Golden Silk and Golden Memories

One can learn many fine things from simply observing the natural world, and using “out of the ordinary” things as jumping-off points. This was brought home to me this Summer and Fall by an unusual “guest” that took up residence at our house, and by her simple existence became an unforgettable and educational part of our lives.

The small adventure of discovery began one warm, sunny morning in August while my wife was changing our two-year-old daughter’s diaper. Her changing table is positioned under a window through which the brilliant sunlight of the mornings here in the Southeast streams. At one point, my daughter was looking up at the big window, and reacted with a frightened squeal. “Mommy!”, she exclaimed, “There’s a bug…a big bug!”. My wife looked where the little one was pointing, and outside the window was a large spider, putting the finishing touches on a huge web, a web that used the roof overhangs, window sill, and bricks for support.

Now, my wife is from New England, and has little experience with Southern flora and fauna. Northeastern spiders do not grow to the size of saucers! Plus, her only other experience to date with Southern spiders was the previous year, when she spent two months getting over the illness and infection caused by a particularly nasty bite from a Black Widow spider, a bite so savage, the arachnid had left one of its fangs in her skin. So, she was quite concerned about having a spider the size of a Sharpie cap setting up housekeeping right outside her baby’s window. As millions of husbands around the world will attest, there is only one response from a concerned mother in such a circumstance…”HONEY! Get the spider!”.

I went outside to the window, armed with a broom, to put an end to this “threat”. Normally, I am biased in the favor of spiders…around here, they help control annoying insect pests like mosquitoes and flies. However, I am far more biased towards keeping them clear of my kids, especially since seeing the results of the Black Widow the previous year, and those of Brown Recluse bites, which I encounter often on young Sailors I work on the base with (the barracks have long had a problem with these creatures). I expected to be clearing out a common spider web and annoyed resident.

Instead, I was surprised to see a multicolored arachnid the size of my open hand in the center of one of the most amazing structures I had ever seen. The spider was one that folks down here refer to as a “banana” spider, and of course I’d seen them before, but I had never taken the time to really examine them or their works; all to my great loss. Her web (as I was to learn, only females of this species build webs) was an intricate, elegant, and wonderful example of natural engineering. Two outer “scaffolds”, on each flat side of the main web, were attached both to the main web and to the house. These “outer”, or support, webs were made of white silk, thick in appearance, and were arranged in no discernable pattern; seemingly an ad-hoc design built to conform to the house the structure was attached to, and to hold true the work of natural art that was the main web.

It was spun of fine, gossamer silk which, head-on, was near to invisible against the red brick of the house. From a slight angle, the golden-colored silk caught the light of the Sun and glittered in such a way that one could be forgiven for thinking that it was spun from actual, impossibly ductile metallic gold. A classic round spider web design, in all its delicate glory, the orb measured close to a meter in diameter. Its circular strands were about a half-centimeter apart, and its “spokes” were about 6 inches apart at the edge. No insects except the very smallest, and therefore unappetizing to so large a spider, could escape being caught in its sticky threads; and its unique color would render the lethal trap invisible at exactly the angle the prey would approach.

The entire web structure was about a meter and a half across, covering the whole window frame, and anchored at the top at the gutter edge of the roof. It was breathtaking in its complexity, design, elegance, and obvious effectiveness. The Summer breeze then blowing barely moved the huge affair; its strength and soundness testified to by its stillness. I would doubt that any human, equipped with the latest in design tools and a Master’s in engineering, could duplicate this wonder that had emerged from a simple creature’s instinct.

As for the artist herself, she was positioned at the apex center of the main web, in a head-down position; so regal-looking in her work of wonder that she almost seemed to be taking a bow. Had she been, she would have been excellently-attired…she had a cylindrically-shaped abdomen of bright yellow-orange decorated with silver spots in two rows on either side. Her smaller thorax was black with silver-colored fur befitting a starlet. From the thorax sprang the eight legs, with the largest six adorned at the joints with their own tufts of fur. As she used her front two legs to clean and preen herself in the Sun, I could only look on in wonder at the complete natural beauty I beheld, and marvel at how common and normal this sort of thing really is.

I put the broom away…I could no more destroy that web and kill its maker than I could put the Mona Lisa through a shredder after shooting Da Vinci. I had no idea at this point if the spider was, in fact, dangerous, but I would certainly find out for sure before even thinking about destroying the web. As it was, I called my family outside to see our new guest. My wife, our six-year-old, and the aforementioned two-year-old daughter joined me in viewing the web and its occupant. As they watched the spider go about its arachnoid business, my wife and I discussed what to do. She’s as impressed with such things as I, so we readily agreed to let the spider remain where she was, and also to find some way to preserve her life even if the web had to go. My daughter was still a bit leery of this strange creature with all its legs and hair, but my son was enraptured with the scene as only an inquisitive little boy can be. All of us were in agreement that we should endeavor to learn as much about our guest as we could.

