Anyone who has spent time around kids has probably read Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White, or seen one of the movies made from the book. If you’re not familiar with the story, it is about a spider (Charlotte) who can write things on her web. By doing so, she saves the life of Wilbur, a special pet pig who otherwise would have been destined for the dinner table. What you may not know is that the spider in the story was actually based on a real type of spider from a very large family called Orb Weavers.
Black and Yellow Argiope - Argiope aurantia. The "writer spider" often includes a zigzag pattern in its web called the "stabilimentum". Scientists are not sure why this is done, but according to BugGuide.net, theories are that it "stabilizes the web, or makes it more apparent to birds which will thus not fly into and wreck it, or it reflects light to attract insect prey, or perhaps most likely helps to camouflage the spider in the web." Photo courtesy of Troy Bartlett/BugGuide.net
Orb Weaver spiders have a distinguishing characteristic that no doubt caused Mr. White to pattern his star character after this particular species. They make a big round web that frequently has a heavy silk zigzagging pattern running through the middle. The zigzags can look sort of like writing.
One of the most common types of Orb Weavers in this part of the world is the Black-and-Yellow Argiope, commonly known as the black-and-yellow garden spider or “writer spider.” They build their webs, which can be as large as two feet across, in sunny areas on shrubs or tall plants. If you get too near, the spider will cause the web to vibrate in order to make her body look bigger and scarier, although she won’t hurt you. Kids get a kick out of watching this happen, assuming they can get past the “ick factor” of being that close to a lady with eight legs.
I’m always happy to see writer spiders, despite the fact that they can get big enough to startle me if I realize too late that I’m on a collision course with their webs. They are carnivorous creatures that feed on all sorts of flying insects, including many of the bad bugs that can damage my vegetables. In fact, just the other morning, I saw something that probably helped save a fall tomato I’ve got ripening on the vine.
I was out working in the garden when a whopper of a leaf-footed bug, one of my least-favorite things, buzzed within millimeters of my ear, scaring the willies out of me and causing me to drop my watering can. (I’m convinced that leaf-footed bugs have selectively evolved to do this in order to retaliate for my sucking up their kinfolk with my Dustbuster cordless vacuum (see Vacuuming Tomatoes).)
Charlotte bags dinner.
What happened next was one of those little satisfying-but-rare moments of immediate come-uppance. The leaf-footed bug flew straight past my ear and right into the waiting web of a hungry writer spider. The web wowed out with the bug’s impact, and my own personal Charlotte was on that bad boy in a flash, despite the fact that it was larger than she was, and struggling with all its might. In a blink she had wrapped it up like a mummy and hauled it over to the edge of the web, to what I assumed was the spider equivalent of the pantry.
I snapped a blurry photo of the action with my phone. I wish I could have scribbled a congratulatory message on her web. Had that been possible, I would have written, “Bon Appétit!”
