We have a small area just outside of our front door that as far as I can tell holds no purpose other than to propagate weeds. The folks who built the home had a gardener to care for the ground cover plants that grew there, but when given a choice between employing a part time housekeeper or a gardener, there was no contest. Housekeeper won by a mile.
Logically I should have known that the pretty plants would need tending eventually and that I probably would end up with that job, but denial runs strong in my family.
Last summer I stumbled about trying to maintain some semblance of respectable home ownership, but this year the courtyard has just gone to pot. Not literally–pot isn’t yet legal in Florida, so don’t send the sheriff’s department out our way, but figuratively.
Things that made for pretty ground cover a year ago are sprouting tufts that look like an old man’s whiskers, and the uglier stuff is back with a vengeance. We plan to do something creative with the area, but it just hasn’t happened yet. Why? Golf. I blame golf.
Periodically I go out and talk to these plants/weeds as I bend, sweat, and pull, bend, sweat, and pull. It’s all very tender talk: “Go away you ugly sons of bitches, you’re making our home look bad to the UPS and FedEx guys.”
Today I was bending, sweating, and pulling while cursing these plants, and I stumbled into a banana spider’s web.
I didn’t realize at first that it was a banana spider’s web. I was too busy slapping at my head and shoulders to remove any arachnids that might have transferred from the web to my body. When I stepped out of the web I looked up and there she sat. Huge.
Banana spiders in Florida are not poisonous, but they will bite and I understand the bites are quite painful. I continued to pull weeds, but now I had one eye on the spider. Cursing, bending, sweating, and pulling.