The Art of Waiting

Spiders that weave these funnel webs are in the family Agelenidae. This spot of woods in West Virginia was full of their mysterious looking "caves." The spider creates a net to catch the insects who careen into the supporting strands above. The cave is where the spider lurks, is alerted by the vibrations of the web, runs out to grab the hapless prey, then retreats to the safety of the cave to dine.























This particular spider was not happy with my attentions. She hunkered down to shrink her body size, ready to confront what was threatening her. In this case, it was only my camera flash, illuminating the shadows and her four-eyed face. Rudely, I didn't ask for her permission to post her image on my blog. She had no choice but to remain silent (unless she could spell words out in her web as Charlotte did.) But it would have a been a nice gesture on my part.

This spider had constructed one of the more impressive dens among the many scattered about the forest floor. These types of spiders live for one year. I like to think that through the cycle of seasons, in her struggle for survival, this spider added a wealth of experience to her instincts.

Imagine the knowledge the spider must have accumulated about insect habits and haunts. Imagine the spider selecting that "just right spot" for this web, maybe her final masterpiece. Imagine her manufacturing-within her own body-a never ending spool of silken thread. Imagine her slowly amassing and shaping the individual strands to create this fine mesh architecture.























Imagine the spider settling into her shady tent. Imagine her waiting hour upon hour for her meal. The sun rises, passes overhead and sets. Crickets chirp, the last butterflies and moths flutter their weary wings. Gnats buzz. In those long hours, does she sleep, does she meditate, does she simply wait--alert and poised to respond-- as only spiders can?

I learned very little about this individual spider and her clan by simply snapping her photo and walking on. If I had been patient, if I had practiced the spiderly art of waiting, perhaps I could have learned much more.

Creature Feature at Cranberry Glades

I'm just not ready to leave the bog. One might say I'm "bogged down."

The pitcher plant (species Sarracenia pupurea venosa)and the sundew are two of many plants I saw on my visit to Cranberry Glades (see previous post The Boreal Bog). These plants lure insects, trap them, then slowly digest them. I had to learn more-here is what most impressed me. If you are so inclined, while you read, ponder the Adaptation process that resulted in such elegant solutions.

Carnivorous plant species number more than 500 and grow all over the world. They often live in waterlogged areas such as swamps and bogs. These places are deficient in nitrogen and other trace minerals important to plant physiology. So it is thought that carnivorous plants have developed strategies to get some of those needed substances from the bodies of animals-such as insects, spiders, and even bigger prey. Their strategies often require glands that either fill with water or must remain moist. The details of their dining habits bring to mind the narrow escapes of heroes like Luke Skywalker and James Bond. If they could talk we might hear something like: "Welcome, Mr. Bug, hahahahahahaha!"

The Pitcher Plant

The leaves of the pitcher plant form cups, indeed another name for them is "hunter's cup. " Supposedly the rainwater contained in the cup is safer for a human to drink than the acidic bog water in which it grows. On the rounded lip of the cup are red veins that attract the attention of insects--possibly due to the resemblance to carrion.

Alighting on the slippery edges of the cup, an unfortunate critter then finds it easy to lose its footing and slide into the gaping maw. Perhaps it even experiences Vertigo. A spiky fur points downward to deter any attempts to escape. Imagine trying to climb the slippery walls while treading water in a deep cistern and you've got an idea of the insect's experience. But that's only the start of the macabre process.


In a sarracenia purpurea, the insect drowns and over time the water dissolves the insect's soft tissues. Special cells at the base of the cup absorb the nutrients. Some other species of pitcher plant actually contain a fluid similar to that found in mammals' gastric systems. That would certainly help digest something like a large rat. The biggest known pitcher plant does just that. The cup of the Nepenthes Rajah of Asia can grow up to 20 inches long, 6 inches wide, with an opening of 3 inches.

Biologists who do things like dissect pitcher plants are amazed at the quantity of indigestible exoskeletons that collect in a "boneyard" at the bottom of the cup. I wonder if the live insect can see the gruesome remains of previous victims at the moment of his or her descent into insect "hell." To an entomologist however, I'm sure those are Lovely Bones.

