Summer is the season of love – for Texas tarantulas. Despite having eight appendages, they have no opposable thumbs and no way to access a special spider dating site. Like a shy single guy, the males venture out as the sun sets, searching for that one special arachnid lady. He must make a hasty love connection as the male tarantulas only live seven to eight years, while the females can live up to the ripe old age of twenty to twenty-five.
He hunts for his special love by scent, tracking a possible mate to her burrow. Once there, he taps on the fine webs at the entrance and hopes she’ll respond by swiping right in spider fashion. If the answer is yes, perhaps they’ll go out to dine on a fine meal of crickets before or after the romantic hook-up. However, if the female is not in the mating mood, she is apt to make a meal of her suitor instead. Either way, someone will have a nice dinner.
I met Andrew, my husband, at Arbor Hills Nature Park. We had connected on a dating site and arranged our first date online. No need for a scent trail, I spotted him holding a Frisbee as he stood in a field near the parking lot.
Over the next few years we visited the park often, eventually sharing an apartment, our own cozy burrow, next to the nature area.
Two years ago we bought a house and moved farther away from the park, too far to walk or drop in for night time strolls. Three weeks ago, before the summer heat turned the sidewalks to griddles hot enough to melt the rubber soles of our shoes, Andrew suggested an evening stroll at Arbor Hills. “The tarantulas might be out already,” he said.
We arrived at dusk, at the last of the golden hour, right before the sky turned from blue to twilight lavender. Carrying flashlights, we hiked along the concrete trail that wound three miles through the park. In past visits we had often encountered the palm-sized, furry, brown female tarantulas. They crawled across the paths like something from a science fiction/horror flick, scurrying along on their own spidery missions.
“When will they be out?” I asked Andrew, as we drew near the back of the park.
“Look in the grass beside the trail. We’ll see the males first.”
A circle of mushrooms, a tiny Stonehenge, stood tucked in the dry grass. Andrew was the first to spot the tarantula.
He emerged from the weeds and leaves and crawled onto the trail in front of us. Not monstrous at all, the tarantula weaved side to side along the concrete, like a bar patron leaving at last call. I snapped pictures and waved as he set out, determined to find love. I hoped he would find a mate that night, or if not, that he would keep searching. Arbor Hills was, after all, a good place to start.
Let's Get Out of Here 