If you’re on my Patreon, you already knew about my little catastrophe: one of my Steatoda triangulosa had produced a beautiful fluffy egg sac, I’d rewarded her by feeding her a mealworm, and in the ensuing struggle, the eggs had been smashed. Mama Triangulate Combfoot had her vengeance, and sucked that mealworm dry, reducing it to an empty husk. But the eggs were demolished.

Well now she’s gone ahead and produced a brand new egg sac. Look at it, it’s beautiful.

These look very different than Parasteatoda egg sacs, which are finished off with a light brown leathery casing, but they’re both the same otherwise — a nice wooly blanket of spider silk suspends and cushions the eggs inside. Now begins the pregnancy watch, with hatching expected probably next week sometime.

One of my colleague has a lovely compost bin in their back yard. Or should I say, “had”. They’re leaving our fair campus for a new job in the big city of Madison, which caused me some worry — not just for losing a good contributor in the science & math division, but because, as I’ve reported before, their compost bin has a magnificent colony of Steatoda borealis thriving inside it. Nobody ever asks, “what about the spiders?” when they leave.
So Mary and I…ummm…”appropriated” the compost bin. Don’t worry, I asked permission first, and it has now been relocated to our yard. Just outside our door, where I can check on them regularly.
Is it not beautiful?

It was a disruptive process for many of the spiders. The bottom is open, so hoisting it up meant losing much of the compost inside, but we shoveled up much of it and restocked the bin. No doubt we lost some spiders in the move, but they mainly live in the tangle of webbing inside the lid, not in the compost itself. Lots of egg sacs were still there.

And of course, many agitated spiders scurrying about on the lid.

They live on the small insects that emerge from the decaying compost, and survive the winter on the warmth of the fermenting organic matter, so I threw in some old potatoes I’d been saving for this occasion. We’ll also be much more careful to toss food waste in there, to keep the spiders happy.
We’ll also rename the bin the Atkinson Home for Hungry Spiders, in honor of my colleague.
Although, I don’t understand why he didn’t want to pack up such a gorgeous box full of joy to bring to his new home.

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This story has also been posted to Patreon, and I’ll post occasional updates on the status of the happy spider family there.

We explored the local horticulture garden for spiders and found a few — a lovely young Dolomedes and a rather grumpy looking Philodromus. I try to avoid posting spider photos here, so you’ll have to check out my Patreon or Instagram to see them. Sorry. In recompense, here’s a fly:

I have to ask…so many people are arachnophobic and reflexively avert their eyes at spiders, but do you have the same reaction to close-ups of flies? You know, flies are likely responsible for far more disease and death than spiders, and don’t get me started on their Dipteran cousins, the mosquitoes.

Also, I looked at my Instagram, and it’s just jam-packed with exciting spider photos. Then I looked at the Instagram pages of my more popular, attractive, and charming friends, like David Gorski and Rebecca Watson, and what do I see? Puppies. Lots of puppies.

Am I doing something wrong?

I was first introduced to the wonders of spiders in 1980, when I took a course in sensory physiology from Mike Land, who, if you know his work, is a world-class expert in eyes and vision and optics and comparative physiology. We mainly worked on jumping spiders in that lab because you could just walk outside in the Oregon spring and catch lots of them on the walls of the science buildings.

One of the cool things we learned is that jumping spiders have unusual eye anatomy. Their eyes aren’t spherical, they’re tube-shaped, and they actually function like a Galilean telescope. That’s right, jumping spiders are looking at you through a telescope — they can see things far away relatively clearly. These spiders can look up and see the stars.

We did various experiments on spider vision back then, but one thing we lacked was a spider with a transparent carapace, so we did everything with indirect behavioral and optical methods. This little video would have blown our minds.

SEE RIGHT THROUGH YOU: Close-up video of transparent jumping spider captures its tube-like eyes moving. https://t.co/G2KkMx8DdR pic.twitter.com/J7HZZ2htg4

— ABC News (@ABC) July 3, 2020

We dissected a few spiders and could clearly see the tube-like structure, but that didn’t communicate the dynamic activity of those little telescope eyes at all.