Essay

Creatures are Kin

As I walk down the switchbacks of the Fort to Sea trail, the gentle rustle of leaves surrounds me, and the earthy scent of damp soil fills the air. I like this trail because it goes through a variety of microclimates, which means the vegetation and animals vary along its seven miles.

I often look down at the ground to avoid tripping over exposed roots and rocks or stepping on newts, frogs, beetles, and such critters. This time, I look up just in time to avoid colliding with a glistening spider web stretched across the trail. The intricate design sparkles in the dappled sunlight, each thread as lustrous as fine silk. It is a testament to nature’s artistry—delicate yet strong—a reminder of the unseen work that thrives in the wilderness. I admire the web’s beauty, momentarily forgetting my destination, and wonder about the spider that crafted it, patiently weaving its home and trap. I step carefully under the web, feeling a sense of reverence for the small creature and its remarkable creation, and then continue my journey toward Sunset Beach. As I passed under, I saw the spider rappelling from a branch above, and it brought back something long-forgotten.

My grandfather had a little workshop far from the house. It had no electricity, so there were only hand tools. Only a few are store-bought tools, which my grandfather used to make the other tools. I do not know how to make things, but I still like to hang out in the little shop and admire the ingenuity on display. The shop has the pleasant scent of pine sawdust and wood shavings. It was also a great spot to sit quietly undercover and listen to the rain pattering only a few feet overhead.

A spider descended from the ceiling this day, swaying in the breeze on his gossamer rope. I do not know why I did it. I can only guess that the frequent Black Flag bombardments of the outhouse inspired it. The need for constant vigilance and control over the insects was instilled in me early. I sprayed it.

Somehow, I thought the spider would drop dead. It did not. As the mist settled, the spider thread reeled out, and the spider slid to the workbench. I watched in horror as it struggled and thrashed, its little legs flailing, its tiny body convulsing. As it continued to roil in agony, I could not stand it anymore. I smashed it with a dead-blow hammer.

Regret washed over me like an incoming tide, overwhelming and relentless. The spider was almost certainly harmless, just going about his business, controlling flies and mosquitoes. I had disrupted a moment in nature that held purpose and beauty. I killed a defenseless creature because that is what we do when they make us uncomfortable.

I am annoyed by phrases like “humans and animals alike” or other wording that artificially sets humans apart from animals. It is a relic of religion. I prefer to say “humans and other animals.” We are animals. In fact, we are great apes within the family Hominidae, which also includes other apes, such as chimpanzees, gorillas, bonobos, and orangutans. People don’t like to hear this or see it because it takes the shine off being human. It subtracts the pixie dust.

This separation of humans from other animals is part of a false consciousness that allows us to “other” the rest of nature into things and resources. This hubris comes at a great cost and may spell our doom, and unfortunately, the doom of all life on the planet.

Creatures beyond our human realm share threads of kinship. These beings—not things—majestic and minuscule—inhabit the same Earth and partake in the same water, the same vital breath of existence. They are our kin in their possession of life and their quest for survival, in their expressions of emotion, and in their intrinsic roles in the balance of ecosystems.

As kin, animals teach us humility and remind us of the interconnections that bind all living things. From the compassion of an elephant to the industry of bees, they echo life’s rhythms and the power of community. We embrace compassion and stewardship by adopting this kinship as our guiding principle, realizing that their well-being is inextricably linked to our own. In recognizing all creatures as our kin, we affirm a shared destiny and responsibility, urging us to protect their habitats and ensure that future generations inherit a world where the harmony of life continues to thrive.

Nowadays, if I see a spider rappelling from the ceiling in an inopportune part of the house, I reach high up on the sticky thread and move it to a better location. If the spider runs toward my hand too quickly for comfort, I just give a little yo-yo action, and more thread feeds out. Then, I stick the thread to a more convenient location. I take a moment to appreciate this little spider’s helpful role in my life, including teaching me compassion.

On this day on the Fort to Sea Trail, when I see the orb spider bungee jumping toward me, I step back and appreciate her place in the world. I think about “helping” her by detaching one end of the web and moving it to a location that doesn’t block the trail because the next hiker might just tear it down. Then again, I have not seen any hikers today, and this spider probably knows, far better than I, the ideal location for catching its dinner. I wish her well and walk on.