Nevermind the Spiders

*note* while there are triggers and mention of violence there is nothing graphic. Only glanced over as reference.

Never mind the spiders, they are good luck. It is the bird cages you have to watch out for.

I grew up with a distinct dislike for bird cages. It always seemed like such an awful thing to do to a bird that was meant to fly. My mother doted on hers. Clipped their wings carefully and put them back in their cage. She taught them to speak but covered the cage when they chattered too much or became too troublesome. My grandmother made sure to have birdhouses right outside the kitchen window in the farmhouse we all lived in, overlooking the garden she so lovingly tended. A lot goes into making good soil she would say as birds flitted freely in and out in full view of the cage.

She grew flowers mainly. Roses liked the occasional banana peel but were otherwise not as fussy as you would think. The blue hydrangeas grew into a large bush all by themselves because they liked the naturally acidic soil in the area, and the rest was amended. They stood like sentinels at the edge of the driveway. The tulips I learned the hard way were not weeds. Dandelions blanketed the grass recklessly.

It was a kind of soft paradise when the sun would come out. The orb weavers contentedly hung in their large webs almost like a cow chewing its cud. They caught morning dew, sometimes grasshoppers, and a sense of slow change. People would drive from out of town to take pictures from the viewpoint down the road. A slice of natural beauty for post cards and day trips.

It took time for me to grow up enough to leave the darkest chapter of my life. But I did, while still in high school. Generational trauma had taken its toll. Faithfully passed down in covert ways. Set in a backdrop of a mountain, forest, and streams. Unhealthy family dynamics flowed like those streams. and the mountain as always, stood unaffected.

You rarely find spiders in high traffic areas. They are sensitive to the vibrations and prefer to avoid it. There was much movement, as I approached adulthood and graduated from high school while living with the school lunch lady. She had decided to do a trial run for fostering. I always wondered if after me she decided to go through with it. They were kind, but I never fit into the fold. And she likely did not expect to have to turn over the computers in the house to the FBI because we were still in the shadow of the mountain and family streams.

The next chapter was uneventful as the trees and ocean stood guard. Waves crashed not to far away from where I went to college. I delighted in the gentle lessons of the blue damsel flies that flitted along the paths. The spirits that lived there were comfortable in a rhythm of movement that felt like rest. I do not remember any spiders. Only a rainbow that appeared as I got on the plane to leave. Almost welcoming me back someday but no hint as to what awaited me where I went.

A murder in the family flung me as far a 20 year old could possibly go without much in the way of resources and estrangement from family. The only person who I was close to had been beaten to death. So I went far away from everything. One coast to the other, the furthest stretches of north west to phallic tip of the south east. To the land of the endless summer.

The evergreens gave way to a land exploding in everything respiring, and perspiring at once. Summer, sun and dangerous things that lurked in any water you might see. Nothing ever seemed to die there. It never got cold enough in the “winter” and the trees never changed. Dandelions could not grow in the soil. It takes a lot to make good soil, but apparently it can be bad enough to discourage even the most cheerful, sunny, poor soil loving survivor. They can live to a certain point, but not flower. Plenty of things could grow in it sure. But only loud, garish, and sharp things.

I lived there, but did not thrive. I could not breathe in the humidity as the life lessons kept coming. The only way someone can end up there as I did, was with the help of less savory characters who saw my vulnerability and figured they could profit off it. Truly a sunny place for shady people. I learned a great deal about how naive I really was to human nature. A “mark” is born every minute you see, and the goal is to scam them before they scam you. Don’t feel bad about it, they would do the same to you if not worse. And it was true. There anyway. I learned an important life lesson. Do not stay where the dandelions can’t grow.

I met good people along the way. You just learn to change the definition of good and what all it entails. I grew and changed as much as I could. But I could not flower. The lessons stopped and life stagnated as much as the swamp nearby. There are people who choose to live their entire lives in the swamp you know. Such a strange thing.

I look back now and wonder how I survived half of what I did and more importantly with any humanity intact. Some lessons came on like the storms. They rebuild quickly there though. No matter how much glass is shattered. The orb weavers that blanket the tropical plants have spikes protruding from their abdomens. Still harmless, but in that place you need to be armored, there are many worse things that exist. There were no bird cages though. Birds fly south in the winter, and that is where they go. Thousands blanket the sky but they are expected to be transient, as are most people who visit there.

I went home to the mountain and trees changed back to what I knew instead of Christmas lights on palm trees. It felt as if I was no longer recognized and got stung multiple times by wasps despite never having been as a child. Even when I deserved it because I had kicked the rotting fruit they were enjoying for no real reason. My mother always said I liked to tempt the fates.

