Big Black Spider

Magnus aranea nigra

The big black spider squats at the top of my chimney. He is curled up in a tight black ball of menace where the gentle slope of the chimney meets the ceiling. The area is warm from the chimney. It is a cold autumn and it will be an even colder winter this year. In the three years since I have returned to the Italian Alps the locals have been unanimous in their conviction that the seasons have changed and the winters are now unnaturally warm. My mountain hut sits at 1,200 meters. Last winter the coldest night was ten degrees below zero, a pitiful attempt at chilling the bones. A week ago, the third week in November, the morning was colder than that meager attempt. Snow lies already upon the ground. Last cold season I used four tonnes of wood. Thus far this autumn I have used two tonnes of wood. I have three tonnes remaining in the barn.

The big black spider moves in the night. When I come down in the early morning before dawn he is not there. After the sun’s weak rays hit the cottage, the big black spider is where he is supposed to be. There is a marked absence of moths and other unwelcome insects. I leave big black spider in peace. To do otherwise would be foolish, and I have done too many foolish things in my inept life.

He lives in the corner where the rounded chimney meets the straight line of the interior wall. When I clean the chimney with the vacuum cleaner I see him curl up even more, but I do not come close to him. He has his place in the world, and he has chosen wisely.

In the bar in town this morning a retired forest guard remarked upon the unusual cold. It is not normal for November, he said. We still have another month of autumn before winter arrives. The climate does what it will. The path of seasons are always cyclical. A period of general warmth will proceed a great chill. There has been general warmth here for twenty years or more.

I have ordered more wood. I have two fires in the house, both in the same open area. A Norwegian fireplace in the living room where the spider lurks, and a wood burning stove in the kitchen, more than 80 years old with the iron top plate brown with rust. In the past three winter I have used the stove only occasionally. Now I have it constantly lit. In the evening I place a couple of coal bricks inside of it, to keep the warmth during the night and to make it easy to relight the fire in the morning. I cleaned both chimneys in late summer, but I may need to clean them again before April.

I cook more often now on the wood stove. It is a pleasure to move the pots and pans around on its iron surface. Food tastes better cooked in such a manner. On Saturdays I wash my bed sheets and then spend the day attempting to dry them, one before each fireplace. In the morning and the evening I cut more wood up in the barn. I am now proficient in the use of the axe. It has only taken me twenty years to become skilled in this manner. A local delivered two tonnes of pine wood to me a few weeks ago, the wood consisting of cut round logs. I cut them by hand to finish them for burning. The man was astounded that I do this by hand. Most others use a mechanical wood splitter, but I like the feel of the axe in my hands. It has a square head so I can use a sledgehammer on it if a trunk is riddled with knots. I cut what I need every day. It is more satisfying than lifting impersonal weights in a gym.

The big black spider cares nothing for this. But he knows me, and I know him. We leave each alone. In the spring he will move outside. Until then we will share the house together. He has his part and I have mine. Life is simple when reduced to its core.