Vacuuming the lawn and other things we do differently here in sunny CA

Yes, it really sucks.
It was one of the first small appliances we bought when we moved here, a cute little Shop Vac that wails at a few decibels less than its bigger cousins, picks up big dirt, and hauls easily around the yard.

Ron, of course, reminded me that we had left two larger, perfectly serviceable Shop Vacs back in Nebraska. I know. Just get out the credit card; it’s the California way.

Back on the farm, we used the Shop Vacs to suck ladybugs by the thousands, dead and alive, out of the basement, the attic, out of the kitchen corners and out of every ceiling light. They had other uses, but ladybug sucking was their primary job.

Ladybugs (and basements, much to Ron’s chagrin) are pretty scarce in the fierce heat of the Valley, but the new Shop Vac has become just as indispensable as the old. Its most unusual application to date has been to suck a hole in the lawn.

Originally, the hole was filled by an in-ground sprinkler head meant to pop out of the ground and spray a carefully measured shower of water across the lawn. Only on designated watering days, of course. One morning, however, the entire fixture blew out of the ground, and once Old Faithful was throttled by the auto off, dozens of the little pebbles previous homeowners considered integral to the landscaping cascaded into the hole and clogged the irrigation line.

Enter the Shop Vac. With the aplomb of an experienced dental assistant, Ron stuck the hose into the hole, sucked it clean of pebbles and water, then screwed the irrigation fixture back into the line. On the next watering day, it worked perfectly.

The Shop Vac’s #1 use, however, is taking down spider webs.

Spiders proliferate in this climate. Spiders of all kinds, of all sizes, to every degree of lethality, from spindly Daddy Long-legs, to hairy and mostly harmless tarantulas, to those biting bitches, the Black Widow.

I have come face to face with some scary specimens in all the places I have lived, but I have never felt outnumbered by spiders the way I do here. Spiders spin in open corners and lurk under flower pots and chairs. They make themselves at home in bookshelves, closets, behind the refrigerator, even in the fireplace. They swing like Tarzan through the garage, and in the yard they wave hello from fence posts, tree leaves, shed eaves, even from drains in the ground.

I have picked up my purse to have a spider drop from it on a silken trapeze. I have turned around to come eyeball to eyeball with a spider staring at me from the side of a bowl on the kitchen counter.

It’s like God had a late brainstorm about spiders and dumped them all in the Valley to find their way around the world from here.

Where the spiders go, so go their silken webs. Spider webs tether patio chairs to the table. They criss-cross rose bushes. They appear overnight in doorways. Spider webs in the corners of the laundry room catch dryer lint. Hummingbirds aren’t real keen on feeders stuck all over with spider webs.

Back on the farm, I used to trap the occasional spider visitors between a glass and a piece of cardboard and toss them outside to find a home of their own. Here in the Valley, I have had to add arachnicide to my list of new skills. Raid Ant & Roach Killer (kills spiders, too) is the first friend I made here.

Spiders and their webs are a four-season, inside and out cleaning job. The wail of the Shop Vac puts spiders on notice: We’re coming for you.

Sucks, doesn’t it.