Hidden in Plain View

Waking that morning, the change was palpable. Cooler, yes, but more than that there was a muffled stillness, as if a downy comforter had settled over the entire neighborhood. Rising, I went to the window and folded back the fabric shutters to peer out. Thick fog had drifted up silently from the canal, bunching up between trees and obscuring the road. Across our driveway, deep mahogany leaves littered the ground beneath the maple. While the plum was just beginning to turn, the snowball bush was aflame with color, though not yet willing to let go of its leaves. As I scanned the scene, something strange caught my eye - unusual white leaves scattered evenly about on the ground between the Snowball and a large Rhodie. Curious, I pulled on a robe, stepped into my fleece slippers, and went down to the kitchen. Grabbing a cup of coffee, I told my husband there was something I needed to see and headed outside. This is not unusual for me. During the summer, I often begin the day strolling the yard in my robe, coffee in hand, for I love to watch things grow. This moody fall morning, I had a date with those white leaves.

On closer examination, I discovered that they were not leaves at all, but finely-spun webs of the funnel weavers. The morning’s dew had settled on them, making them stand out conspicuously from the darker grass they were stretched upon. Deep inside, at the narrow end of each funnel, I knew that a small spider was hiding. On feeling the vibration of an insect crossing the web, the spider dashes out, bites the insect, and carries it down into the funnel. I wondered at the number of webs, as I hadn’t remembered seeing any of them before. When had they been spun and how long had they been there?

Patrick Edwin Moran

Cupping the steaming mug in my hands, I lifted my eyes to the surrounding trees and stood in wonderment. Stretched before me, between every conceivable branch and twig throughout the woods were a myriad of dewy webs. These, the work of orb weavers, were the typical spider webs that everyone recognizes. But that morning, they were far from typical. Each one, and they were of all different sizes and at various heights, stood out as glistening beadwork against the dark woods. Each bush, tree, and clump of tall grass as far as I could see was bedecked with more tiny strings of jewels, woven back and forth, as if some tiny beings had carefully decorated them. Was it really possible they had been there all along, revealed only with the combination of heavy dew and early sunlight? There must have been a million! I was humbled by the beauty of it all.

Just imagine how much exists in this world - right under our noses - that we never see. There is that old saying of not being able to see the forest for the trees. How many other mysterious wonders may be “hidden in plain view”? That magical morning I had a glimpse of the possibilities.

“Praise be to the name of God for ever and ever,
      wisdom and power are his.
He changes times and seasons;
      he sets up Kings and deposes them.
He gives wisdom to the wise
      and knowledge to the discerning.
He reveals deep and hidden things;
      he knows what lies in darkness,
      and light dwells with him.”
Daniel 2:20-22

The secret things belong to the Lord our God,
but the things revealed belong to us
and to our children forever...
Deuteronomy 29:29

Funnel Web Spider

picture file from Wikimedia Commons

Silent Spinner

In your web of silken thread,
Silently you wait
White and brown, all straddled down
With jointed legs of eight

Warmed with sunshine, active now
Quite still when bathed in rain
In your web of silken thread
You stealthily remain

Stretched so tight with all your might
It suddenly appears
First tacked there with gentle care
Amid the dewdrop tears

Then pulled here and fastened,
Now a strand pulled down
Stretched so tight with all your might
Then woven 'round and 'round

You lurk there with silent air
Ever out of sight.
Through the heat you hold your seat
Into the dark of night.

Watchful, ever watchful,
Constantly on guard
You lurk there with silent air
Hidden in my yard

When repairs demand your cares
Then you venture out
Tightrope walk, you never balk
Though difficult the route

Wind may do its damage
Storm will take its toll
When repairs demand your cares
You patch each gaping hole

'Tis your fate to sit and wait
Patient, so it seems
If I could, I maybe would
Peer into your dreams

Often in the corner,
Sometimes in the eye,
'Tis your fate to sit and wait,
In your web so high

Feel the tug and now a bug
Tangled in your thread,
Struggles in vain and feels the pain
Numbed, it's filled with dread.

Quickly you surround it
Wrapping with your line
Feel the tug and now the bug
Hungry, you will dine

Webmasters

“They’re ev’rywhere! They’re ev’rywhere!” In what seems an appropriate time and place, I love to ramble off this line, in high-pitched, cartoon-character voice. As my husband remembers, sometime, someplace we lived had a TV commercial with a “Chicken Man” who was “...ev’rywhere, ev’rywhere!” His memory for such things is far better than mine. I only remember the line and the many times I’ve used it.

At this time of year, they are ev’rywhere. In the corners of doors, windows, across walkways, between trees and bushes. One small one is right up against our bedroom window; a huge one straddles an evergreen outside our bathroom. You can clear them away and one afternoon (or one hour!) later they’re back.

In early spring, hoards of tiny hatchlings appear. We leave most of them be, knowing the good they ultimately do and their place in the greater scheme of things. Some, however, we cannot abide - those who always take over the mail box, set up camp in my husband’s workshop, rally round the back door. In those cases, it’s all-out warfare: them against us. No contest - there’s always more of “them” than “us”.

Think of it - there are kazillions out there! Birds and insects feast and a few furry critters munch on them. Those who escape lie in wait, silently and meticulously weaving their webs. At Family Camp this summer we took the kids on a “Haunted Hike” into the woods, dusting with cornstarch to reveal a great many webs. We marveled at the “high-rises” of web upon web upon web up into the trees - many of a unique domed shape.

Gluing down one end of a silken strand, they crawl, rappel, or float on the breeze to an often distant site - spinning from their own body as they go - to firmly attach the other end. Other supporting strands are tacked down to twigs, leaves or what-have-you. First, a framework of scaffolding upon which to work. Then, the interweaving of connecting lines - one delicate strand at a time. When complete it is an intricate work of art, especially enchanting when sparkling with morning dew or fresh drops of rain.

It is, however beautiful, a trap - craftily set and vigilantly guarded. Touch it gently and you will find it sticky. I have tried to fool the spinner this way, gently tapping the web to imitate a struggling insect, to no avail. I’ve tossed in a small piece of leaf for the same reason with similar results. The one-who-lurks is not so easily fooled. My husband just tosses in small bugs. Instantly knowing the difference, it waits only long enough to be sure the bug is caught, that its struggling against the surprisingly strong, sticky strands has entrapped its legs and wings. It then hurries to paralyze, but not kill, the victim; wrapping it round ‘n round “mummy fashion” in webbing to save for a future meal. It sounds cruel, but it is the way of the spider - the only way it knows.

The spider’s occupation is “Webmaster” and she does it well. The future of her kind depends on it - she must have insect protein to produce her eggs. Routinely, she checks her web. If it is damaged, she repairs it - over and over again. If it is destroyed she will often eat it (ultimate recycling?), spinning another as many times as she needs to. Each week I descend the hill to change the message on a reader board. Without fail, I find webs attached to the sign that I cannot help but destroy as I open it. Week after week they are back in the same place - it is not easy to discourage a spider!

Oh, that I might be as diligent in my life’s work...

God is not unjust; he will not forget your work and the love you have shown him as you have helped his people and continue to help them We want each of you to show this same diligence to the very end, in order to make your hope sure. We do not want you to become lazy, but to imitate those who through faith and patience inherit what has been promised.

Hebrews 6:10-12