population like in Alaska. Bob, as Laura said, likely a Bobbie or Bobette and, you said, recently here in Powhatan, this time of year she may be a Wolf Spider- made to look even larger by all of the babies on her back. I even scared the Southside Electric man by insisting that one establishing a home from her offspring in my basement must be scoped up (your method) and put outside instead of the horror of killing her. Not sure I would let Ann Moreton know but will kill a black widow unless she is strictly minding her own business and would kill a Brown Recluse if I ever saw one. Love hearing about old times and your life “up there.” Betty
Hi, Betty, and thanks for weighing in! Best wishes to you. Evelyn.