“Yesterday, I killed a big shiny black widow spider in its web, in a rotten tree stump—a beautiful spider, more beautiful than most other species. But I thought I had better kill it, for I nearly sat down next to the stump and someone could have got bitten. It is strange to be so close to something that can kill you and not be accompanied by some “desire” – as if desires were everything. (A car can kill you, too.)”  

 – Thomas Merton, When The Trees Say Nothing.

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I’ve made a connection with a spider. If you had told me at any point in my life that I would be taking a selfie with a spider, I would have thought you were mad.

I call him Sophocles, and he pops out of his cozy hiding place every time I appear on the back porch; he is curious about me and wants to spend time with me.  I’m curious about him, too. Perhaps he thinks I’m a big juicy bug he might snare in his web.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say we are friends, but we do seem interested in one another. Something is happening. Maria witnessed this strangeness and wrote a much better account than I have.  You can read it on her blog here.

I’ve learned that nature can be powerful and fascinating, even if you have no explanation or idea of what is happening. I am still trying to figure out what is happening. I can’t wait to find out.

Sophocles comes out into the open whenever I come out on the porch, where he lives in an old iron table candle. When I leave, he leaves. Yesterday, I decided it was time for us to take our first and maybe last selfie. I don’t know what goes on in a spider’s head. This started two days ago; Maria was out on the porch to have tea when she pointed out that a spider came out of hiding a few inches away whenever I went to the porch and sat down.

This has continued for the past two days. If anyone else – Maria included – comes near the table, he disappears.

I had to see it a dozen times to believe it.  I do not have a spider-loving history.

I used to kill spiders and have suffered from their bites – I’m allergic to them.

Only true naturalists and knowledgeable nature lovers like spiders. The farm has changed me.

I have learned up here on the farm about the good things that spiders do for humans, even if humans don’t reciprocate.   When I see one, I either take it outside or call Maria, who is more skilled at rehoming them.

Here are just some of the good things spiders do for us:

Pest control: Spiders eat many insect pests, including flies, mosquitoes, roaches, beetles, caterpillars, leafhoppers, and aphids. They also eat insects that spread diseases like malaria, Zika, flea-borne typhus, and food-borne illnesses like E. coli and salmonella.

Scientists say many spiders in any area include a healthy ecosystem for animals, plants, flowers, and humans.

I admit that I have started talking to Sophocles, and I’m probably projecting, but he seems to be listening. I’ve read that spiders don’t have human ears, but they have hearing—through the vibrations of the hairs in their legs.

So here I am with this new and curious companion, defending him from the ungrateful humans who would stomp him, swat him with a fly swatter, or spray him to death with a can of repellents. I’m not overthinking this.

He is connected to me in some way I may never understand, and as a result, I have connected with him, no longer seeing him as a pest to be crushed but as another living thing to share my life with on this troubled planet. He has the same rights as me to be here, maybe more. We humans are arrogant, even murderous, creatures.

If God did make us, he has some serious work to do.

Reading about spiders, I see that he does more good in more ways than I do. Before I wrote this to take some flower pictures, I went out on the porch, and he popped out of his cozy castle. I saw him watch me, then go to work on a fresh web for tonight’s dinner.

When we were both done, he vanished down the pipe, and I went inside. He posed for a photo with my Leica S. I’m not sure how to converse with a spider. We stare for a while, and I usually say something. Today, Zip came up to the table to hang out with us.

My camera has a life of its own, and at first, it simply couldn’t believe the photos I was trying to take; it just wouldn’t focus on my new companion. I got stubborn and got it to focus where I wanted it to.

I’ll keep sharing this strange and utterly surprising experience. The farm is a gift; it never stops giving.