She made it.
I had a few minutes to dash over the few blocks to where my spider friend lives in a clematis vine and snap a quick shot (in what is now just a drizzling rain). I have to say I continue to be blown away when I realize how clever this spider is. While much of her web is destroyed, the core funnel of it is fine (even though it’s soaked), as it is nestled down safely beneath a thick bunch of leaves. She has her own umbrella! You can’t see her in the photograph, which shows the entrance to the funnel in the top left quadrant of the image beneath the leaf, but she’s in there. I saw her huddled down inside it, all big and leggy, just being her spider self. Hooray for her! I hope she’ll rebuild.
A visit before the rains
Let’s hope she makes it. Her web is already looking a bit ragged.
Out of Sight (Filaments II 4)
I found Venusta’s neighbor, a grass spider, I think, (in the same Clematis vine) resting in the back of her funnel web, my heart overjoyed to see her there. I couldn’t help but wonder what she thought of me peering in at her all tucked back into her hideaway. In this particular photograph, I wanted to show the entry “ramp” that leads up to the threshold of her retreat. It’s incredibly intricate and sturdy, strengthened by the vine itself and further supported by some sort gluey substance (that only appears in this particular area of the web). These spiders’ decision to build their webs in the Clemtais is simply brilliant. It’s a spectacular arachnid community they have formed together, with an impressive diversity of contributors.
Last year, when I visited their amazing creations (and took over 700 photographs over the course of the month of October, even getting some pictures with ice crystals and snow, with our first snow storm on October 31st!), I never actually saw Venusta (or her relatives or neighbors, whoever, it was at the time.) So, for me to see (and have the opportunity to observe) the makers this time has added something indescribably wonderful to the project.
At the start of spring last year, I was walking down the alley, where this vine had grown and I had spent so much time, and discovered completely unexpectedly one day that the vine had all been ripped down. I could never begin to express the betrayal I felt and how deeply upset I was, as though a part of my own self had been ripped out. It was no exaggeration to say that in that moment (when I discovered the vine was gone) I felt my mentor had died. It may seem really strange to say that, but my grief was overwhelming. The beautiful webs and my invisible collaborators were gone.
I did (reluctantly) manage to pull myself together, reminding myself that this is the way life goes… Nothing is permanent…. It was a very good lesson. But that experience (and that entire project) was critical to me for reasons that may become clear in the coming posts.
In the end, what I finally noticed several days later, after walking down the alley in utter mourning for the next week, was that there were still a few strands of the vine remaining. I then had reason to hope that the vine might survive (and started to send it encouraging little smiles and thoughts every time I walked by it everyday after that.) (Yes, I’m a bit on the whacky side you might say…. I’m sure the family that lives in the house that “owns” the vine must think so. 😮 ) Little did I know at the time that these strands retained the life of the entire fabulous gigantic vine that would come back in full force again this fall. And my love affair can start all over again. 🙂