Christmas memories and paralyzed spiders

Christmas memories and paralyzed spiders.

Oh, I hope your holidays were filled with an assortment of delicious smelling and exceedingly tasty foods, warm blankets and hot cocoa–singing, wishing, laughing and planning–movie watching, book reading, story telling and shopping–skiing, sliding, skating, and lots and lots of smiling.  I hope you were delighted by associations and gifts and gift giving.  I hope it was a holiday filled to the brim with the kinds of activities that make the best kind of memories. It really can be the most wonderful time of the year. [Were you surprised by anything under the tree?  I hope so.  I can’t imagine I’m the only person in this wide world of ours that loves surprises.] I hope that you planned out Christmas so well that you aren’t overwhelmed with what’s coming in the mail. As in bills, bills, bills more bills to pay.

~smile~

Handsome Dude managed to surprise me–again–with something you might be surprised to discover was a surprise of the delightful variety. Okay–maybe not delightful. Astonishing. Yeh-yeh.  Let’s go with ‘astonishing’–because it was.

Here [big grin] I go [wide eyes that are a little bit sparkly] with showing you. You’ll need a little bit of a back story–a very specific back story.

The date: September of 2012
The post: The Opposite of Peter Parker.
The idea: to share my love of arachnids with the world at large.

[I don’t love arachnids.]

There were one hundred and twenty horrifying three arachnids on our porch.
[You really should read the post if you are at all intrigued. I read the post every once in awhile because I a little bit still can’t believe it happened.]

One hundred and twenty-three light green little monsters on our porch.
And three Mud Dauber grubs–which is another term for Mud Dauber offspring–Mud Dauber littles.

[shiver of realization]

And not one single picture because who in the world is going to stop after separating spider carcasses into piles of ten to make it easier to count the astonishing number and take a picture of what felt like at the time an army of the most terrifying assassins known to man? I can’t believe I had the presence of mind to even count let alone put them in piles of ten.

[I mean what I say.]

Which brings me to this:

Handsome Dude came bounding down the stairs [that’s a great picture in my head–all 6’4″ of Handsome Dude bounding] declaring that he’d found something cool.
He was obviously pleased with the treasure–and asked,

“What do you think it is, Babe?”

What do I think it is? Oh–we are so far beyond ‘think’ on this one. I am smack dauber dab in the middle, up to my ears, in absolutely knowing.

“It’s that wasp nest thingy. Remember that one time I called you when I was paralyzed with fear and was exceedingly nauseous because I casually kicked that hunk of mud off of the Winder Dairy Farm cooler?
Yeh-yeh. That’s a Mud Dauber nest house of horrors.

Whoa. Wait. Why is it in the house?”

[I calmly said that last part. So calmly. However, deep within the recesses of my mind I was secretly wishing I could be adopted my a pack of wolves–no–eaten by a pack of wolves.]

I backed away from Handsome Dude.

[At that particular point in our relationship, I was wondering if someone needed a husband and would be willing to actually make a purchase.
Or a trade.
The house and the husband for a place without mud daubers.]

“I’m just going to put it back where I found it and let nature take its course.”
Nature take its course my eye. Handsome Dude is standing right here–he owns tools–let’s open that little condo up.
[Surely the occupants were frozen solid, right?]

I cautioned him that it would be important NOT to startle me at any point during the process as perhaps he had never really and truly seen me in my crazy.

We went outside and methodically began.
He was there mostly to make sure I didn’t harm myself using the tools we had selected to deconstruct the little dwelling.
I wasn’t allowed to use a power tool considering the state I was in.

[So as not to give every person that reads this a classic case of the weebie-jeebies–though that might happen anyway–I deliberately placed little pockets of color in the shape of arrows to brighten things up.]

Those are lifeless spider bodies. Except for the purple arrow guy. That fella seems to be in a different stage of the feeding cycle.

AAaaaHHhhhHHHhhhH!

If you find it difficult to think at this very moment, know this: it’s a picture and not the real thing. It’s a picture of the real thing.

[I can’t even touch the screen or look at it very long without starting to feel like I should be screaming.]

FYI: Mud Daubers are wasps.
The female builds an encased nursery for each little Mud Dauber egg.
The nursery looks very much like a cylinder, is made out of mud, and is definitely big enough for the monster little to grow.
Multiple cylinders sometimes means multiple Mud Daubers.

[Flowers and color. Flowers and color.]

Before the nursery is sealed, the female goes ‘hunting’ for future sustenance for the wee babe–generally in the way of spiders.
They paralyze [not kill]  the spiders by stinging them.
[The grub needs to feed off of the living tissue.]
The wasp then transports the lifeless yet living arachnids to the nursery where they are promptly placed/stuffed/dropped into the bottom of the cylinder where the mother lays her egg and seals the tube of incubation.
[I am simultaneously fascinated and horrified by this.]

I wondered how many spiders would be allocated to a single nursery. Answer according to Google: 10-12.

[I’m a little bit gagging.]

The egg eventually becomes a grub that consumes the spiders–just the spider parts that are full of nutrition.
[Not the legs, I’m guessing. There’s an abundance of legs in these photos.]
When it’s finished nibbling on arachnid, the grub spins a little cocoon and eventually emerges from it’s abode in mature form ready to frolic for a day or two and then do the adult thing and begin the horrifying cycle all over again.
Astonishing, really.

You’ll notice that the grubs don’t look affected by the freezing weather. That’s because they weren’t affected by the freezing weather–Mama built an effective little insulated nursery.
They are very much alive.
The spiders weren’t affected either.
Some of the them are quite dead because they’ve served their purpose.
AAaahhhHHHhhhHH!
Some of them are still waiting for that blessed opportunity [take note of the different discolorations amongst the spider-folk].
One of the grubs has actually started to spin their little cocoon.

I wonder if they’re considered adolescents by then.

[Mothers everywhere–think of the heartache you wouldn’t have if your teenager was encased in a cocoon until maturation was complete.
No raging hormones.
No burping at the table.
No drama.
Simply construct a little room, stuff it with food, and wait.]

~sheesh~

No, I’m not a scientist. No, I don’t have a speck of expertise in the area of Mud Daubers or teenagers for that matter. ~grin~

I still think this was crazy astonishing.

Excuse me while I go write a fashion post.