Maybe it was around the year 2000 that we visited the Field Museum in Chicago and there was a special exhibit on spiders. Spiders, a subgroup of arachnids, are not insects. They have eight legs instead of six and as we all know, they build fascinating webs, using oozy gunk that flows from their bodies like Silly String as they weave their intricate food traps.
The one piece of information that sticks in my mind from that day was a sign that read that on average within - was it six feet? - of where you might be standing at any given time, there is a spider.
Every now and again after we left, I looked closely around me, and sure enough, I could find a tiny living spider in the corner of a room, on a window sill, in the grass or a shrub, hiding under a drain stopper or a leaf, walking on my car windshield or in the straw of a broom. The bigger, fancier ones were not as common, but the drab little house spiders sure got around, and there was always one, minding its own business, within six feet.
The greatest drought (et cetera) ever is finally somewhat on the decline, but its effects are immeasurable. I live in central Louisiana. One casualty in my small world is the spider. I haven't seen one in months now. I did see a few a little over a year ago, and I have a kind of confidence in their tenacity. I'm hoping some of them are riding out these challenging years deep beneath the molding of windows, or under especially thick tree bark that's retained moisture and mites through the dry spell. I'm trusting some have continued to find mates, and to find a stray insect for food, enough to nourish them through a reproductive cycle so that their descendents can provide the foundation for their recovery.
No comments:
Post a Comment