Reluctant Widow Mother
Arachnosquire
- Joined
- Aug 24, 2021
- Messages
- 70
The other night I led a somewhat disorganized expedition to acquire light-painting pics for my photography class and—if the stars aligned—save a lovely black widow living under a picnic table on a public trail.
I first noticed the spider during a night walk in early September with my neighbor, Bran, but was too tired to do anything about it. Since then, I've looked for her every time I've passed the picnic table, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Black widows are active at night and retreat to hiding places during the day. I figured she was either dead or had a 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 good hiding spot. Mostly, I suspected the former, or I'd have tried to rescue her sooner.
Even so, in my mind's eye, I could envision a child being bitten or an adult squishing her. In this particular case, I wouldn't have blamed the spider killer. This black beauty was in a dangerous place for both herself 𝑎𝑛𝑑 humans. In my mind, I promised her that if an opportunity arose, I'd save both her and any humans who happened to sit at that table.
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𝗠𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗘𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿
Last week, I learned how a poorly placed hidey-hole can lead to the death of a wild animal. I found what I thought was a tarantula molt sticking partway out of a burrow. It was in a really bad location on the left side of the trail. I made plans to return and relocate the half-grown spider.
I took pics of the "molt" and the burrow, but after consulting experts on an arachnid forum (that would be you guys), I learned the supposed "molt" was, in fact, a dead tarantula.
There's no telling what killed it. It could have been anything from a failed molt to a 𝑃𝑒𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑑 wasp to an ignorant human who doesn't understand spiders play an important role in the ecosystem.
Regardless, 'E wadn't pinin'! 'E'd passed on! E'd ceased to be! 'E'd expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E was a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!!
𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝘅-𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗹𝗮.
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𝗛𝗮𝗹𝗳-𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗹𝗮 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄 (𝐴𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑠).
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𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰. 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.
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𝐏𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚 (𝐴𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑠).
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𝑃𝑒𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑑 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐩 (𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐤): 𝑃𝑒𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑝.
I didn't want the same thing to happen to the widow under the table, so I packed equipment for capturing and containing her. Later in the day, I read on the Internet that black widows aren't active in temperatures under 70 degrees, so when we headed down the trail, I left the heaviest—and most crucial—piece of equipment in my trunk: the jar. I mean, what were the odds she was still there and had evaded my gaze? Pretty low. Also, it was below 70 degrees. Surely, she wouldn't be there.
So, a fellow student, her mother, Cosmo the dog, Bran and I trudged down the trail. When we reached the location of my first "study widow," I was both elated and annoyed to see that Shelob of Cirith Ungol was just fine. I was glad the spider was present and healthy, but annoyed I'd left the jar in the trunk. Darn. I briefly considered returning to claim it, but decided the odds were very much against seeing the widow under the table, let alone catching it. After all, it was under 70 degrees and the temperature was dropping.
We moved on to the Widow of White Crack. When I said the location name, Bran (predictably) laughed: "White crack?" he asked.
"Yeah, I know," I said, remembering how my brother had also laughed.
But hey, if you remove illicit drugs from the equation, it would be a cool name. There's literally a white crack in a dark rock. Maybe I should call her "The Widow of White Cleft" instead? Then again, someone with his / her mind in the gutter would have a field day with that one, too. Maybe I need to rethink the name entirely? If you have a suggestion, I'm all ears.
Anyway, there's a 𝑛𝑒𝑤 spider in that location. She's smaller than the last one, but THICC. She either had a huge meal or is ready to introduce about 150 new spiders into the world.
I thought of my jar,
Way back in the car.
It was so very far:
As far as a star,
To someone whose feet felt as if they were in tar
To someone whose back is just one great big scar.
So, we moved on.
When we arrived at the second picnic table, I was both elated and annoyed to see my rescue widow, present and healthy, with a large, gorgeous red hourglass on her abdomen. Ah, nuts!
Well, chances were I couldn't catch her, anyway—not without some kind of bait. I removed a bug scooper from my fanny pack, positioned myself beneath the spider, and in one quick motion, captured her quickly and neatly. I'd never captured a widow on my very first try before. I was both elated and annoyed.
I turned to Bran. After all, he's young; I'm not. Also, his back isn't completely messed up. "Hey, Bran?" I said. "Would you like to earn some money?" I hoped a little bit of money was good enough because I'm pretty sure he isn't a fan of black widows. But he is a good sport! He returned with the jar.
I was able to contain her while we did our homework. This morning, I put her into an enclosure. I hope you enjoy the photos.
Moral of the story? Always bring the jar, whether or not you think you'll need it. Also, 𝐿𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑢𝑠 black widows 𝑎𝑟𝑒 active in temperatures under 70 degrees. Stupid Internet...
(I had to add the last pic as a response to this thread.)
