Back to Black

The threat was real: Hairy mouths, red glowing eyes, and all.(USPD/ Commons.wikimedia.org)

Black Widow spiders. Their fault.

I have trouble killing live things. Blame the Black Widows.

At the old farm place, a huge, ancient Magnolia tree stood opposite the front porch of the grey wood framed house. That broad canopy provided much needed summer shade. Wide branches, low forks, and knobby lumps were easy to reach for even the youngest kid. No better castle in the sky or fort perch to drop water balloons from.

So we were close to furious (as close as we were allowed) when Dad announced the Magnolia was off-limits for climbing: there was a big web and Black Widow spiders.

Looks are always deceiving: secretly gathering forces to attack while under cover of natural. (© image)

Kids can be impressively quick and logical when fighting for something important.

“It’s spiders. They’re little. Just get a broom to knock down the web and smush the spider.”

“No. Leave it alone.”

“But it’s daaaaaangerous. It’s a Black Widow. It could kiiiiiilllll someone.” (Told you. Debate opportunity? We were determined.)

“No. It’s not going the jump out of the tree and chase you.”

“But it might drop on someone. The wind could blow it out.” (Well, we figured that might not fly as it was Summer and there was no wind, but any angle worth a try…)

“No.”

“But someone might accidentally brush up against it. It’s deeeadly.”

“No. Keep your hands out of the tree and stay away from it.”

“But it’s taking away aaaaalllll our fun!”

“No. We don’t kill things because they are ruining our fun. We don’t kill things simply because it’s in the way. The spiders aren’t hurting anything; just living their lives. Leave them alone and they will leave you alone. There are plenty of other trees to climb. Go find something else to do.”

So we were forced – forced – to share with stupid spiders.

(And forced to make exaggerated duck downs with hands over our heads wearing fake, fearful expressions when under the Magnolia…for a few hours anyway until it was obvious we were the only ones looking.)

All puffed up, they are. Well, we’ll see. If you can’t stand the wind, get out of the field. (© image)

The annual Spring dilemma is already here: killing weeds.

They have flowers! Bees rejoice at the dandelions, clovers, onion flowers….(Insert the endless list – and guilt trip – here.)

“It’s just a plant in the wrong place” – (Nothing will convince me there’s an appropriate place for Dollar Weed.)

Hey! Forget the killing poison. Plant relocation plan!

I just tell myself if I wade out when the yard is swampy ground is wet, and carefully, cleanly jerk pull weeds out roots and all, that when the weeds find themselves tossed in a landfill, they will find their roots, stretch-out, and happily bloom where they are planted.

See? A helpful plant assist.

Hard to determine when it’s best to just walk away.

(Oh,  phooey. Wear widow’s wǣd, if you must, but dispatch those darn weeds before they take over…)

Hard to take the farm out of the heart.

Maybe not such a bad thing

Phil, the Philosopher Mouse of the Hedge

The beautiful can suffocate. Ask slow emerging grass or any divorce lawyer. (© image)

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