"Spiders are anti-social, keep pests under control, and mostly mind their own business, but they somehow summon fear in humans who are far more dangerous, deceitful and have hurt more people. Of the two I'm more suspicious about the latter."
― Donna Lynn Hope
I've been out of commission for the past couple of days with a late summer cold virus. Earlier today I noticed a visitor crawling near my bedroom window. Upon closer inspection I momentarily identified it as a jumping spider in the genus Phidippus. Since it was on my turf, I used it as a photography subject via capture. Oh, it wasn't so bad. I built a little studio out of a cardboard box and placed a piece of petrified wood for it to climb around on. I would never capture a wild critter from a natural area, bring it home just for the purpose of making it easier to get photographs.
Spiders are welcome visitors to my apartment. At this moment I have a number of Cellar Spiders in my kitchen, bathroom, and living room, but any species can stay provided it isn't a rampant biter. Generally, they'll stick to their webs and catch any other small insects that happen to find their way indoors. Some arachnid species do fine in the confines of my apartment, while others are best liberated to the outdoors.
A dorsal view is essential for identification. This is a female Apache Jumping Spider Phidippus apacheanus, the same species I recently photographed at Spring Green Preserve, which begs the question: Did I inadvertently bring home with me? This one has slightly different markings, but I can't rule out the stowaway hypothesis. Naturally, it might have gotten in from my patio garden which perhaps makes a little more sense.
Lori Widmann and I consider ourselves old school when it comes to identifying wild critters ― we believe paper field guides make better learning tools than computer apps that identify things for you. Granted, sometimes you may find something uncommon or rare that isn't in a field guide and Bugguide.net is a great resource where experts can weigh in and help. One of the things I like about a paper field guide is that it forces one to page through a taxonomic tree to make comparisons with similar species; you're not only learning about a single critter ― it's interesting to see what else it's related to. Others prefer 21st Century instantaneous identification apps, which aren't completely reliable, as Lori and I well know from Wisconsin Naturalists on Facebook.
Once satisfied with my photos, I carefully lifted up the cardboard studio, brought it outside to my patio, and gently coaxed the spider out to freedom. Perhaps it'll stay there and I'll bump into it again while watering my fading hummingbird flowers and plants. I've found only a couple of other jumping spiders inside my home over the years, but none as colorful as this one ― a welcome interlude from the doldrums of being stuck at home nursing a cold.
All images © 2022 Mike McDowell