Peace, Baby

March 09, 2009 08:02 AM Filed in: My Garden

As attractive as this little jewel is, it’s her web that fascinates me most.

So often, there’s a whole ‘nuther world outside. We tend to be so enthralled with ourselves and situations we fail to notice the little things around us. Yet the world is bigger than we are, a lot bigger, and there are a lot more of “them” out there than us.

Take the tiny spiny-backed orbweaver spider Gasteracantha cancriformis. A beautiful little critter found commonly all across the South. No bigger than a small English pea, this delightfully appointed backyard spider has the distinct shape of a crab. It’s abdomen is generally white to yellow with black spots and 6 distinctive spines—two on each side and two on the rear. The spines may be black or red, those in my backyard are a deep reddish color with black tips. It is truly one of the prettiest spiders in the yard . . and before you freak out, it, like most spiders is totally harmless.

As attractive as this little jewel is, it’s her web that fascinates me most. As her name implies, the crab spider is an orb weaver. Every night, just before dawn, she constructs a new flat web to ensnare tiny day flying insects—gnats, whiteflies, fruitflies. The outer rings of her orb contain meticulously spaced rows of fine high tensile strength silk. The spider places a drop of sticky fluid on each strand, and with her claw, she gives the taught thread a sharp pluck that sets the silk strand vibrating. The virbration causes the sticky drop to break into hundreds of tiny round droplets that evenly distribute all along the length of the thread. Any tiny flying thing that bumps into the sticky part of the web is quickly trapped.

The crab spider hangs head down in the rather open central area of the orb, keeping in touch with the sticky trap through her radial lines that alert her to any disturbance is in the web. Indeed, it is a fascinating and efficient way to collect dinner. Yet, the most curious part of this orb weaver’s web has most scientists puzzled.

As the spider centers herself in the web with the outer ring of sticky trap strands on the perimeter, she decorates the central area of the orb. Selecting a radial line, the crab spider spins little tufts of white silk that she attaches, evenly spaced along the thread. The silk sheets wave and flutter like little flags, handkerchiefs on a clothesline. Pausing, only momentarily as if to survey her work, she sets out to make another line of flags, sometimes close by the first, sometimes opposite. A single row of markers may satisfy her, or five or six may be in order—but for what purpose?

Apparently the fluttering tufts don’t attract extra food items. Some speculate the fluttering tufts are camouflage to hide the spider from bird predators, but ‘cmon now, these waving white flags all point directly at the spider, who herself is brightly colored though prickly protected. So, camouflage doesn’t seem likely to me. Others say it may be to alert birds or even bigger predators like people of her web’s presence so they don’t stumble into it, destroying her fine orb. That seems plausible.
But, why the ever changing pattern of the flag lines? Is it some kind of other communication, not just warning?

Early one morning, I noticed the web with a pattern of four flag lines. I examined the web from the front, then the back and took a picture of it. The tiny little spider never moved, seemingly totally detached and unconcerned. Moving on to another part of the yard, I returned fifteen minutes later and there was a fifth strand added to the design, making a pretty good star effect. What was she trying to say to me?

Next morning, a new web, with a new flag design of five lines arranged quite differently. She must have thought me a rather dumb being not to understand.

It was early fall, and crab spiders have very short lives, the tiny females dying as soon as they lay eggs in a golden silk purse attached to the underside of a leaf. It was that time of the season. Time to say goodbye.
Donna always tries hard to squeeze every bit of summer out of the year, and had spent every last ounce of twilight on the patio with music of the sixties pulsing from the radio.
Early in the morning our little jewel had a new design for us. It was very clean, clear and just about perfect. Little flags gently waving in the morning sunlight. It was a Peace symbol—at least to me—from a little bit of heaven, her world to mine.

The next morning she was gone.
Her eggs have hatched by now as they always do in late winter. The young spiderlings will emerge when the weather warms and they’ll climb high in the shrubbery and small trees. And, perfect replicas of the mom they never knew, will make their mark . . . and say their peace.

Peace.