Having recently returned to Southeast Alaska after three weeks in Virginia, I was pleased to see (from a distance, of course) a lovely Alaskan house spider who, with her gracious permission, I have decided to call Bernadette. I’m sure her husband is around somewhere and that he won’t mind being called Bernie. Maybe I should get him some tiny mittens?
I digress.
It would be generous of me to say that Bernadette is about one-third the size of her Virginia relatives, the Bob family. But she is still big enough to ping whatever it is that resides so deep inside the animal brain of so many of my fellow humans. When I know she is in the vicinity, I must at all times know exactly where, and she is not under any circumstances allowed to hang out in my bathtub.
In contemplating the racial memory/archetype that guides all my spider-related behaviors, and thinking of a recent comment by a family friend, I am reminded of a woman named Ann Moreton. Mrs. Moreton owned and curated what is said to have been the only spider museum in the world, which just happened to be in my part or Powhatan, Virginia while I was growing up. I recall her beautiful photographs, art made from abandoned webs, and of course, the pet tarantula named Linda. Apparently, there was a succession of Lindas, one of which I held in my hand. This gentle lady was big enough to span the heel of my hand to the ends of my fingers, although my hand was no doubt smaller then. I did not scream and throw her, although perhaps some patrons did, thus giving rise to the need for a replacement from time to time. I have learned from my in-depth googling that while large spiders have long life spans, they also have fragile abdomens, and that a fall onto a hard surface is often fatal.
Thank you, Mrs. Moreton. You did not put my fear entirely to rest but you did help me practice a bit of respect and self-control.
More about Mrs. Moreton: Here’s an article written in 1982. Her name is spelled wrong in the title, but correctly thereafter.
Mrs. Moreton had a spider club, held monthly for the neighboring children, where we learned, naturally, about spiders. In order to join, one had to be able to spell arachnid.
I forgot about the spelling. I remember one time she showed us how to spray paint and abandoned web, and the capture it on a piece of construction paper. It made beautiful art.