Amongst the books on the landing lay Charlotte’s Web, our bedtime reading for the summer. We finished it the night before school started. Robin and I wept bitterly when Charlotte died; tired, old, mission completed. And Nathalie looked confused and asked ‘Why are you crying, Mummy?’ I hugged my girls to me on our big bed and finished the book my voice breaking with emotion.
During the holiday, a large black spider with eyes on stalks that could have passed for 2 extra legs set up home in my Belfast sink in the laundry room. I let him stay, loathe to crush him but not brave enough to catch him. I asked Mark to remove the creature, but the request sits amongst other demands and the removal of a sedentary arachnid from a little used sink is not high up the list of family priorities.
It is spider season and as I walk up to the veg patch to see if the tomatoes have ripened I break through long silks spun from bush to bush across the garden path. In previous years, I would have yelped, leaping back in fear, searching my hair and clothes for eight-legged stowaways. This year, Charlotte and a heightened awareness of the dignity of animals makes me bold and instead I catch the radial lines with my hand and swing the spiders and their webs to one side, attaching the radial to a more suitable bush.
As I lay out the bath mat for my shower this morning I disturb another large black stalky eyed spider. It runs to the plug hole and hides. I shiver. Again I am reluctant to crush it and I pick up a beaker and wonder how I can catch it. Mark is downstairs but I feel brave. With the world of the bath tub still and quiet again, it climbs up out of the waste and sits in the bottom of the bath, resting. I slowly move the beaker down over him but the shadow or the movement or some spider sixth sense alerts him and he scrambles, fast as the wind, up the side of the bath towards me. I scream. Jump back. Drop the beaker. Wow! I didn’t know spiders ran that fast.
“Are you alright?” Mark queries from the kitchen.
“Yes,” I shout back, “just catching a spider”.
I don’t ask him to come. I am brave. I approach again. This time wise to the situation. Take aim. Concentrate and then a fast swoop down on the subject. I go in. Bullseye. Our eight-legged friend is trapped beneath the beaker. I find a piece of cardboard on Robin’s desk bring it back to the bathroom, slide it under the beaker and lift the spider to the window. Removing the cardboard I let the spider drop out to the garden below. Twelve feet. Suddenly, I wonder if spiders can survive a twelve foot fall.
Psalm 24:1
Read last month's post: veg patch
