What a Tangled Web

I’m not often an early riser, but maybe I should do so more often. What a lovely start to the day. We had a surprisingly chilly 32F summer morning, with frost over ground still wet from a light rain last night.

At 7:00 am, the Alaskan sun was already out and bright, if not adding much in the way of warmth. During Rhonda’s morning walk, the combination of sunshine and frost allowed me a brief glimpse into the secret life of our local eight-legged denisons.

In particular, since I’m almost certain they were the artists showcased here; orb-weaver spiders – known locally as globe spiders.

This is a fairly common spider in Alaska, but I’ve honestly never seen a web of this size before!

An easily 3’ diameter Orb-weaver spider web!

Orb-weaver spiders are great bug-eaters and not dangerous to humans, so we mostly adopt a live-and-let-live mentality towards them – as long as they agree to live outdoors. 😉

On the other hand, I hadn’t realized we were quite this outnumbered by our helpful little neighbors.

Zoom in to see the multiple webs I found upon closer inspection.

The average orb-weaver spider is brown or cream/gray, with handsome abdominal marking, but they also come in bright orange, yellow and gun-metal gray (go ahead – look them up). The females are much the larger spider … and they can be pretty large indeed.

I know this for a fact, as I opened a gray metal cabinet out in Jerry’s shop once and nearly killed myself scrambling away from a large globe spider that had been hiding in plain sight on a coiled up orange electric cord. That spider was literally as orange as a traffic cone!

I’ve long thought they must be capable of changing color as camouflage, sort of like an octopus, since I’ve also found a solid gray globe spider on my metal ranch-panel fencing, and once had a yellow-green one crawl out from the underside of a large fall leaf. Word of honor!

A light brown orb-weaver spider

In any case, I’ve seldom noticed webs much more than 8-10” across (which I thought were pretty big before today).

This morning’s array of sparkling, dew-laden webs, captured in the sunlight, were a sight to behold. This picture was what first drew my attention. As you can see, it was initially just a glancing sunbeam lighting up a circle in the foliage.

First sighting.

I sure hope I don’t dream of spiders tonight!

Squirrel Tales

We finally seem to have a new resident red squirrel. Our fluffy, well-fed girl, Maude, disappeared last summer, after reigning over our bird feeders and nearby birch trees for several years, leaving our yard completely squirrel-less.

When she disappeared, we scanned the trees for weeks, but were not rewarded by a single fluffy tail or scolding chitter. Rhonda was despondent, missing her near-daily squirrel-led deck-dashes.

I’m pretty sure Maude enjoyed those romps nearly as much as Rhonda. She knew exactly how far she needed to go to be safe, often leaving the feeder barely ahead of the black and tan bullet at her heels. She would flow nimbly up a post or over a railing, knowing full well that Ronni couldn’t reach her. Only once, in those three years, did she misjudge her timing, leaving a mouthful of tail fur (but only fur) for the triumphant Dachshund to savor.

It wasn’t until mid-winter that we noticed a skittish newcomer in a nearby tree. He was young and lean, not yet the size of our complacent, well-fed Mauve. For a while, he scampered higher in the trees at the slightest perceived sound or movement from the house.

We knew the bird feeders would draw him in eventually, but he was cautious. When he finally found the courage to reach the bounty of the feeder, his first visits were quick grab and run raids. In time, he relaxed enough to eat a few black oil sunflower seeds and pull peanut pieces from the suet bar.

Unlike Maude though, who would happily continue stuffing her cheeks while waiting for me to open the door for Ronni to dart out, George (yes, we named him George) was gone like a flash at the first bark from inside the house.

Very disappointing for Ronni, who was used to Maude’s confident, playful nature. George, so far, is more of an eat and run type.

George
Ready to run!

George is becoming a bit bolder in recent weeks, but it’ll be a while (if he survives) before he’s as cheeky and brave as our Maude. Maybe by next fall, he’ll be ready to give Rhonda a run for her money, so to speak.

R.I.P. Maude. I hope this feisty little guy is one of your offspring. 💗

Bird Wars

A shotgun blast of 40-50 Pine Siskins shot past my deck this morning, probably just as irritated as me by the sudden onslaught of sleet from a leaden gray sky.

Yesterday, the local mob of Siskins had arrived, followed shortly by yet another mob, until there were so many swirling, chattering and bickering birds darting from birch tree to birch tree, I thought sure war would break out any moment.

Turn your volume up! 😄 And this was only the first mob!

Why these tiny sparrows invariably travel in such numbers is beyond me, since upon arrival, they immediately go to raucously arguing over every seed and spruce cone on the freshly uncovered ground.

It’s like a feathery swarm of bees up in the trees, bringing the still bare limbs alive with constant movement and sound. Small war parties would part from the mob, arrowing to the ground, only to take up the noisy argument amongst the damp, dead leaves. Back and forth, back and forth, for about fifteen minutes.

Then, as if on cue, the entire mob of birds would lift into the air, circle and rocket off to some new destination, known only to them.

Silence falls, broken occasionally by the appreciative chirp of a chickadee as it returns gratefully to its usually peaceful perch by the bird feeder.

I didn’t see hide nor feather of them the rest of the day, leaving the trees and bird feeder to our quieter and more polite nuthatches and chickadees. We even had a solitary woodpecker drop by for a suet snack.

This morning, just as the weather turned for the worse, the war reconvened with that shotgun blast. Pine Siskins everywhere.

I’m betting they were nesting in the dense patch of birch trees across the driveway and the sudden, sullen downpour of sleet (it really did seem to just start up without warning) had the birds taking flight from the bare, unprotected branches. Most likely heading for better cover in the copse of spruce trees beyond our yard. Smart birds.

Oh great. Now it’s snowing.

First Rain

I awoke to the patter of raindrops outside my bedroom window. Slowly at first, still drowsy with sleep, I tried unsuccessfully to identify the soft, steady music of it.

Almost drifting off again to the pleasant sound, it finally registered and I uttered a surprised and happy, “Oh! Rain!”

Of course, that was all it took to have blankets stirring and a sleek, black and tan face popping out from under them. Mom was up!

Rhonda’s morning ritual, as soon as she knows I’m awake (even if barely) is to throw her 13 lb self joyfully across my neck, bathing my face in morning kisses. It’s hard to believe she’s been doing this for nearly six years already.

Rhonda’s March 31st birthday has become my own personal start of spring, even though we will invariably have a few more short bursts of winter, defiantly declaring its unwillingness to quit the field.

But winter will give way. In the meantime, back to our wonderful morning rain …

Those of you who don’t live where winter blankets the world around you in stark, silent white snow for months at a time, might not understand how precious the sound of the very first rain shower of the year is. 💦☔️💦

Even the wildlife seem to appreciate the light rain. This pair of yearling moose were contentedly browsing newly uncovered twigs along the still icy driveway. The snow level had dropped by easily a foot since the rain began.

I will, of course, periodically lose my enjoyment of wet, cloudy days later in the year, but right now – it’s heavenly!! It rained off and on nearly all day. Not a heavy rain, but a gentle, continuous fall.

I cracked windows open in spite of the chill, the better to hear the welcome drips from roof to window’s ledge. I could literally see snow disappearing under the gentle pressure and [relatively] balmy 40° temperature.

Raindrops glistened like diamonds and clung to the branches of the small spruce tree next to my bird feeders, only to fall and scatter in a sparkling display of light as happy chickadees landed, causing the branches to quiver.

The first spring rain is a joyous occasion. My heart swells to bursting over the promise of spring. It’s a good day.