I got back into school and married. Dandelions bloomed everywhere even in the city. Cherry blossoms softened you with pink petals spreading in the rain. Wet pavement complimented the color. I tried to mend things as much as I could with family. But it was a strained uncomfortable thing. As was my marriage. There is real science behind who we select as mates. I chose the mountain, cold and stoic and in the distance. But familiar. There were spiders but not many. Mostly daddy long legs in the unbalanced suburban environment.

The type of jobs he did dried up in the city. There was another murder in my family, so we relocated to a place where not much grows at all. Sage, more sage, and weeds so tough that many douse with poison instead of remove by hand. Air so thin that dogs born there had barrel chests and you could never quite catch your breath fully. Potatoes spoiled quickly, but berries lasted and I never understood why. You could get fresh meat and milk but produce was hard.

The people were bland, but inoffensive like the pasta salad at a barbecue. The women were strong and more likely than not, carrying. They were honorable but not warm. The land of actual cowboys, just for some reason, 7000 ft above sea level.

Famous for wind it did not disappoint. Though you quickly found out that sand prickled the skin when it really whipped up instead of providing the riding a horse fantasy sensation. Snow 6 months out of the year and no transient people. No one would go there on purpose and most people don’t leave. It was more tolerant that you would think as far as differences, but there was no movement. Only the occasional black widow in the stillness.

Things progressively got worse in my marriage. Colder and colder until we lived in separate wings of the house. Strangers. He found fortune and fame, and most importantly a taste of power and control in the position he found in life. We had a nice house. 3 bedroom 2.5 bath for just the two of us. But it was empty. Minimal furniture, no color except for my space. What is the point of an empty home? Land he purchased with nothing on it? Acres in the desert.

It was a nice house, save for one thing. In my “office” was a tree with a bird cage on the wall left behind by the previous owners. I hated it with a passion but only learned at the very end that it was a decal and could be removed, not paint. I grew plants in pots indoors. Outside was an impossible challenge to garden. The yard was small and salted to kill the weeds. Nothing would grow for a decade.

I started making spiders in my isolation. They were beautiful beaded spiders. Swarovski crystals made such a statement people would stop dead in their tracks when I wore one. I gave them away. The hours it took to make one would never make them profitable as a small business. So many spiders, in my room full of color and art as I watched the riots spread across the nation during Covid and my home city burned down.

He found his match while away for business. His true match, equally ambitious and greedy for power and control. The streams exist even the most unlikely of places. She was 20 years older with money and more than I had to offer. A sudden divorce and I fell flat on my face in another desert with nothing to my name. I didn’t fight it and I do not regret it. I kept the oath I gave when he had nothing, and my honor.

There were only a few places that were not shut down during Covid. Places you could move, get a place and a job. Similar yet different to the desert I had come from. The land is red here. When there are dust storms it looks like mars outside. Tornado sirens are eerie but quiet enough you can mistake them for something else until you suddenly realize you are in danger.

The lessons here have been the harshest I have experienced. Poverty, betrayal, violence, but also the wizened desert hardened faces full of kindness. The knife in the back that comes with I love you is sharp. To be different here you have to be willing to stand in your truth and own it. It is not a kind place, though the charity is real. It will harden you and strengthen you. Out of the forge you walk with scars and flames licking your skin.

I am ready to leave. But where now? My soul longs for the evergreens, the fog, and the forests. Snails and moss and rainy days. But I have learned perhaps mountains should be avoided. I keep waiting for the answer. And the spiders. But I have no drive to make any.

The Brazilian jewel tarantula is a soft vibrant beauty. Purple, pink, blue. One cannot help but see the colors almost glow and forget it is a spider. One came across my social media feed compliments of the algorithm. As did a couple of bouncy curious and harmless jumping spiders. They like to explore. The Brazilian jewel loses the colors as it gets older becoming drab and faded. Oh beautiful one, don’t we all.

It felt like it was a whisper, not the answer. A small black spider in my bathroom. Too small to see if it was a problematic species or not, but I let it be. With no web, a ground spider ventures forth instead of waiting and attracting. Perhaps that is the lesson.

This morning I want pancakes and I have nothing on the schedule so why not. I am in a space of transition. I left one job without another lined up because it was that bad. But I have reached a level where I can earn a salary enough to pay my bills and save. I’ll get another. I hope. When a chapter is ready to close such things matter less. But where do I want to go? I can throw a dart at the map and it won’t matter. There have been more spiders lately but I don't quite know what they are telling me. Somewhere with a softer sun perhaps. Maybe I am supposed to truly venture out instead of being flung or dragged

Nevermind the spiders, they are good luck. It is the bird cages you need to watch out for.