I remember the first time my wife found a black widow spider nest on our upstairs deck, the summer after moving to this area. I was ready to purge the area with fire. Napalm, propane torches, gasoline fires; I was considering all options. But, as the deck is attached to the house, I knew this probably wasn’t a good idea as I didn’t think the insurance claim would go in my favour.
Instead, that deck was dead to me for the rest of the summer. Hidden behind patio doors was a place I actively avoided. I mean, these weren’t just spiders, but man-killing Shelob clones living on the side of my house. Horrific.
A few years later, I’ve come to live in (almost) harmony with the evil, poison-spitting creatures. Well, somewhat anyway. If they stay out of my sight, I won’t get the giant Costco-sized can of spider killer to remove them from the face of the planet.
Except for this weekend. When I had to enter Shelob’s Lair. Twice a year, I must open the septic tank cover, reach in, and pull out the filter to clean it. It’s a must-do to avoid the septic field plugging up and not draining. In reality, the fear of septic backing up into my house is greater than my fear of evil spiders... barely.
I will save you the horrors of a picture of my plight and the inside of my septic tank, but I can tell you that the top of the septic tank is where the Black Widows live. They build their horde nests and lie in ambush for this semi-annual cleaning task... just waiting for some unsuspecting homeowner to put his arm into the cavern for them to devour it. Perhaps, even having the said, poisoned homeowner fall into the pit to feed the legions of hell-spawn that these spiders produce.
It’s a very traumatic task for me. Both Fall and Spring, I must steel myself to the task long before I can just do it. And then I go, garden hose at the ready, pressurized as high as possible to blow back the ropes of spider goo and reach in to the lonely filter as quickly as possible.
It’s a very harsh task. Really, it’s only a 20-minute chore, but the fear and procrastination, particularly in the spring when I don’t have to worry about losing my protective water due to the winter outdoor water shutdown, are real things.
I survived another battle with the black widows this weekend and lived to tell about it, unscarred. The war isn’t won yet, as I’m sure the evil things are strategizing for the fall, but I will take whatever small victory I can get.