BY HARRY WEEKES
There has been a lot of talk, especially over this last year, about how lucky we are to live in this place. The obvious list of reasons spills out—the small towns, our access to mountains, rivers, and just being outside and, more broadly, the way of life we get to live here. I want to add to this list a simple and often overlooked fact—that you can lie on the floor of your house at 4 a.m. without having to think too hard before you do, or while you’re doing it.
One of the important lessons learned from leaving a place is appreciating what you like about it. I got to vacation in a part of Mexico where it is warm and sunny and dry, almost always. This is a place where “there are no doors” and “windows are always open” and “you’re nestled right into a jungle.” This is a place that turns on a very ancient radar in me.
One little guidebook said, “Be sure not to leave any food out, as tejones might come into your house.” Badgers? And in the next sentence, “Be sure to shake out your clothes and check your shoes before you put them on.” Needless to say, I spent an inconsiderable amount of time looking for beasties. And I say ‘inconsiderable’ because it took me all of 30 seconds to find a spider the size of a hand clinging to the doorframe. OK, so it was the size of a baby’s hand and it only had four legs, but it was larger than any spider I have seen in Idaho. She was, even with her missing limbs, a beautiful specimen—calico colored, with an elongated body and a dull shine. My truce was not to bother her as long as I knew where she was. And, thankfully, she stayed in a one-foot section of that door for as long as I was there.
Now back to here. I am pretty sure I appreciate the beauty of little things because another wonderful aspect about living in the Wood River Valley is how benign our collection of beasties is. Sure, we have stingers and biters and irritators, but not nearly enough to keep one off the floor.
Due to a longtime back injury, I start every morning with some simple exercises. I do these in the dark, lying on my back, in our closet. I can push my feet into a corner and not have to think about a scorpion. Or stretch my arms out and not have to worry about a snake. Or just lie there and not have to consider spiders crawling all over me.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I am fascinated by all of the above, and, with the exception of scorpions, have been joined by each inside my house. We have had snakes slithering through the pantry and a whole catalogue of spiders in all of the various nooks and crannies. My spidey-sense, though, is one of “approach and appreciate.” I will get down and look at the spider scuttling behind the plant or walk right up to the snake that made it into the house.
I appreciate this often times overlooked aspect of living here more and more. It is not just that there is a reduced risk. Actually, I think it’s the opposite—there is increased access. The natural world has always been accessible to me in some fundamental way. I started out learning that snakes were OK. That spiders were just a part of the indoor ecosystem. That I didn’t have to immediately worry about something crawling on me.
I learned that I could first be fascinated. It is nice to remember this.