The more Ronnie and I explored the hills, the more wildlife we discovered. Our first discovery was lizards—we hunted, caught, and even caged them. But one day, while walking over what seemed like plain ground, I caught a glimpse of a spider that instantly vanished. Taking a closer look, I noticed a small circular patch, about the size of a quarter, that didn’t quite match the surrounding dirt.
Curious, I picked up a small stick and gently lifted the patch. To my surprise, a spider immediately rushed up to guard the hole beneath it. I quickly let the "door" drop back down.
“That’s where that spider lives,” I told Ronnie.
We were fascinated but still had plenty more exploring to do. We marked the spot with a stick in the ground so we could find it later and moved on. A short while later, we came across a pile of big rocks and agreed it would be the perfect place for a cowboy shootout.
Later that day, as we headed back toward home, we looked for our marker. Approaching quietly, we hoped to see the spider outside its burrow. When we got close enough to see it wasn’t out, I reached for the stick to open its door—just as the spider charged out and attacked! Startled, I pulled back. That’s when we realized the spider wasn’t just hiding—it was waiting to ambush anything that came near.
On another adventure, Ronnie and I were walking along a small creek at the bottom of a gully, wondering where it would lead, when we spotted a small snake. Its tail was raised and shaking furiously. It was too small for us to hear a rattle, but we decided it had to be a rattlesnake. We took turns poking it with a stick until it finally stopped moving. Then we bragged to each other about how we had just saved one another’s lives.
One of our most memorable adventures happened while hiking through the foothills. We had been roaming these hills for months, always finding something new.
“Look! A giant spider!” I pointed excitedly.
It was the first tarantula we had ever seen. As we followed it, we quickly realized it wasn’t dangerous. It moved too slowly to attack anything. I remember back when I lived in Texas, a bug store owner once picked up a tarantula and even let it crawl up his arm.
I decided to try the same thing. Cautiously, I placed my hand over the tarantula. To my surprise, it simply folded its legs and froze. I picked it up, and it didn’t even try to escape.
This was a prize.
I ran straight home with my new pet—stopping first to scare Mom with it. She screamed and immediately ordered me to take it outside and never bring it in again. So, I built a small corral for it in the backyard out of wire fencing.
A few days later, during an especially hot afternoon, I made another discovery. As I wandered the hills, I noticed something moving—hundreds of tarantulas, all crawling in the same direction. It was a migration.
We had thought finding just one was exciting. Now, there were more than we could count.
Would you love to hear more of these childhood misadventures?
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