Cross Orb Weaver

Day 336: Araneus diadematus, the Cross Orb Weaver or Cross Spider was introduced from Europe and is now perhaps one of the most common spiders seen in the Pacific Northwest. I call them "big traingular garden spiders," or more precisely, "Oh, shit! It's on me! I ran full-face into it! Where is it? Get it off me!" The male (shown here) is substantially smaller than the female, but often builds his web adjacent to hers, there to hang facing downward as he awaits a disturbance in his net. I doubt he's expecting anything as large as me, and it was only by Mother Nature's good grace that I didn't set off his monitoring system as I bent over to examine something else in my garden. It generally takes a couple of mishaps each fall before I start paying better attention to where I'm going. Spiderwebs are a hazard every mushroomer knows, and while I'd prefer not to emerge from the woods covered in gossamer, the thought of having a cross-as-in-cranky Cross Orb Weaver somewhere on my person is even less appealing. What is it about spiders which raises the neck-hairs on most of us, even those who love caterpillars and other crawly things? I'll admit it freely: I'm an arachnophobe, if not to the point of panic, certainly to the outer fringe of "freaked." But a single big triangular garden-variety Orb Weaver is better than a nest of little gold baby spiderlings slung right where I'll hit them as I exit through my front door.

Basest Fears

Day 6: Sit back down! Now, tell me why you jumped out of your hide at the sight of a perfectly innocent Cross Orbweaver (Araneus diadematus). "I don't like spiders!" Yeah, I gathered that. I have to admit I'm not keen on the subject myself (few people are), but what is it about them which causes one of our basest fears to surface? Is it that they have eight legs? So does an octopus, and I imagine you don't regard octopi with the same measure of loathing. Is it that they seem to defy gravity and can suspend themselves in mid-air? Hummingbirds manage that, although admittedly it takes a lot of wing flapping. If you have lived or live in an area where poisonous spiders occur, you would be justified in according them all due respect when you encounter them, but why do we, collectively and almost universally, dislike spiders so much?

Quite honestly, I don't have the answer. My fear of spiders was instilled in me at an early age by my mother. She was terrified of them, but then, we had black widows to worry about. My mother's reaction to finding a black widow in our back yard made quite an impression on me at age three or four, so I spent many years panicking whenever even a small spider entered my personal space. As a naturalist, I later learned to value them as part of the natural order, but it took quite a bit longer before I could force myself to take the steps necessary to remove a live one from my house.

Ms. Orbweaver slung her rigging between the outdoor housing of my heat pump and a hosta I was planning to divide after I'd pulled the frost-nipped tomatoe vines today. I almost got my head in her web, but caught her presence in the tail of my eye in time to prevent an encounter which would probably have sent me screaming into the next county. It would have been a grave injustice to her, considering the service she renders in my garden. The hosta can be divided later. She's outside, I'm inside, and we'll leave it at that for now.

Cross Orbweaver, Araneus Diadematus

Day 333: I've always called these "big triangular garden spiders," frequently prefaced with a scream when I discover I've walked into one of their webs and don't immediately know whether or not it was occupied. Fortunately in this case, my subject was on the outside of the window and I was inside which, incidentally, afforded an unusual dorsal view. Araneus diadematus usually presents its ventral aspect, belly to the light. It also invariably hangs head-downward unless hunting. Madame Cross Orbweaver had already scored her dinner and was in the process of putting away the leftovers when this photo was taken. Whatever hapless insect it might have been, she drew it carefully to her mouth parts, rolling it in web fibers as she did so, perhaps mistaking me for a larger predator. You may wonder how I know to call her by a female pronoun. Look at that abdomen. She's bulging with eggs, loaded with potential little baby spiders. Unfortunately for us both, members of this species seem to delight in placing their egg cases directly above my exits. Worse than having this lovely lady crawling up your sock is walking into a curtain of thousands of tiny golden baby Orbweavers, something I manage to do at least once every autumn.