Some Spider

When I was a kid, I loved Charlotte’s Web. Thinking about Charlotte’s sacrifice for Wilbur still makes me a little teary. And in the past, I have gone to great lengths to avoid breaking an intricate spider web while on hikes in the woods.

But not in our back yard.

Our little yard in El Cerrito is a frequent gathering space for cats, squirrels, raccoons, ants, hummingbirds, and some of the largest spiders I have ever seen. Brown-speckled, hairy, crab-like spiders who spin some of the largest webs I’ve ever seen… or not seen as I often walk right into their cotton-candy stickiness. Every morning on my way to the compost bin out back I run into spider webs that stretch impossibly far from the tree, across the concrete steps, to the bushes along the side of the yard. These are usually chest high for me, so after a few times of running into them, I learned to look before I pass, and unhook the web on one side. The spider usually falls, but then quickly shimmies up the other side of her web. The first few times I destroyed her web, I felt bad. But then I noticed that she would always re erect her web by the next morning. The spider as Sisyphus. Every night she spins her web and every morning it is ripped down.

I was thinking about this today while I ran around completing various household tasks during Sam’s morning nap. Wash the dishes. Put a load of laundry in the washing machine. Take out the trash. Feed the cat. Pick up the toys. Housework has always struck me as a somewhat Sisyphean task. Some part of my brain always believes that once I get the house clean, it will be done, and I won’t have to do it again. I suspect that the delusion helps get me through the work. But of course that boulder always falls back down the mountain, and there I am again, washing the same dishes that I’ve washed a thousand times before.

So as I walked out back with the compost, I thought of the spider as a kindred spirit, or maybe a totem. Here I was about to destroy her web once again. I resolved to be gentle in my dismantling… but then I looked, and– no web. I didn’t see anything in my path. I proceeded up the concrete steps and then wham! got a face full of twisty, sticky white webby stuff. In my glasses! And in my hair! Blargh!

While I was philosophizing, my Charlotte had reasoned that she should move her web higher. Either that or she spun an extra large one in order to trap me.

Damn spiders.