There she sat, plump and healthy, astride her enormous and complex web. Perfectly positioned over the very center of her web, the place where with the zig-zag “stitching” down the center carefully knits and strengthens her lair. Her legs grasped the sticky web, her whole body seemed at attention as I glared at her, straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath and mustered a commanding, “Alright, Diana, exactly whose garden is this?”

Glare fades. Shoulders slump. Grand, pathetic sigh escapes my lungs.

You see, this spider’s been holding my cherry tomatoes hostage all summer.

Try as I might to empower myself with repeated pep talks, the black-and-yellow arachnid has stared me down every time I venture to that corner of the garden. Or at least I imagined that’s what she was doing. Point is, she has succeeded all summer in preventing me from plucking the juiciest tomatoes from the vine.

Allow me to explain. It’s not precisely accurate to say this spider has been holding all the cherry tomatoes hostage. She constructed her web on the last plant in the row, so technically she’s only holding one plant captive. Naturally, it seems to me to be the most productive plant. Although I’ve occasionally ventured in with a tentative hand to pluck the most tempting fruits of the plants, for the most part, I’ve let the deliciously tempting cherries ripen and go by, leaving all of the anchoring points of the spider’s web in tact.

Being a gardener – a cultivator at heart – naturally I’ve spent an extraordinary amount of time pondering why exactly I’ve allowed this spider to control my produce so. It’s not the first time this has happened. There have been other spiders like this one. Every year it seems there are one or two that I’ll specifically take note of in the garden, and I’ll spend the whole summer avoiding their disturbance.

I’ve decided this phenomenon has nothing to do with liking or disliking spiders. It has to do with respect.

It has nothing to do with loving the environment and protecting living things. It has to do with simple coexistence.

You know, as intelligent, thinking humans, we tend to constantly label, organize and classify things. We accept that our world has certain limits, and for the most part, we live within them. We even label ourselves. And when it comes to our regard for the living things around us, we’ve mastered the art of labeling. “You’re an environmentalist.” “She’s a steward.” “He’s a conservationist.” “They are preservationists.”

We get into this habit of labeling, and it’s very difficult to eliminate it from our lives. We’re not alone, I’ve noticed. Most animals are creatures of habit. For Pete’s sake, even my cats have habits: every morning and evening like clockwork they circle from the back door of our house, through the picket-fence gate, around the side of our home and to a specific kitchen window. One can easily see the a little 4-inch wide path in the grass they have trod down with their furry little paws.

If we’re creatures of habit, well then, we might as well have good habits. I believe it would behoove the universe if each and every one of us attempted to adopt more of a “live and let live” philosophy. It’s worth pondering. It starts in the garden with one spider, I think. And I haven’t exactly been able to put my finger on how to magnify this concept so fully that the world is a better, safer, more peaceful place to live, but I believe it will improve with my children. Then, there’s hope that it will radiate throughout humanity.

You see, that’s what we gardeners do, don’t we? We let one little spider rule a corner of the garden. Before you know it – her standing her ground there on that cherry tomato plant – it’s changed the universe.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, 512 North Ridge Road, Montville 04941 or e-mail dianagc@midcoast.com. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.