
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SUNDAY, June 26, 1994                   TAG: 9407220022
SECTION: CURRENT                    PAGE: NRV2   EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY 
SOURCE: Steve Kark
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

IT'S BEST TO LEAVE MOTHER NATURE ALONE

Poking through the tool shed this morning, I came upon a spider dining on a damsel fly. Suspended just to the left of the doorway, the wooly spider had already sunk its fangs deep into its prey. And by the looks of the fly, the spider was pretty close to finishing up.

Although I've never been especially bothered by spiders, I couldn't resist a brief, involuntary shudder.

Part of my reaction, I'm sure, is human nature: Most people have a similar response to any creature with either more eyes or more appendages than themselves. The spider, of course, beats us by a factor of four in each case.

To compound matters, I saw my share of giant bug movies when I was a kid. You probably know the ones I mean. They were almost always about scientists conducting experiments that somehow disrupted the balance of nature.

As I recall, atomic energy was a persistent boogeyman at the time. Messing with that stuff, the movies made clear, was asking for trouble.

Things always got out of hand in these movies - there'd be a radioactive spill, for instance - and giant bugs were often the result. Along with the spider movies, there were others about all sorts of creepy crawlies, from tank-sized ants to airplane-sized praying mantises. There were even a few about giant moths. (Although this doesn't sound especially intimidating, the moths were large and fierce enough to give an angry dinosaur a real whopping.)

Anyway, the end result was all these bugs creeping around that were much bigger than people. And because of this unfortunate turn of events, the people in the movies found themselves knocked several notches down the food chain. Now they were the victims of the bugs, instead of the other way around.

How could anyone forget the scene at the end of "The Fly" (in the original version) where the spider approaches the miniaturized scientist as he lies helplessly caught in the spider's web? At the time I concluded that there couldn't be a more terrifying way to meet one's end. And typically I suppose, like most boys my age, I looked on spiders with a mixture of fascination and fear after that.

Over the years I've come to recognize the spider's role in keeping down the number of other insect pests, and I've grown quite tolerant of them. Even to the point where discovering one crawling across my sleeve, I'm more likely to gently flick it away than I am to jump with fright. (Of course, this depends on the size of the spider.)

I won't go out of my way to kill one in the house, unless it decides to make a web in a place that would be obvious to visitors. Most of our guests would find little comfort in such a laissez-faire attitude toward spiders.

Still, although I know that most spiders are harmless, I can't help a shiver or two when contemplating a scene like the one I came across in our tool shed.

Silly as it is, I feel a trace of empathy for the fly. Perhaps the images from the movies of my youth still linger in my subconscious mind, filed somewhere between the long-forgotten ghosts and the monsters that used to live under my bed.

At any rate, if I learned anything at all watching those stupid movies, it's that you shouldn't mess with Mother Nature. Even when it only concerns spiders and flies.

Who knows what it could lead to?

by CNB