484 



Handbook of N ature-Study 



BALLOONING SPIDERS 

 Teacher's Story 



F we look across the grass some warm sunny morn- 

 ing or evening of early fall, we see threads of 

 spider silk clinging everywhere; these are not 

 regular webs for trapping insects, but are single 

 threads spun from grass stalk to grass stalk until 

 the fields are carpeted with glistening silk. We 

 have a photograph of a plowed field, taken in 

 autumn, which looks likes the waves of a lake; 

 so completely is the ground covered with spider 

 threads that it shows the "path of the sun" like 

 water. 



When we see so many of these random threads, it is a sign that the 

 young spiders have started on their travels, and it is not difficult then to 

 find one in the act. The spiderling climbs up some tall object, like a twig 

 or a blade of grass, and sends out its thread of silk upon the air. If the 

 thread becomes entangled, the spiderling sometimes walks off on it, using 

 it as a bridge, or sometimes it begins again. If the thread does not become 

 entangled with any object, there is soon enough given off, so that the 

 friction of the air current upon it supports the weight of the body of the 

 little creature, which promptly lets go its hold of earth as soon as it feels 

 safely buoyed up, and off it floats to lands unknown. Spiders thus sailing 

 through the air have been discovered in mid-ocean. 



Thus we see that the spiders have the same way of distributing their 

 species over the globe, as have the thistles and dandelions. It has been 

 asked what the spiders live upon while they are making these long jour- 

 neys, especially those that have drifted out to sea. The spider has very 

 convenient habits of eating. When it finds plenty of food it eats a great 

 deal; but in time of famine it lives on, apparently comfortably, without 

 eating. One of our captive spiders was mislaid for six months and when 

 we found her she was as full of "grit" as ever, and she did not seem to be 

 abnormally hungry when food was offered her. 



A noiseless, patient spider, 



I mark'd where, on a lillle promontory, it stood isolated: 



Mark'd how to explore the vaeant, vast surrounding. 



It launched forth f lament out of itself : 



Ever unreeling them- — ever tirelessly speeding them. 



" And you, my soul, where you stand, 

 Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space. 

 Ceaselessly, musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them; 

 Till the bridge you will need be form' d — /;// the ductile anchor hold; 

 Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, my soul." 



— Walt Whitman. 



