It was about two weeks ago that she came. Just showed up, sudden-like, on one of those mornings when the first hint of fall drifts along the bayou like persistent sea fog. Not cold really, but just a feeling, a smell maybe, that tells of shorter days ahead. I suppose that is what triggered her homebuilding - the shorter hours of light. Like many things who live wild, her life that was set to the position of the sun, rather than calender or clock. Actually, she was not alone. I saw another of her kind from my office window early that morning, and walking out, another in the big cypress that anchors the point of land sticking out into the warm waters of the summer-lazy bayou.

Altogether, I found four of them, who just that morning decided to build their webs. They were golden silk spiders, brilliant yellow and as big as the palm of my hand. She, the one that I became friendly with, chose to build above the steps leading into the yard from the deck off the water side of the house. Her web stretched from the eve of the roof, down to the top railing of the deck over five feet away. She had anchored the bottom to the rail board and to the two hummingbird feeders which hung from it. It was over three feet wide, and made of silk so strong, that pulling on just a single cord would swing the feeders without breaking.

At first, she was a little intimidating since she had chosen to build right over the stairway. When I stepped down or back up, her web stretched, slanting barely over my head. Hanging upside down in the middle, she was almost eye-level to me, and just about 18 inches away. Her body was the yellow of the wild sweet pea flowers which bloomed along the bayou in August, with darker jewel-like spots the color of a new bride’s golden band. Her long legs each had tufts of black hair at the joints, and she plucked the stands of her web if I hung around visiting for too long. I found myself unconsciously hugging the far edge of the steps, and consciously hoping she was not the jumping kind of spider.

The first morning she caught a large mud-dauber wasp. Like her, the mud-daubers were intently into nest-building, and hung around the flower beds in droves, waiting for me to water the newly planted chrysanthemums. I don’t know why flowerbed mud is that much better than just plain bayou mud, which we have in abundance, but the daubers acted like it was just the most wonderful stuff. Anyway, this particular mud-dauber became an empty husk after that morning and was then stuck on one side of the web, like a big-game trophy, hung over the library mantle. In the next mornings, when I sat on the deck with my coffee and toast - and toast-begging dogs - I would notice what bugs she had snagged during the night, drawn from the surrounding marshes to the lights of our kitchen. Most were just small things, mosquitoes and such, quickly snacked upon and discarded in a heap below the web.

Then, yesterday was the first day of fall. Not the first day after the equinox, but the first real day of fall on the bayou. The west wind came early and wet, blowing fine mist under a cover of dark and low clouds. The water level had risen about a foot or so with the rains of the last few days, and the surface of the bayou was a dimpled sheet of dark hammered copper. I spent the afternoon on my little fishing dock, trying to catch enough of the little channel catfish to keep the dogs entertained. The breeze blew damp down the collar of my shirt, and occasionally built up to a steady drizzle which wet the fur of the dogs, until drops fell from their quivering whiskers. But, it never got blustery, never rained hard or blew dead limbs down from the oaks and tallow trees.

So, I was surprised to find her gone when I came up the steps that evening. I had expected that she would lay her eggs, wrapped in their silken casket, snug until spring, and then leave, to either find an autumn shelter or wither in the winter of her tiny life. But, she had totally disappeared. No eggs, no spider, no web. She had completely removed the entire network of silk webbing. I could not even find a remnant where it had been anchored on the house or deck; it was as if it had never been there at all.

I’m not educated to the life rhythms of these big spiders, but I suppose that their huge webs catch enough nourishment in two weeks to sustain them and prepare them for egg laying. Perhaps the net itself, spun from proteins, becomes a final meal, gorged before the onslaught of winter. I don’t know if the web signals the end of her life, or if she will overwinter to return next fall. But, when the sun starts to travel closer to the southern bank, and the old cypress casts longer shadows, I’ll watch for the golden glint of her in the slanting light of morning along the ancient and living bayou. And then I’ll know that we’ve, each of us, marked another year.