To that end, I fired up the computer and went straightaway to Google. A few hours’ worth of searching and cross-referencing later, and I was a bit more intelligent regarding “our” spider…

- She was female, as only females spin webs in her species;

- She was properly called a “Golden Silk Spider” in English, and her Latin, scientific name was Nephila clavipes ;

- Her general species is found all around the tropics and temperate climates, with the largest versions being located in Australia and New Zealand, where they are known to eat birds and mice;

- She was NOT venomous or aggressive enough to be a threat to my family or myself or our pets. She’d only bite if seriously annoyed (say, if pinched betwixt two fingers), and even then her bite would cause less distress than a bee sting;

- She had a one-year-life cycle, that is, she was born early in the year, matured over the Summer, and finally began her masterpiece web in late Summer. By late fall, she would have mated and would construct her egg sac. Shortly after laying her eggs, she would die;

- Her golden silk was the subject of serious scientific study, due to its high (even for spider-silk) tensile strength and stickiness. Suffice it to say, steel cables don’t even come close to Golden Silk’s strength-to-area ratio;

- She was the largest non-Tarantula spider species native to North America.

By the time I’d finished my research, the kids and their mother had given our arachnid guest a name…Charlotte. By a strange bit of foreshadowing, the kids had watched the live-action + CGI film “Charlotte’s Web” a few days prior, and the memory was still with them. I sat the kids down on the back porch, in full view of Charlotte, and gave them all the relevant information I had gathered. My wife was visibly relieved that Charlotte was no threat, and therefore could stay. She made immediate arrangements to move our outdoor furniture to allow Charlotte a good, clear area to live in. The kids wanted to get closer looks at her, and had dozens of questions. For the young ones and I, the afternoon turned into a sort of pseudo-classroom, in which the basics of spider life and the particulars of Charlotte’s species were discussed, dissected, re-checked online, and researched. We all concluded the day by welcoming Charlotte to our home, and wishing her well.

Over the weeks and months to come, I found myself checking up on Charlotte at least once a week, sometimes more. My son and daughter would often go with me to see her. My daughter got over her initial fear of her and came to regard the big bug as sort of a pet, albeit one that lived outside. Each morning, at her first diaper-change of the day, she would say, “Good Morning, Charlotte!” in her adorable voice. Each evening, she would say, “Ni-Night, Charlotte!” to the dark window. My son often told me how “cool” he thought Charlotte was. Even my wife came to think of the big, furry spider as a sort of “good omen”, and checked on her daily. By her simple existence and fascinating life and work, the spider had gained the protection and affection of an entire family of humans.

I took up the habit of feeding her. At one point, an outbreak of voracious caterpillars ate the leaves off two of my backyard trees. I couldn’t save the trees, but Charlotte had fine dining. I’d toss fat, squirming caterpillars into her web, and observe her explosive hunting and pouncing abilities. She barely moved at all for most of the day, but when that web vibrated with a struggling captive, she moved with the speed and grace of a cross between a prima ballerina, an Olympic gymnast, and a high-wire performer. I watched her dispatch flies, beetles, and even a dragonfly as large as herself with as little difficulty as a human would have consuming a juicy steak dinner. She stored no food that I could see; when she caught prey, she ate it all, with the exception of wings.

As the months wore on, I found myself repeatedly returning to the computer to answer questions about Charlotte’s species that had cropped up, either to myself or to the rest of the family. We learned that males of her species were considerably smaller than the females, and might be seen sharing her web or food (although we never observed the presence of a male, subsequent events confirm that one did, in fact, visit). We also learned that her wondrous web, in addition to being the marvel it already was, further pushed the “amazing” envelope…it was a fixed structure. Most orb-weaving spiders, you see, totally replace their webs every evening, so a fresh, clean one is available for the next day. The Golden Silk Spider, on the other hand, does not replace its web; aside from minor repairs and cleaning, the web is intended to last for months. Again, I sincerely doubt that any human activity currently available could reproduce that structure at any scale. One event confirmed the overall incredible nature of the Golden Silk web.

In early November, Tropical Storm Ida was barreling towards the Gulf Coast. It had downgraded from a hurricane, but still packed heavy rains and gale-force winds as it approached. On the morning it was to make landfall, my wife and I were frantically placing all our outdoor furniture and decoration into the garage as the rain and wind grew stronger. As we were putting the last of our things into secure storage, my wife suddenly looked at me with a distressed face. “What about Charlotte?” she said. Such is the woman I married: her concern, in the face of an approaching tropical storm, extended even to a spider clinging to the side of our home. Of course, neither of us wanted to have to discuss Charlotte’s death with the kids, at least until we had figured out how to approach it, but my wife was genuinely fearful of Charlotte being harmed or killed by the storm. Such was the depth of her entry into our lives.

