When gathering my thoughts over my first cup of coffee in the morning and glancing at the flower beds, you may come across small, inconspicuous treasures. Today, I put my cup down on the railing, abandoned my plan to pick the wilted flowers, and ran for my camera, because a harvestman had settled on the petals of a dahlia. At first, it looked like a bead suspended on threads, but when it took two very slow steps, I knew I was looking at a silent garden wanderer. The sun was just slipping over the hedge, the air smelled of damp earth, and he was testing the edge of the petal with his longest leg, as if asking if this place really belonged to him. Such moments always come to me uninvited and always teach me more than the most carefully prepared lesson for school.
A harvestman is an arachnid, but not a spider. The easiest way to distinguish it is by its uniform body, with no narrowing between the cephalothorax and the abdomen. In the middle of its back, you can see a small, charming ‘turret’ with a pair of eyes, which gives it the appearance of an alert sentry. Its legs are very long and slender, and the second pair acts as antennae, which it uses to explore its surroundings. If you want to go a step further in identifying it, look at the pattern of the so-called saddle on its back and the overall shape of its body. In our gardens, representatives of the Phalangium and Opilio genera are most commonly found, for example Phalangium opilio and Opilio canestrinii, but to be sure, you need a really good photo from above. Today, I chose the pleasure of looking instead of chasing labels.
Harvestmen are very common in our country. They are easiest to see in summer and early autumn when they come out onto warm surfaces. They sit on walls, fences, hedges, tall perennials and among grasses. After rain or in the morning, they like to sit on the outer sides of leaves and petals, using water droplets as a shield. In full sunlight, they can remain motionless, and when the light softens, they begin their slow wanderings. Just sit next to a flower bed for a few minutes and let your eyes adjust. The rhythm of their movement will eventually reveal their presence.
Mantis work on a micro scale that we usually do not notice. They feed on soft, small invertebrates such as aphids and mites, lick up sweet secretions, snack on dead insects, and sometimes even fragments of mycelium. In this way, they organise what happens at leaf level and help maintain balance in the small ecosystem of the garden. Their steps have a characteristic rhythm. Two steps, a moment's pause, a brush of the ground with a long leg, two more steps and a stop. Once you see it, it's hard to stop. Today, I caught myself slowing my breathing so as not to disturb this calligraphy written on a leaf.
No. The harvestman has no venom glands, does not bite, does not sting and does not build webs. It is not interested in our sofas or knees, even if it happens to enter the house through an open door. It defends itself with cunning rather than strength. It can throw off one of its legs and leave a trembling ‘decoy’ for a short time to distract the predator. This is a costly decision, as the leg does not grow back, so it is only used in really dangerous situations. Some species can also leave a delicate scent in the air, which clearly tells predators that it is not worth wasting time on such a meal. For us, it remains a peaceful neighbour and a useful garden cleaner.
The easiest way is to approach from the side, not from above, so as not to cast a shadow, and pause for a moment before making a move. One clear shot from above will show the pattern on its back, and a profile shot will capture the tiny ‘tower’ of its eyes. Then it's worth putting the camera away and just watching. In moments like these, it is not the perfect shot that matters most, but mindfulness. Today, I gave myself those few minutes and returned home feeling calmer, because I remembered that the garden is not only about our crops and to-do lists, but also about the life that goes on right next to it, quiet, balanced and beautiful enough without any grand titles. If you come across a blackbird in your garden, give it some space. In return, it will probably show you what patience looks like on long legs.