-- lon (lgal@exp.net), October 10, 2004

Answers

WOW Lon, what a wonderful, visual picture you painted with your words. Your mastery as a wordsmith is undeniable. I felt like one of your toast begging dogs, and bent down on the steps with you as you tried to avoid her magnificent web. Truly a beautiful picture of bayou life, and life, as it passes into the twillight of winter, and reminds of the passage of time, and importance of each moment.

Bravo!

-- Aunt Bee (Aunt__Bee@hotmail.com), October 10, 2004.

Aunt Bee! I am so glad that my spider's web caught such a wonderful old friend! It's good to hear from you again, and I've often thought how nice it would be to share a beautiful afternoon with my FRL friends, just sitting down on the dock and talking under the old laid-over cypress.

It was another spectacular fall day here, and I spent it watching the birds and such as I pretended to fish. I got a nice surprize of 7 rosy spoonbills, their necks stretched into the west wind, flying for early roosts, their feathers glowing a dull pink in the muted light. Like Brooke, we've also had a bumper crop of snakes lately, just poking their blunt snouts into every little cranny, trying to find a suitable winter hideout. Even my own little wildlife critters are getting ready for winter and putting on some extra "insulation". I swear, Jazzy looks like a seal with ears!

-- Lon (lgal@exp.net), October 10, 2004.

Ah. . . I'm once again caught up in the golden silk of your gift. . .

Thanks, Lon; I needed that.

Aunt Bee. . . it's good to see you!

-- Brooke (Happiness@Hill.top), October 10, 2004.

Hi Brooke! You know you are the reason behind the spider thing, huh? When I read your snake post, I just thought, "humph, I can't let her get away with that - what's a little snake anyway, compaired to a 4-inch spider?" And by the way, I still go real close to you guys every so often. Kit and I may suprise you by showing up for a free meal sometime. I may even bring J along if he ever gets a day off. (If he comes, though, be sure to count the good silverware before we leave)

And, Aunt Bee, I don't want you to think my dogs are just regular old toast-begging muts. Nosir-ee, they are dedicated peanut-butter toast begging muts. Each morning since the diabetes, I have a cup of coffee and two peices of low-carb toast, slathered with low-carb peanut butter. I know what you're thinking- what decadence, eh? Well, actually, I only have a peice and a half of toast, bein's that I have to pay "protection money" to the mongrel mob. I got a real fear of being killed in my sleep by a dog with peanut butter breath.

-- short-order Lon (lgal@exp.net), October 10, 2004.

(((Lon))) You and Kit, the missus, and heck, even J are welcome to park yer feet under our table any time, and I'm not too worried about losing the good silver. We've got kinfolk like J, and we haven't been able to find it within ourselves to throw them out, so what the heck. ;) Just call ahead and make sure we're home. :)

Our mongrel mob would look on y'all as new, easy marks. (They've 'sussed that we're 'on' to 'em.) Ours won't kill ya' in yer sleep though, unless maybe they'd lick ya' to death. LOL, ever been the object of "loving attention" from a 130# Rottie? It's an experience you'll never forget. Heehee

-- Brooke (Hounds and Happiness@Hill.top), October 10, 2004.

Hey! Everybody's going to be erroneously convinced that I'm some kind of sticky-fingered bad kin from chucklin'-about-it Ol' Lon's remarks. However, he does stir the itch to roam given name by our friends in the Animal House: "Road trip!"

It would be good to get away from the homestead (not to mention Redneck!)for awhile , and I might hitch a ride with Lon and the Kitster. Thoughts of the Hill Country this time of year (no matter how rhetorical the invitation) bring sudden revisitations of the smell and texture of the evening air coming off the lakes. A bonus would be that I would get to hog a double share of the sweets (after bribing Kit with a burger to eliminate the competition). I, of course, can only be bribed with homemade preserves and spiderly vignettes.

