What Is Smaller Than Itsy Bitsy?

As we know, trees are popular living spaces for bugs, particularly in the winter, when bugs like to hunker down in a sheltered spot to get out of the cold. Which means that if you bring a tree inside during the winter, say, a Christmas tree, chances are there are bugs living in it who are going to think that it is now springtime. This means that you then end up with bugs wandering around your house. I haven't had a big problem with this over the years, but usually after we get our Christmas tree I will find a few bugs in the days after. This year I saw a couple on the tree, but I didn't notice any that had moved off the tree. I did notice a few days ago (we un-decorated the tree over the weekend, and brought it outside today, so it's still been in the house until now) that there was a spider web around the top of the tree, and one spanning a pretty long space from the tree to a wall - just a couple of threads, not a full orb web (too bad). I don't know if this was from a spider that was already living in the house, or one that came in with the tree - it's pretty nice, though, after reading about the Ukrainian tradition of spiders on Christmas trees, and putting a spider ornament and some spiderweb ornaments (which I made later and didn't post here), to have a real spider on the tree.

Anyway, today I was sitting on the couch, working on my laptop computer, when I saw something silhouetted against the light of the computer screen, something that was dangling from an extremely fine thread. The something was infinitesimal, so small I could barely see it, but it looked like a spider - well, it looked like a dot with a bunch of legs sticking out from it. When I say this thing was small, I mean it was smaller than this: . I caught the thread on my finger and then moved the speck onto a piece of paper I had nearby. It began to move. It was so small that I couldn't see its legs moving, all I could see was that a tiny dot, smaller than the period at the end of this sentence, was moving around on the piece of paper.

Naturally I tried to get pictures of it, and they were terrible, because the maybe-spider was so small, and it was moving. Here's the best I got:

 I think it's a spider. A baby spider. Which could mean that there are a LOT more of these around, and they are so small that I can't see them. I am not especially crazy about that idea, even though I like spiders. But it is possible that there were spider eggs on the Christmas tree, and being inside for a month gave them the impression that it was springtime and time to hatch. Not that it would have been so different for them outside this year. Although it's been closer to normal since the new year began, December was pretty springlike in the great outdoors. Anyway, that's a possibility.

 Here's the above picture, zoomed in. It could be a mite instead of a spider, but I don't think mites produce silk. Actually, I have never thought about it - I have no idea if mites produce silk. Give me a minute to find out... ... ... ... ... ... Okay, yes, mites make silk, at least some of them. So it could be a mite. I did not get a good enough look at it, or a good enough picture, to be able to tell.

Here's a really bad picture, but you can judge the size of it by the pixels of ink on the paper.

The reason I haven't blogged lately is, as you have probably surmised, because it has been too cold. Some days have been in the low 40s, but I know even if I find anything on those days, it's not going to be anything other than the few things I have been seeing. Mostly springtails, I am sure. It was warmer over the weekend, almost 60 yesterday, but it rained all day. Today we only got to the mid 30s, and when I walked out to get the mail I even thought about the fact that even though it was sunny, there wouldn't be any bugs. Then I got back to the house and there was a fly on the wall of the porch. Clearly, I still know nothing. But I didn't take a picture of the fly. Just telling you that even on a day when we barely get above freezing, bugs are out there, doing their thing. Sometimes it amazes me how little I have always understood the natural world. And now I know enough to know that I know nothing.