I went to the web to check on her. The wind was beginning to whip, and the rain was coming harder and harder, with the worst still to come in the evening. She had left her usual position at the center of the web to huddle up under the overhang in a net of silk. I confess, I had no idea what to do if she looked in danger. Capture her? Put her in a container of some sort and bring her inside? All options at that point seemed as likely to injure or kill her as to protect her. Fortunately, she looked quite comfortable and protected where she was. As the storm lashed at us over the evening, I went out with a flashlight to check on her a couple of more times. There she was, cuddled up in her little “hammock”, swinging in the howling winds, as safe as we were inside the house.

The following day, she was back in her usual place in the web, which itself had weathered the storm without any damage I could discern.

Think about that…a creature the size of your palm, with a body the size of a Sharpie cap, using only biological silk, and with no training whatsoever, constructed a web capable of remaining unnoticed by potential prey; capturing and holding that prey; supporting both its own and her weight; lasting for months; and easily surviving tropical storm winds and thunderstorms. There is a reason the arachnids are so very interesting creatures.

Charlotte’s pleasant and edifying effects on our family ended one day when my little girl, again on her changing table one morning, said words that my wife says caused her heart to sink to her feet…”Mommy, where’s Charlotte?” The great web was empty, and Charlotte was nowhere to be seen. My wife searched the area she could see through the window and saw no trace of our friendly spider. Then she came and found me.

In my researches of Golden Silk Spiders, I had learned some facts about their life cycle. Mating takes place in late Summer to early Fall, and the female lays her eggs in late Fall. She places the eggs in a spun gold silk case, which is then attached to a secure, safe location. The female remains with the egg case until she dies, usually within a few days. Her act of reproduction is the last act of her life. Given the time of year, I had to assume that Charlotte had gone off to lay her eggs.

I went outside and, after a brief search, located Charlotte at the far end of the house, up under the overhang at the corner. She was busily weaving a structure against the roof and a flood light attached thereto. The pictures of Golden Silk Spiders and their egg cases I’d seen online left no doubt as to what she was building. Incredibly, and as testament to the human capacity for forming attachments, I found myself experiencing both joy at her impending motherhood and sadness that she would be leaving us. I had literally come to think of this spider, this bug, this creature that probably had little if any consciousness of my very existence, as part of our family. How foolish! How silly! And yet, how…human.

Silly and foolish and emotional my feelings might have been, but the alternative…to remain so cold and callous regarding nature’s occupants that I might have ignored Charlotte at best or killed her and destroyed her web at worst; was unthinkable. To simply exterminate something as sublime and interesting as she was, without even investigating her, without learning about her life and ways? Never. So what if, in that process of observation and education, over the months and events, attachment grows? The fact that, in humans, interest, observation, and investigation can lead to protectiveness and affection, even of a species so very different from our own; is not something we should so willingly seek to disparage or eliminate. In fact, this capacity that exists in all decent, intelligent humans is something that comforts me greatly.

“Congratulations, Sweetheart!” I said. “We’ll be sorry to see you go.” The final words came out, not without a bit of choking. “Whether you know it or not, whether you care or not, you were loved”.

I went inside to sit down with my wife and think about how we would tell the children. They had watched “Charlotte’s Web”. They knew that when a spider has its babies, it dies. The death of a creature that they are attached to is something that all children must someday face.

Deep breaths, Dad. Be honest, be truthful, but do not be too sad or remorseful. Explain the cycle of life playing out, stress that new spiders will be born. And when the inevitable tears come, hug them tightly and let them hug you. Don’t let them see your own tears.

It’s a few days later now as I write this. Charlotte has laid her eggs in their golden case, which is now secure under the eaves. She’s still alive as of this writing, but is obviously fading. Still, she tends to the eggs as best she can, moving only when absolutely necessary. She’s thinner, her body having gone without food for a week now, but still having expended all its energy. Her great golden web, even without her maintaining it, still hangs in the window frame, still glistening in the morning Sun. The weather forecast is for sunny skies and crisp, cool weather for the next week or so. I’m happy that she will pass from this world in good weather.

My son insists on checking on her each morning before he leaves for school. He has accepted the inevitable, and now can’t wait for the babies to come. My wife, as a mom herself, watches Charlotte with admiration, admiration of what a mother will do to preserve her young. My daughter, in that way of three-year-olds, has moved on, her life a whirlwind of activity in which nothing is dwelt upon for too long. She seems at peace with the whole thing.

As for me, well…writing this is how I cope. I set down in words what I saw and felt and experienced, so that I won’t forget, and so that someday my children might reread it, or that possibly, someday, someone else might.

And go outside and look at what’s there…and learn about it.

Contributed by my dear husband, Pete.