Spiders terrified me. Even the skinny little harmless ones that were prolific in my mother's otherwise spotless condo. One of my chores was dusting the chrome and glass tables and I came upon these aberrations of nature way too often. When Bubble Yum was rumored to contain spider eggs it was enough to make me switch to Trident and leave my bubble blowing days behind. As an adult I mentioned my arachnophobia to a friend and he ever so helpfully informed me that we have at least one spider within 5 feet of us at all times. I should have been reassured. I'd made it through 33 years without any of these omnipresent creatures crawling into my ear and laying eggs, or administering a bite filled with flesh-eating poison. Instead I was more freaked out than ever. In my defense I lived in Maryland, and there were local horror stories of nasty Brown Recluse spider bites that I don't believe were urban legends.
To the best of my knowledge there are no harmful spiders indigenous to Maine. A few may sneak in with produce from time to time, but not often enough to induce panic or worse yet reproduce and set up camp. I would have moved to Maine much sooner had I known about that key selling point. However, I still had a visceral reaction to spiders. Until I learned a song. The wise woman that I wrote about yesterday taught me a song and part of the refrain was:
We are the flow
We are the ebb
We are the Weaver
and we are the web.
Over the next few days I'd walk down the beach where the water meets the sand and I'd sing that song to myself. It resonnated deeply within me. About the rhythm of life and how we are what controls the tides in many ways. About how we alone have the power to design our lives and we alone live in what we create. Just like a spider.
Not long after I found one in the garden next to my house. She had spun a flawless orb web between two Day Lily stalks. Her body was about 3/4 of an inch in diameter and her colors were slightly menacing. I was nervous around her but felt compelled to visit her every day. Her web was always perfect and she sat (if you can call what spiders do as sitting) in the center of the home she had created for herself. About a month had gone by before one day I went to check in on her and she was gone. She never returned, and I missed my daily visits with her. In that time I grew not only to love her and the beauty she created but to appreciate all spiders. At least the local ones...I don't think I'd be overly fond of the dinner plate sized spiders in the Amazon.
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