In Defense of Spiders

     I like spiders.

    There, I said it.  I have spider jewelry and spider plushies.  I am a spider fan.

 

    The statement usually earns me a variety of reactions, ranging from puzzled looks to outright alarm.  Most of my students, in particular, tend to respond with shrieks, dramatic leaps backward, and urgent announcements that there is a spider somewhere within a fifty-foot radius.  It never fails.  A tiny spider the size of a raisin can reduce an otherwise sensible person into a flailing dance of terror. 

    Meanwhile, I am usually trying to rescue the poor creature before it gets squashed.

    I understand where the fear comes from.  Spiders have eight legs, multiple eyes, and a tendency to appear unexpectedly.  They emerge from dark corners, descend silently from ceilings, and occasionally materialize in places where no creature should reasonably appear.  When you walk into my tack room, and suddenly notice a large spider sitting motionless in a web just inches from your face, your heart may pound dramatically.

    Spiders know how to make an entrance.

    Yet, despite their eerie reputation, most spiders are far more interested in catching insects than interacting with humans.  In the Pacific Northwest, we are fortunate to have relatively few spiders that pose any real danger.  The infamous black widow with the red hourglass belly is the species that gets mentioned most often.  It certainly deserves respect, but even black widows are not the aggressive monsters depicted in horror movies.  They generally bite only when they, or their offspring are threatened, or if they are accidentally pressed against human skin. I have never seen one.

    The spiders I see most often are harmless neighbors sharing space in barns, sheds and houses.  They spend their lives quietly going about their business, constructing elaborate traps and hunting pests while asking nothing in return.

    Spiders are often described as creepy.

    However, take a moment to consider the fact that they can produce silk stronger than steel by weight.  They create intricate webs that glisten with dew in the morning like jeweled lace.  They can feel vibrations through those strands, and instantly determine whether an insect, a leaf, or a potential mate has arrived.

    Evan stranger, some spiders do not bother with webs at all.

    Wolf spiders roam the ground at night, hunting on foot.  They carry dozens of babies on their backs, creating one of nature's most unsettling forms of public transportation.  If you accidentally startle a mother wolf spider, what first appears to be one spider can suddenly become dozens.

    That image may haunt your dreams.

    Then there are jumping spiders, my personal favorites.

    Unlike many spiders, jumping spiders are cute.  (I think so.)  Their large forward facing eyes give them a surprisingly expressive appearance.  They seem curious rather than sinister.  Instead of waiting in webs, they stalk their prey like tiny cats, carefully measuring distance before launching themselves through the air with astonishing precision.  One will turn and appear to look directly at you, tilting its head as if trying to figure out what sort of giant creature has invaded its world.  They seem intelligent.  Probably they are.

    My granddaughter knows how much I enjoy them, and she once offered to get me a jumping spider as a pet.  I confess I was tempted.  A tiny spider living in a terrarium sounds considerably easier to care for than some of the horses I have known.  But jumping spiders only live for one or two years.  I am reluctant to get attached to a critter that will cross the rainbow bridge so soon when I am emotionally involved.

    Despite their reputation spiders perform vital services wherever they live.  Every day they capture enormous numbers of insects.  Without predators such as spiders, insect populations would increase dramatically.  Gardens, forests, fields, and barns would all be far less pleasant places.  

    A few days ago a student alerted me that a brilliant, iridescent yellow spider  with a small, jagged black stripe, was sitting on top of a pole.  I found it beautiful.  I smiled and gave it a wave of my hand.  Then, the unexpected happened:  the spider lifted its front legs and waved right back.  I stood there, completely captivated.  Normally, an encounter with a spider goes one of two ways:  they either scurry wildly into the nearest dark crevice, or they freeze in terror.  This little one did not leave.  It held its ground, keeping it's attention locked on me.  In that quiet arena, it truly felt like we were connecting.

    Probably, when I waved, tiny eyes focused on my hand, felt waves in the air, and processed a creature thousands of times its size with pure curiosity rather than panic.  Its wave was a lovely, instinctual acknowledgement of my presence.

    I exited the arena feeling a deep sense of gratitude for the encounter, and I left my bright yellow friend behind to return to its patrol of the arena.

    Walk into almost any barn and you will find spiders tucked into corners, stretched across rafters, or hiding near lights.  While students are busy yelling about them, spiders are diligently working the night shift.  They capture mosquitoes, gnats, moths, and countless flies.  Every insect trapped in a web is one less pest buzzing around a horse's eyes, biting sensitive skin, or causing irritation, even infection.

    In many ways, spiders are among the most underappreciated barn workers.  

    They never ask for feed.  They never need hoof trimming.  They never require veterinary care.  They work around the clock, rarely take a day off, and expect no recognition for their efforts.  

    Plus, if horses have four legs to create more stability than our meager two, consider how much more solid an eight legged mount would be.  I have my fantasies.

    So, the next time you spot a spider in the barn, perhaps pause before sounding the alarm.

    Look closely at its web.  Notice the remarkable engineering.  Consider the tiny predator waiting patiently for its next meal.  Yes, it many be a little creepy- only a little.

    Beneath that spooky appearance is a hardworking ally.

    And while everyone else is screaming, that spider is busy helping the horses by eliminating flies - and charming me.