confessions af a fair-weather conservationist:
a humorous look at biodiversity
by lisa horak

A year ago there was a gigantic, furry wolf spider the size of a crab scurrying across my basement in Virginia.

I was terrified. I had no idea how to deal with it, so I called a friend who lived up the street and begged her to come and kill it. She refused. She did, however, talk me through the process of killing it, first by encouraging me to spray the heck out of it with Raid. When that didn’t work, she made me find a jar to put over top of the beastly arachnid so it could creep no more. I know it sounds hypocritical, but I maintain that if I saw the wolf spider in the woods, that would be one thing. It was quite another to see it in my home.

Preserving biodiversity is one of our generation’s most important causes. The bewildering array of plants, animals, and natural communities undoubtedly include cures for rare diseases and countless products to make our lives easier and more productive. I wholeheartedly believe in protecting all creatures great and small, really I do. Only one request—keep them out of my house.

As a somewhat squeamish person, I firmly believe biodiversity belongs outside, in the jungles, rainforests, coral reefs, and deserts—everywhere but in my living room. Let’s protect the mussels, snail darters, and dung beetles. Let’s save the cuddly pandas and the whales. Let’s protect habitats for rare species. I’m all for it.

Several years ago I went to the Central American country of Belize where the diversity of species is astounding. I witnessed tiny leaf-cutter ants carrying leaves ten times their own size. I heard howler monkeys screeching eerily in the trees. I snorkeled alongside thousands of brilliant tropical fish and coral species that surpassed the colors of the rainbows we all see. I saw crocodiles in the darkness whose gleaming eyes were their only giveaway. I heard the calls and the songs of thousands of birds, from toucans to chacalacas. And I know that each and every species plays an important role in our survival. But I’m still going to slap at the mosquitoes that land on me.

This is a moral dilemma for me, particularly since for many years I worked for a leading conservation organization. In addition, my distaste for bugs is difficult because of Charlotte. Charlotte the spider who loved Wilbur the pig and saved his life through the messages she crafted in her lovely webs. In our home, Charlotte’s Web is as hot as an Oprah pick these days. I find myself explaining to my three- and five-year old daughters how spiders are just as important as every other creature and how we must treat them kindly. My girls sobbed when Charlotte died. Then and there we decided that instead of squashing the bugs in our house we would now carefully escort them outside.

Another time, shortly after the wolf spider incident, I was horrified to look outside on our patio in broad daylight and see an enormous rat with a long thick tail. Now this was bad. Rats actually can harm us. And what was it doing in my suburban yard anyway? Rats are city dwellers, aren’t they? Don’t they just want to hang out in sewers and trash cans? Apparently not. The next day, in a stunning Darwinian survival of the fittest, I saw that our usually timid dog Livingston had killed the rat. He is a Wheaten terrier, an Irish breed that herded cattle and according to one book I have, was “the implacable foe of all vermin,” meaning that they killed rats. Amazing, but true. Each species serves a purpose.

In our new house in Asheville, we have a worm problem. Whenever we get a lot of rain dozens of worms slither into our garage and even into the finished basement, which is our children’s play area. They (the worms, not the children!) literally have been giving me nightmares. Tons of wriggling, tangled live worms on our nice cream carpet are just not a pretty sight. Sadly, fear begets fear, and when I appear panic-stricken, so do my children. Instead I put on my bravest face and chide my daughters when they do the “worm dance,” a mad, frenzied hopping about as though the worms in our home are hot coals instead of tiny creatures that can’t possibly harm us.

So forgive me, Mother Nature for I have sinned. I have loathed the creatures that enter my home. I believe they have the right to live and flourish, to be fruitful and multiply, but please, keep them in their own habitat. They’re much safer there.