Day 2 of the Hungering
Checked on the fly nursery today. No adults yet.
“They’re pupating,” I told the spider children, “Any day now.”
“We hunger,” hissed the spiderling between the veil of its legs, one glittering eye glaring out at me. “We will be fed. Any taut sac of fluid-filled flesh will do as well as another.”
I bowed and retreated. More flies for the horde will spawn soon. I hope.
Day 1 of the Hungering
I miscalculated. Now I’m getting a little panicky.
I have a large number of young spiders growing in my incubators. A couple of weeks ago, I noticed I was running through my fly supply faster than I anticipated, because I have so many young’uns to feed, so I doubled the number of fly bottles I set up. Then, last week, the fly cultures were all used up. I was calm, I had many bottles that were primed to spawn thousands of flies. I went in today expecting I’d be able to sate the spiderlings savage hunger, and…
They weren’t ready. My lab has been unpleasantly chilly — an unfortunate and common consequence of the vagaries of the temperature regulation in this building — which I think slowed them down. I was unable to feed them! The few flies I had left I used to set up some more fly bottles.
I think this is the opening of a classic horror story. Mad scientist creates an army of monsters; fails to keep them supplied; they rise up in fury and destroy their master. If anyone finds my dessicated, bloodless body suspended in a meshwork of cobwebs in the next few days, this is a clue to what happened.
As long as I still live, I will continue to relate the story in epistolary blog posts.
You may have noticed that I abstain from showing photos of spiders here, because when I do I get so many piteous complaints from people who are grossed out and terrified by innocent little spiders. And here I was working with my lovely crop of over a hundred babies yesterday!
I don’t know if it really works, but there’s an augmented reality app called Phobys that you can download that uses your phone’s camera to generate images of cute little spiders in familiar places, using exposure therapy to help you adjust. I downloaded it to see — screenshot below the fold — and the “test” to see if you’re arachnophobic is free. I’m not. The “training” module to get increasing exposure levels is $5, and I didn’t pay for it. I can find real spiders anywhere, so I don’t need virtual ones.
Also, though, I’m not worried about it. It’s not like the COVID-19 vaccine — no one dies of arachnophobia, and you can even live a perfectly normal life with it, unless it’s a pathologically extreme case.
You’re just missing out on some of the beauty and wonder in the world.
The other day, I got in my car and discovered a few fine strands of silk between the steering wheel and the dashboard. Just a few; some spider had been making a few exploratory leaps inside the car, leaving traces behind, and then probably left because there isn’t much spider food in there. It made me just a little bit happy, though. It’s good to see the little ones out and about.
I can only dream of someday owning a Cobweb Palace.
That’s the interior of a San Francisco saloon that existed between 1856 and 1893, established by a wise gentleman and kindred spirit named Abe Warner.
Cobweb Palace was unlike any other saloon in that it had dense spider webs fixed on the bar’s ceiling. More threads draped over the shelves that stored the liquor bottles. The spiders cast a veil over nude portraits on the walls, and some of the webs reportedly grew 6 feet wide at times. But Warner refused to destroy them.
“The spiders just took advantage of me and my good nature,” Warner told the San Francisco Chronicle. “When I first opened up here, I didn’t have time to bother with ‘em and they grew on me. It’s a great neighborhood for spiders, anyway, and the news got around among ‘em that I was easy and they founded an orphan asylum and put all the orphans to work spinning webs.”
All good things must come to an end, though, and the enchanted saloon eventually failed after a prosperous 40 year run.
Cobweb Palace would continue showcasing its curios, wild animals, and web-covered ceiling for nearly four decades, until the crowd outgrew their taste for the peculiar fortress Warner created. The saloon began to lose its luster in the 1870s, when the area became mostly industrial. Years later, the Sausalito ferries moved away from Meiggs’ Wharf, causing a bigger blow to Warner’s business.
Customers stopped coming to Cobweb Palace and Warner couldn’t make enough cash to pay the rent. The property owner had no choice but to evict Warner by 1893 to tear down the saloon and make way for new housing.
The end of Abe Warner was especially poignant. Is this me in a few years time? If it is, it’s not that terrible a way to go.
Warner is remembered in historic articles as a man whose only friends were the spiders, and in a way, they were. Warner’s best days were among the spiders that coexisted inside his bar as they kept him company long after the crowd abandoned him. Some webs had been undisturbed since the saloon’s inception until the auctioneers finally cleared them out.
Warner refused his daughter’s call to return to New York after the failure of Cobweb Palace. It would be too painful of a move after the decades spent in San Francisco. Even when local relatives wanted to take him in, Warner declined their offer, preferring his own solitude. Then, three years after the saloon’s permanent closure, Warner passed away in 1896 without a dime to his name. He was 82 years old and died alone, save for the spiders that watched over him until the very end.
What’s especially sad about that is that I haven’t accomplished anything as glorious as the Cobweb Palace. I’m going to have to get to work fast in my remaining years.
Also, anyone else read his story and think he sounds like a great character for an urban fantasy novel?
Nothing gets between a fiercely protective mother spider and her children. Dripping tree resin trapped adult female spiders and baby spiderlings about 99 million years ago, forever showcasing the maternal care exhibited by these arthropods, according to new research.
One of the awkward things about raising spiders is that they don’t just have a few babies, and they don’t just dribble them out a few at a time over a long period…no, when spiders have babies they have a whole lot of them all at once. Yesterday, on top of all the teaching I do on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I had to feed all the spiderlings I’ve sorted out into individual vials, and then I noticed another egg sac had hatched out into a vast cloud of hungry, tiny arthropods, demanding a meal too. I’m nearly out of flies! I’m going to have to double the quantity of flies I grow just to keep up with the ravenous horde!
We’re getting ready for Halloween.
I’ve got more spiders coming soon!
OK, I’m trying to parse these images, but any spider limb diagram that incorporates the abdomen doesn’t work. The coxa (the proximate segment of the limb) attaches to the cephalothorax, not the abdomen, so the first two images simply do not fit. The third, maybe, but only if the pants hang so low they don’t cover the coxa, trochanter, and femur.
Maybe this diagram of the ventral cephalothorax will help.
I’m sorry if my pedantry ruins the joke, but spiders wouldn’t wear pants.
In my ongoing efforts to find something positive to express every week, I try again to talk while doing simple lab chores.
This hits home. I have 3 egg sacs I’ve got my eye on here at home, just waiting for the first spiderlings to emerge so I can rush over to my lab.
I’ve also got a huge collection of already-emerged babies I have to feed this afternoon.
Forgive me, I include a photo of a spider down below. Maybe the fact that it is rather blurry will soften it a bit — I took it before sunrise when everything was a bit dim, and I just did a casual handheld shot. What impressed me, though, was the web, which is about 60cm across. Last night, this Argiope‘s web was a tattered broken mess, with big holes punched in every quadrant (the spider had a busy day catching bumblebees). When I went to bed, it was a pathetic few radial strands with a still intact stabilimentum, and the spider calmly poised in the center, mistress of a ruin.
I was up this morning before sunrise, and thought I’d take a quick look at the wreckage. Mirabile dictu, the orb web was restored, pristine and perfect! She apparently had a busy night.