Well written as always, Lon. I admire anybody who can identify the varieties of flora and fauna that surround us. I hesitate over those pricey little guides in the bookstores that tell you what tree's what, then I think "nah." If that kind of information doesn't easily stick with you and/or if you didn't start accumulating it coming up, chances are something will always be a little yellow flower instead of a sweet pea flower that blooms in August. I envy you your knowledge (and Michener his researchers!).

-- J (jsnider@hal-pc.org), October 11, 2004.

Thanks for the lovely nature picture, Lon! I've fought a spider phobia since I was about 8 years old, more or less successfully. Now I no longer run screaming, I just remove myself from their vicinity, if possible, and watch them carefully, if not. I try hard to not kill them as I really loathe mosquitoes - no fear, just loathing.

I had an interesting encounter with nature about a week or two ago. Our kitchen window overlooks a portion of the deck, which is raised off the ground and has a half-wall fence around it. Perched on the corner of the fence, I saw a merlin falcon eating a small bird (I think a sparrow, but I really didn't want to know). There was a very large magpie in the spruce tree beside the deck, who looked very tempted by the kill, but it didn't quite dare take on the falcon - though I think it was at least as big! I watched the goings on for a while, but the falcon could see me clearly through my window and I didn't want to be responsible for the magpie winning it's dinner, so I backed away from the window and tried to avoid that side of the house for a while. There wasn't much evidence left of the meal when I looked out later - a couple of feathers that hadn't yet been carried off by the wind was all I could see. I saw the falcon so clearly that I was able to go online and look at various pictures until I found one that fit. The merlin falcon was as close to what I saw as I could find. I didn't know they even existed here. I assumed a peregrin or prairie falcon, but their tails weren't long enough or barred enough. The falcon I saw had more spots on its wing backs than any of the pictures I found on line, but it was closest to the merlin. A nature loving friend of mine was grossed out at the idea of watching a falcon feed, but I thought it was fabulous, and a real blessing.

-- Tricia the Canuck (jayles@telusplanet.net), October 11, 2004.

This was beautiful, Lon. We call this season "spider time" -- they're all over the place.

-- helen (mule@gots.a.spider.in.the.barn), October 17, 2004.

Helen, for the last few years, we've had a LOT of spiders. They really make a mess of the house, especially around the outside lights. I hate to kill them, because of we are also blessed with an abundance of mosquitoes, but still...

Trish, that must have been great! For the last week, I've noticed a large hawk swooping over the surface of the bayou. I haven't yet identified it, but it's really beautiful, with a wingspan of almost 4 feet! We also have a family of owls that overwinter here, but I've never seen a falcon that I know of. This summer when we went northwest, I saw several magpies and thought they were great. On one of the lakes just north of here, where I used to take water samples for the environmental agency I worked for, there were three nesting eagle pairs. I'll never forget the first time I saw them in a drizzling cold rain which made the dead trees shimmer above the water like silver sculptures.

-- creepy crawly Lon (lgal@exp.net), October 18, 2004.

Once on a huntin trip in carbon county wyomin we seen some o what musta bin golden eagles flyin an messin around there eye ree on a point o rock off the north end o one o the flat top mountins. The slawter house in Llano yousta hav a stuffed golden eagle in there in the front part where you pay the man for processin yore deer an such like. An there was a nest o bald eagles in a tree at gibbons creek that new power plant lake out o college station a few years ago. There was buzzards too an I made em move around with a jig an pig but couldnt get em to fly. Theyd jist kind o spread there wings to keep there ballence an sidle back an forth on the lim. Lazy lot. That uz supposed to be a good bass lake, but we never had much luck there. I seen a neat big hawk or young eagle over ta Goliad a couple o years back. I never seen one like him an rote the parks an wilelife deepartment to see if they node what it was, but they never got back to me about it.

-- Redneck (Redneck@birdsn.stuff), October 18, 2004.

Isn't it lovely to say back and observe nature? Some people always want to rush up and disturb it. I'm so glad you all aren't like that.

-- Carol (c@oz.com), October 20, 2004.