I watch as baby spiders make their way across the yard on long webs blowing in the wind. The tiny dots rise up and down, just flowing in the sunshine, careless and free, waiting to land somewhere, anywhere, and make a home.
They land on the fence, in the grass, on the porch, and across the street to my neighbor’s mailbox. Called “ballooning” in the science world, spiders do this to release their young or escape from predators or competitors. After witnessing such a magical event, I did a little research and found a fabulous YouTube video I highly recommend on this subject called “How Spiders Use Electricity to Fly”.
Nonetheless, I admire the courage of these amazing creatures. No matter the size, when you compare a spider to the forest or field, or even your kitchen or bathroom, its presence can easily go unnoticed, but what a remarkable impact spiders have on our planet and their ecosystems. Personally, I love them. I’m a gardener, so spiders are naturally my best friends.
This brings me to the idea of the fall, a season so many in New England love, despite the pumpkin traffic. Not sure if I’m coining a term here, but most of us are bound to cross pumpkin traffic on our way out to, well, anywhere, given it’s any day after Wednesday. Thursdays through Sundays are peak shopping days for pumpkins.
We grew our own this year, mentioned in my last post. We’re proud! Back to the courage of spiders and the fall season. It’s also the time when trees shed their leaves after their colorful displays. I can’t tell you how many leaves I grab on my walk to put under heavier things on my porch, only to see the edges curl and dry, but that’s okay.
Although shedding leaves is natural, much like spiders ballooning to find a new home, sometimes we witness trees that begrudgingly hold onto their leaves well past the others. We have a couple of oaks that do this, and I wonder at their stubbornness, knowing they hold onto them for some unknown reason, but they have their reasons why. This retaining is called “Marcescence,” and scientists are still not 100% sure of why certain trees do this, and I don’t really need to know for sure, either.
What I admire about the dropping and stepping (or ballooning) into the fall is the letting go. To be fully transparent, I am not a fan of heights, boardwalks, jumping off of any kind, planes, anything air-like. Big no for me! I do fully, however, believe in the absolute beautiful power in the art of letting go.
Take the spider who chooses to stay somewhere unsafe because it’s what he knows, and the world out there is the unknown, scary, unpredictable. Who knows what happens then! It could be he ends up beating out his competitor in a fierce fight like the ones we witness on our porch at times in the summer. Or, it could be he dies under the shoe of a fearful person who doesn’t know any better (how terrible! please don’t kill your spiders- if directly threatened by something deadly- get some help!).
The leaves, on the other hand, fall at the end of their lives to make room for new growth in the spring, hence the cycle starts over. Trees that hang onto too many leaves are at risk of breaking or cracking branches under snow or ice, burdening their winter survival by dead weight.
In both instances, the idea of letting go of what is old and what no longer serves does not hinder the fall, it actually encourages it. By empowering that choice, the tree lives, and the spider lives. Perhaps by letting go, we learn to live, too, in some new way after releasing what weighed us down or no longer was in our best interest. Sometimes, though, we don’t know what the weight of the burden is until we let go and find ourselves floating in unfamiliar air.
Depending on your personality, childhood, genetics, family background, and so many other factors, you may personally enjoy this feeling. Maybe you love taking risks, seeking thrills, and even riding every roller coaster you come across. Or, you can be like me and hang onto a chair as you go down a step on your porch because there is no railing and the suspension you feel of having nothing to grab onto terrifies you as if an ocean was beneath your feet filled with scary monsters. True story.
Sometimes, though, you’re uncomfortable enough to jump out of whatever you’re in that just isn’t serving your spirit anymore, and when you do, that takes courage unspeakable, but without this, you would not know what waits out there for you. I’ve written a bit about moving on from teaching, and lately I’ve seen wonderful and amazing people in my life mustering the courage to make new choices and try new things, and I admire this because I know how scary it can be for us more “rigid” types.
I am blessed with my supportive family, and I know the human aspects of our lives dictate how “free” we can actually be, but when you think of that spider, he knows that when he takes off, he is going to land somewhere different, and hopefully better. Ironically, I landed here at home. I didn’t expect that, but this is how it’s working out for now, and there is absolutely nowhere else I need to be other than here in a nurturing environment where I am making new choices to enrich my life, and as a result, my spirit.
I’m volunteering in three different capacities: one as a writer, one as a Program Chair for a nonprofit, and another as a Raptor Caretaker for my local Audubon. BANANAS! None of this would have been possible without the courage to finally jump out there and the family support I treasure. Yes, I’m hoping with all my might that these opportunities will perhaps lead to employment one day, but that is not why I volunteered. I did so to help me recover from the fall.
I think of it and picture it this way: I was on a slow moving train to a place I no longer wished to go in a space I no longer wanted to be in. I saw the wide open window and cast my fate by jumping out. Though metaphorical, that landing was really, really hard. I had no idea where I would end up, rolled down a rocky and steep slope, hitting mounds of dirt and tufts of grass along the way, to end up inches from a deep ravine. That’s how it felt, anyway.
Brought back from the edge by my loving family, I took the time to see what happened behind me, but I did not stay there long, for nothing was left for me to do but dust off and walk away.
Volunteering is my motivation to keep walking. Gardening, writing, talking with my dogs, walking on our property, tea with my daughter, rides with my husband, antiquing with my son, making new friends. I’m actually making new friends at my age.
I’m writing for someone who I believe in and his work. I’m making phone calls and sending emails for a great cause. I’m taking care of birds who need our love and help. I’m honoring my land by offering it to others who need clarity and help. It’s because of that jump, I can do these things now, but if you told me a year ago I had the power and courage to make it out of that train, I don’t know if I’d believe it.
Now, I’m a believer. So next time you watch the leaves fall or a spider take a leap, think about how that faith is what keeps us going, too. It brings fresh ideas, new connections, and healing you would otherwise never know you needed.
In Gratitude,
Shennen
