Grass spiders all over the neighborhood were working hard last night. It’s easy to tell, as they unveiled their work in the first morning light. The work is, itself, like veils. Grass spider webs do not resemble anything Charlotte turned out for Wilbur. They look like netting draped over blades of grass. Or bits of shrubbery. Or the stalks of wildflowers.
Their creations are quite lovely, little surprises left overnight. They were especially decorative this morning, when fog made them look almost silver. They brought Eugene Fields’s poem, “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod” to mind, the line about “Nets of silver and gold have we.” And with the poetry came Stephen DeCesare’s choral setting of it, which Daughter Number Four sang in high school. Thanks for the memories, spiders.
The arachnids would no doubt want the lethal nature of their work mentioned as well. They incorporate funnels in those unsticky nets of theirs, and hide in them while they wait for prey. When an insect lands on a web, the spider rushes out, runs it down, and bites it. Grass spiders are venomous, too. This is a tough day to be an insect around here. Thanks again, spidies.
Rascal brought me new understanding of the term spin cycle, yesterday. We’d been on a long walk together and, on the way home, he felt the need to cool down by rolling in the grass. He felt the need for a refreshing grass bath several times. The grass at this time of year is full of small leaves that have turned yellow and wafted down from the trees. Also, it features leaf petioles, pine needles, pieces of chewed walnuts and acorns, maple seeds, and other random bits and bobs.
Everything that’s in the grass sticks to a hairy dog. Rascal is a hairy dog. He’s also pretty easy-going about stuff in his fur. He doesn’t mind it at all. But sometimes, a dog’s just got to shake. When, after several grass baths, he gives a good shake, it is a wonder to behold. The petioles, needles, nuts, and debris go flying off him in visible arcs. It’s as if they’re spinning around him.
This is true no matter where Rascal is inspired to shake, in the woods, on the sidewalk, or in the front hall. Whee! At least, it clears the detritus from his fur? Not so much as you’d think. Some of it wants to be one with him. A good-sized green leaf hanging from the fur of his forehead yesterday gave him quite the rakish air.
As Sue and I approached the river’s edge portion of our walk recently, we could hear shrieks and laughter coming from the Cascades area. Sure enough, when we got there, we could see what looked like upper-elementary students working their way through the chutes in two-person kayaks. They were all wearing fastened lifejackets, and they had adult supervision, so my lifeguard sensibility settled down and we could enjoy the children’s fun.
We stood for a while on the footbridge over the big chute, the one that empties boaters out into the main body of the river. By the time the kids got to this chute, they’d negotiated all the other smaller ones, so learning had occurred. Sometimes, we could hear the kayakers psyching themselves up for the big chute as they paused for a while in protected water. Then, usually with a whoop, off the kids would go, flying out into the Huron for whatever the next challenges might be.
We walked upriver and watched from the footbridge at the top of the Cascades. There were still lots of kids in kayaks, waiting for the adult stationed there to signal when it was their turn to start. Some of the boaters were nervous, but it was clear that they trusted the adults to know the outing was something they could handle. They trusted the adults to keep them safe, and they embraced the challenge.
And, you know what? It was all good. At least one kayak went through the first chute backward, but no harm, no foul. That’s where the learning curve begins. The current at the first chute takes boats gently to the riverbank, if the paddlers don’t paddle. So the kids would push off again and start trying things.
Paddle on this side? Right back to the bank. Try the other side. Same result. Aha! Paddle backward! Tada! On to the next chute. It was a delight to watch. As a teacher, I love the moment when learning occurs and the lightbulb goes on. There were lightbulbs flashing everywhere we looked. Thanks, kids. You were amazing.
20 September 2024