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I worked at a Girl Scout camp in rural Wisconsin for one pretty miserable
summer. We stayed up until 2 am trying to get things cleaned up and ready
for the next day, and woke up at 5:30am for more of the same.
One day the horses had gotten out of the pasture. We spent until 4am
rounding them up. Just as my tired head hit the pillow in my army surplus
platform tent, I heard a tiny crystal clear voice: "Wake up! There's a
spider in my tent!"
Masking my exasperation, I mumbled, "Is it a daddy longlegs, honey?"
"Noooo...", she said in a hushed and reverant tone. So, I got my spider
hunting kit- a plastic watercup and a clipboard, and followed her to her
tent.
For you see, I tried very hard to instill a love of even the most unfriendly
looking natural beings in my campers. We were living in their backyards, and
so should not fear the spiders, or the centipedes, or the bats, but love
them and appreciate their place in the great mandala of life. You know, the
whole Lion King deal. My standard operating proceedure for spiders was to
name them, catch them under the cup, and release them to their spidery
duties of catching mosquitos.
At any rate, my love for the natural world was waning as I followed this
little Botticelli angel of a child through the waxing dawn. Her tent mates
were crouched fearfully outside the tent as I strode confidently, bravely,
tiredly up the creaky wooden steps. When the first few beams of my
flashlight revealed nothing, I went back out side and told them, "The spider
went home guys, he's not there anymore. You should all go to sleep now."
"I don't think he'd just leave," quavered out the cherub. "So show me where
he is," I said, not just a little frustrated. "I can't find him anywhere!"
She took my flashlight and immediately spotted the biggest, hairiest,
grossest wolf spider I'd ever seen. It was the size of my fist- easily
outstripping the spider catching cups capabilities.
Taking a quick breath for courage, buying time, trying to remember my love
for nature and everything living, I turned to the mite and asked, "So...
What's his name?"
She put her chubby hands to her little hips and looked me square in the
eye.... "That there is Franco the Fucking Big Spider and I want him the HELL
out of my tent!"
What could I do? I poked the wall of the tent until Franco got tired,
flipped me the bird, and left.
I had 4 little girls on the floor of my tent for a week.
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