Charlotte's Web

I like spiders, in the abstract. Yes, sometimes they are so big I get a visceral punch in the gut when I first see them, a startle response of fight-or-flight that reminds me I'm not so far away from my jungle roots as I suppose. Yes, I have a horrific allergic reaction to their venom that makes me swell to inhuman size when bitten.

But spiders eat mosquitos and wasps, and are an integral part of our life here. The ecology of La Casa Redonda depends on spiders doing their jobs. It's just that now that it's autumn, the face-full-of-webs has gotten old. Inside the house, every window corner has its resident, and dusty cobwebs hang from the ceiling fans, stretch across the rough stones of our indoor central chimney, and gather in the corners of every room.

They hang outside my front door (because that's where the flying bugs are, drawn to the outdoor lights at night), and construct huge circular webs that accost me when coming in or out. On the trails up back, their webs stretch across the path at face height, causing mouthfuls of stickiness and shivers up my spine. I've had quite enough, thank you.

So, with stick in hand, I marched outside and wound the offenders up in their own webs and tossed them over the side railing into the forest. I similarly denuded the corners, the windows, the chimney and the nooks and crannies where the spiders lurk and tossed them into the woods.
A new batch will undoubtedly take up residence (or they'll all inch back up to the house eventually), but for now, I have beaten back the hordes.

Sorry Charlotte. You were one of my favorite book characters in my childhood, but they had to go. Although, if one were to speak and call me "Wilbur," I would have paused my wanton destruction of Spider World for a moment...before tossing him over the side with the rest.