In which I bathe a spider

Sometimes it seems that, in spending my time looking at bits of moss and decomposing leaves and the petty arguments of hermit crabs, I am wasting effort that I should be using to work on the big issues, the real emergencies.

And yet, ... and yet ... The tinies are important, too. That the insects seem to be disappearing everywhere seems to be a minor issue; who would complain about fewer mosquitoes or wasps? Except the birds, of course. And the plants that count on them for pollination. And us, that depend on pollinated plants for our food supply.

So what if a remote bit of rainforest is harvested for its wood, and the bare soil exposed to the sun for a few years? It's remote, it will heal itself, eventually, and the wood was "needed' for some company's bottom line. So a few tiny creeks will dry up, others will carry new silt down into a river; it will all wash away, won't it?

Except that the river now becomes inhospitable to spawning fish. And our fisheries suffer, and our food prices soar. And we start talking about eating insects, instead. While the insects are disappearing.

So that the "little things" become an important part of those big issues, after all. It all ties together.

So: a tiny, tiny, TINY, emergency. Of importance to no-one but one lone spider; one atom in a world of emergencies. But all-important to that one spider. And to his mate. And to the next generation of mosquito- and noseeum-catchers, frass-producers, bird food.

A cellar spider set up his web in a corner of my bedroom, near the window. Of course, I got out the camera and took his photo.

What's that white stuff?

Oops! Long ago, the first summer I was here, it turned out that there were fleas in the carpet. I don't like poisons, and repeat vacuuming wasn't getting rid of them, so I turned to diatomaceous earth, which is a naturally ocurring siliceous rock, easily powdered, non-toxic to pets, but deadly to fleas and ants. I dusted it liberally across the carpet, paying special attention to the baseboards and corners. Goodbye fleas.

Shortly afterwards, reading up on diatomaceous earth (why didn't I do this first?) I learned how it works.

The fine powder adsorbs lipids from the waxy outer layer of the exoskeletons of many species of insects; this layer acts as a barrier that resists the loss of water vapour from the insect's body. Damaging the layer increases the evaporation of water from their bodies, so that they dehydrate, commonly fatally. (Wikipedia)

And it persists; it's a rock, after all. Rock stays. Even when the critter it killed has crumbled to dust. So it will be killing fleas and sow bugs and spiders and the Western conifer seed bugs that come in to spend the winter, and the carpet beetles, and all their kin, forever and ever, or until the house itself crumbles to dust, whichever comes first.

Not good. I found spider remains, completely encrusted with the white dust. Repentant, I vacuumed. And vacuumed. And changed the filters and vacuumed again. The fine powder passed through the filters and killed the vacuum cleaner. I bought a new one and vacuumed again. But there were always traces of white powder left around the baseboards and under the heater. And something was bound to find it, eventually.

And here's the spider, legs, belly, even pedipalps covered in white powder.

I got out a spray bottle of filtered water and gave spidey a bath. He didn't really like it. I don't blame him. But I sprayed and sprayed until I was sure he'd been thoroughly soaked and then rinsed.

Clean, unhappy spider.

Spider leg, with water drops. And no powder.

Big, boxing glove pedipalps identify him as a male. A very clean male, now.

While I was working on him, a companion came out into the open a little distance away. She was perfectly clean; what a relief! No bath needed.

Clean spider.

Both spiders went back into hiding, and I didn't see them again until last night. But then they showed up, briefly (not staying in that horrible place where it rains so much), just as if to say, "Thanks, we're ok now." There's frass (a dead mosquito) behind a mirror. All is well, in this tiny, tiny corner of the globe. For now.