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.

Lumpy, bumpy, orange spider

I almost stepped on her. A fat, orange spider was parked right beside my work chair; when I turned to go for a coffee, my foot missed her by a couple of inches. She didn't even move.

She barely bothered to react when I put the camera down a few inches from her eyes. Trusting soul!

I took more photos. She turned her back on me. I don't think she liked the flash.

"Knees up, Mother Orange!"

I think she's a Marbled Orbweaver, Araneus marmoreus, an extremely variable species, but the eye placement is right, and the pattern of legs and body fits. And these spiders hate the light.

An interesting exchange on BugGuide:

"While focusing I noted that the round protruberances on her back were pulsating. Are these respiratory?..."
"Yes! ... I've noticed the pulsating as well. I believe it is a defense mechanism. ... It could be that they are trying to produce silk so that they can 'web' away from me.
But as I originally said, I think it's just a defense mechanism. Perhaps to make them look larger to predators."
… Nikole Loomis (Bush Cricket and Buckeye Lover)

When I was done, I shooed her off towards a corner, where she could safely lay in wait for the next passing harvestman. I went for the coffee, finally. When I came back, there she was, sitting patiently beside my chair again. Time to deport her!

In an Ikea glass, waiting to be moved.

I put her outside, in the rain. And it turned out that was a lucky move. That white powder on her pedipalps in the first photo? I realized that it was the remains of some diatomaceous earth I'd spread around in the hot days of last summer, when we had been invaded by fleas. I had vacuumed it since, of course, but there's a bit still hanging around in the back of my closet. And it's a spider killer, too.

Although it feels much like talcum powder to humans, diatomaceous earth is actually jagged, and when spiders walk across the powder, it begins to jab and cut into their hard exoskeleton. According to the Oregon State University, the wounds created by the jagged diatomaceous earth cause the spiders to desiccate, or lose all of the liquids and oils from their bodies. This desiccation eventually leads to death. (From sfgate)

It's a slow killer. It takes a spider two days or more to dry out and die. However, if it rains, or if the ambient humidity is high (like anywhere outside here, these days) the diatomaceous earth slides off, and the spider lives.

And fortunately, "Mother Orange" had collected it on her pedipalps and some of her feet; most of her skin was clean. I think she'll live.