Friday, August 20, 2021

Scare Spider

How does my garden grow? I can’t really tell because my garden is being guarded by a Scare Spider and I can’t/won’t get close enough to see.

This is the scary fellow:

Object in photo is MUCH LARGER
than he appears here.

He set up housekeeping next to my one and only basil plant a couple of weeks ago. Since he was bigger than me, I conceded the basil and went on about my gardening, always keeping a watchful eye out. Day after day he stayed in the same spot, on the same web and I thought we had reached an understanding. Or what I hoped was an understanding—he wouldn’t jump on me and I wouldn’t bother him. Or harvest any basil. Or at least not the basil that was closest to his web—but if I juuuust reached my hand up and under and gently, oh-so-gently picked only the leaves farthest from the monster arachnid...slowly, slowly...all would be well. And we could both have some basil. Win/win. Or so I thought.

Then one day I went into the garden and he was gone. The only thing scarier than being confronted by a giant spider is being confronted by a giant spider’s EMPTY SPIDER WEB.

Immediately everything felt creepy-crawly, my skin got all twitchy, and itchy, and I was sure I felt something in my hair. How on earth could I ever summon the courage to reach my hand into the hidden depths of a zucchini plant WHEN I DIDN’T KNOW WHERE THE SCARY GIANT SPIDER WAS????

Several days went by, and I gave the garden a wide berth. Zucchini went unharvested. Peas hung neglected on the vine. I don’t know how the carrots were doing because the zucchini had covered them. Good luck carrots, you’re on your own.

Finally, Mark agreed to come help harvest the veggies. He promised to keep an eye peeled for the slightest signs of a sneak attack, and to keep watch for any movement near my hair. I piled his arms full of veggies—all the while making jokes about needing a flame thrower, just in case. 

I don’t know enough about spider predators to know if I can relax-- because the empty web signifies that something ate him—or if the empty web means he’s a predator spider and he’s somewhere, spinning a giant web and planning on dining all winter on an unwary gardener...


Mark's Veggie Self Portrait


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