Arachnid Theology

By Paul Roberts

theology: the study of the nature of the divine

From my observations on September 2, 2021.

I spent a good twenty minutes watching a spider on the corner of the house weaving its tangled web last night, fixing the damage caused by an earlier meal. Poets and scientists are possibly the only people that would take that much time to watch such a geometrical engineering exercise as that. And retired folk. And people waiting for their new puppy to pee. I digress.

It was pretty cool. How does she know which strand to climb? She traversed from the perimeter to the center several times, seemingly rising on air in moments when the light didn’t allow my human eyes to catch the strands she used to lift herself to the edge of the eave, her back legs hanging loosely; then turning upside down for her return to center. Watching her at the center was the most intriguing for me. At that nexus, where she seemed to hold dozens of strands all at one time, this eight legged beauty (Araneus gemmoides, commonly called a cat-faced spider, for those of you who care. At what point did I begin to see her as beautiful?) was able to...sense?...divine?...know?... the next movement necessary for her work to do its job. Fascinating. And effective. She is back in her white pvc pipe dining room this morning, her careful work torn down, evidence of the success of her night’s work.

Her neighbor, several window sills down from hers, peering in my kitchen window when I am doing the morning dishes, is a different style of spinner. She, known as an orb weaver by arachnophiles, spins things of beauty; he spins dens of darkness. He doesn’t bother to clean away the carcasses of his feeding. They are just added to the detritus of last week’s meals. He sits deep in the corner, at the base of a whirlwind of webs, in the eye of a sticky funnel storm, waiting to feel the next struggle bug that comes his way. “Wolf spider” the romantic in me said. More likely a barn funnel weaver (Tegenaria domestica), since wolf spiders don’t spin webs to catch prey…

So began my study of arachnid theology, as I like to call it. Someone may want to quibble with my use of the word “theology” in this context, but if so they’ll also want to quibble with “study” and “divine.” At this point I have chosen to enjoy my word choices as I blog, and to do my best to ignore the negative censor in my head in the interest of weaving the words together in whatever manner suits me. If the web I weave draws in some readers, wonderful. But once again, I digress.

Since the first part of September when I chose to allow these fascinating creatures to remain on my house walls, I’ve enjoyed watching the process of life continue for the two of them. I’ve watched Araneus Grande weave her beautiful trap (I gave in and named them both long ago), then she placed herself at the center to wait patiently for a visitor. When someone stops by to visit, she scurries to greet them with a Judas-like kiss, wraps them up safely in her shroud, and bundles them off to her pvc pipe dining room/tomb. She is in no rush to clean the kitchen; she simply leaves the messy strands hanging for re-weaving until well after dinner.

Meanwhile, Barney Funnel has expanded his home past the corner of the kitchen window. It now stretches the full length of the three foot sill, and half way up the left hand side. He’s not any neater than he was in September, there’s just more of it. His space makes me think of the Broadway musical turned hit movie Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. And if I squint just right, Barney Funnel does a fair impersonation of Johnny Depp.

Araneus Grande is nowhere to be seen in mid-November. I have hope for her, come next spring, since her inch in diameter pvc pipe is a good 12 feet long. The remnants of her divine webbing is still beautiful on a frosty November morning.

Barney Funnel was moving a bit just the other day. He appeared to be checking the egg sac secured to the window. I may have guessed wrong about the gender. I’m not sure how bravely I’ll respond if they hatch in the spring, but I do hope that I’m there to watch it. 

That would be divine.