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𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐛 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐥, 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤...𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭...𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞.
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𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐬.
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𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 (𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫)
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𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫. 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫? 𝐖𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞.
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𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.
I first noticed the spider during a night walk in early September with my neighbor, Bran, but was too tired to do anything about it. Since then, I've looked for her every time I've passed the picnic table, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Black widows are active at night and retreat to hiding places during the day. I figured she was either dead or had a 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 good hiding spot. Mostly, I suspected the former, or I'd have tried to rescue her sooner.
Even so, in my mind's eye, I could envision a child being bitten or an adult squishing her. In this particular case, I wouldn't have blamed the spider killer. This black beauty was in a dangerous place for both herself 𝑎𝑛𝑑 humans. In my mind, I promised her that if an opportunity arose, I'd save both her and any humans who happened to sit at that table.
____________________________________
𝗠𝗮𝗯𝗲𝗹 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗧𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗘𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗦𝗲𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿
Last week, I learned how a poorly placed hidey-hole can lead to the death of a wild animal. I found what I thought was a tarantula molt sticking partway out of a burrow. It was in a really bad location on the left side of the trail. I made plans to return and relocate the half-grown spider.
I took pics of the "molt" and the burrow, but after consulting experts on an arachnid forum (that would be you guys), I learned the supposed "molt" was, in fact, a dead tarantula.
Regardless, 'E wadn't pinin'! 'E'd passed on! E'd ceased to be! 'E'd expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E was a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!!
𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝘅-𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗹𝗮.
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𝗛𝗮𝗹𝗳-𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗹𝗮 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗶𝗻 𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄 (𝐴𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑠).
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𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰. 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.
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𝐏𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚 (𝐴𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑙𝑚𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑠).
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𝑃𝑒𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑑 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐩 (𝐀𝐊𝐀 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐤): 𝑃𝑒𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑝.
I didn't want the same thing to happen to the widow under the table, so I packed equipment for capturing and containing her. Later in the day, I read on the Internet that black widows aren't active in temperatures under 70 degrees, so when we headed down the trail, I left the heaviest—and most crucial—piece of equipment in my trunk: the jar. I mean, what were the odds she was still there and had evaded my gaze? Pretty low. Also, it was below 70 degrees. Surely, she wouldn't be there.
So, a fellow student, her mother, Cosmo the dog, Bran and I trudged down the trail. When we reached the location of my first "study widow," I was both elated and annoyed to see that Shelob of Cirith Ungol was just fine. I was glad the spider was present and healthy, but annoyed I'd left the jar in the trunk. Darn. I briefly considered returning to claim it, but decided the odds were very much against seeing the widow under the table, let alone catching it. After all, it was under 70 degrees and the temperature was dropping.
We moved on to the Widow of White Crack. When I said the location name, Bran (predictably) laughed: "White crack?" he asked.
"Yeah, I know," I said, remembering how my brother had also laughed.
But hey, if you remove illicit drugs from the equation, it would be a cool name. There's literally a white crack in a dark rock. Maybe I should call her "The Widow of White Cleft" instead? Then again, someone with his / her mind in the gutter would have a field day with that one, too. Maybe I need to rethink the name entirely? If you have a suggestion, I'm all ears.
Anyway, there's a 𝑛𝑒𝑤 spider in that location. She's smaller than the last one, but THICC. She either had a huge meal or is ready to introduce about 150 new spiders into the world.
I thought of my jar,
Way back in the car.
It was so very far:
As far as a star,
To someone whose feet felt as if they were in tar
To someone whose back is just one great big scar.
So, we moved on.
When we arrived at the second picnic table, I was both elated and annoyed to see my rescue widow, present and healthy, with a large, gorgeous red hourglass on her abdomen. Ah, nuts!
Well, chances were I couldn't catch her, anyway—not without some kind of bait. I removed a bug scooper from my fanny pack, positioned myself beneath the spider, and in one quick motion, captured her quickly and neatly. I'd never captured a widow on my very first try before. I was both elated and annoyed.
I turned to Bran. After all, he's young; I'm not. Also, his back isn't completely messed up. "Hey, Bran?" I said. "Would you like to earn some money?" I hoped a little bit of money was good enough because I'm pretty sure he isn't a fan of black widows. But he is a good sport! He returned with the jar.
I was able to contain her while we did our homework. This morning, I put her into an enclosure. I hope you enjoy the photos.
Moral of the story? Always bring the jar, whether or not you think you'll need it. Also, 𝐿𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑢𝑠 black widows 𝑎𝑟𝑒 active in temperatures under 70 degrees. Stupid Internet...
(I had to add the last pic as a response to this thread.)
____________________________________
𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐛 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐥, 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤...𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭...𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞.
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𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐬.
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𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 (𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫)
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𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥'𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫. 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫? 𝐖𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞.
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𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.
Seriously, I did.