The Sundew

Sundews belong to the largest genus of carnivorous plants Drosera, with more than 200 species. The way the sundew hides menace behind whimsy, you might suspect it came from outer space. At Cranberry Glades, sundews dot the surface of the moss like countless simpering, "happy faces."

But each tiny leaf is far from being a Little Miss Sunshine and more like the product of a Bad Seed-- at least from an insect's point of view. There is a glistening drop of "superglue" at the tip of each of the fine hairs on this little damsel. Insects alight expecting a sweet reward of nectar. But touching even one hair can ensnare. The greater the bug's Frenzy to escape, the more it entangles itself in other hairs.

The rest of the hairs on the leaf then bend lovingly over the prize until it is clenched firmly as if in a many fingered hand. The process is not as fast as the abrupt snap of a Venus Fly Trap, but still amazingly swift--for a plant. It takes about one hour for the insect to be fully embraced in a deadly kiss. Pressed firmly against the enzymes on the surface of the leaf, the insect innards are liquified. Digestion may take several days. Afterward the hairs return to their original positions. For a time the hairs stay dry and the remains of the day are soon gone with the wind.

The biggest species of Sundew is South Africa's Drosera Regina with leaves up to more than 22 inches long. In Australia a sundew of similar size makes a banquet of frogs and lizards. Crocodile Dundee types boast of finding sundews growing in clumps that feast on the occasional rabbit or squirrel.

Darwin was the master and commander of evolutionary thought, but nevertheless was humbled by the sundew. He wrote to a scientist friend that "I care more about Drosera than the origin of all the species in the world." Its not surprising that the ingenuity of carnivorous plants continues to seduce and ensnare our fascination. We are willing victims.

ABC Wednesday For some fantastic images of these Cranberry Glade plants go to Squirrel's View.

Up Close and Personal with a Jumping Spider

Nature is everywhere if you only look. I took a brief walk in the city park at lunch. This spider was hanging out on the garden gate next to the museum. A baby spider was rappeling down from the lock on a strand of silk. The spider here was perhaps the doting mama.

Jumping spiders (Family Salticidae) are easily distinguished from other spiders by their four big eyes on the face and four smaller eyes on top of the head. Around the world there are probably more than 5000 species of jumping spiders.

I leaned in close for a better look. Instead of trying to hide, the spider turned to look directly up at me. I could see its eyes and furry whiskers. It appeared as interested in me as I was in it. Our eyes locked. Here is what I saw.

I had never felt "seen" by a spider before. I felt disoriented as if the tiny world of the spider had suddenly expanded and I had shrunk to the spider's size. It seemed some sort of communication passed between us.

The spider's behavior made sense when I later learned that jumping spiders have much better eyesight than other spiders and most, if not all, insects. Jumping spiders' large pair of eyes in the center front give them excellent color vision and a high degree of resolution. Even more amazing, the shape of their retinae indicates they may have telephoto vision. I was looking at a hunter with some high tech equipment!

Jumping spiders can spot and stalk insects from long distances. Their excellent vision is also an important part of their 'interspecies' communication, particularly in courtship. Males dance before females, displaying contrasting or brightly colored markings on their bodies.

The caption for the photo of one jumping spider that I found on the 'web' said that it lived in the space between the photographer's gate and fence post in his back yard. And here was "my" spider frequenting the same "habitat." Imagine all the humans who walk through this gate, oblivious to the ferocious sentry on watch!

When I returned to my office and sat down at my desk, a baby jumping spider about a third the size of mom appeared in my lap. It must have hitched a ride on my pants' leg while I was transfixed by its parent's gaze. Somehow even a spider baby is cute. I attempted to slide it onto a post-it note but it sprang onto my thumb. I released the baby out of my window to fall onto the grass below. It had traveled in my car with me and was now several blocks away from the park. Happy hunting, little spidey!