| Henrietta was a pet. Not in the way pets are usually chosen — but in the way some relationships simply happen and refuse to be ignored. I was ten years old. The year was 1973. And somewhere along the line, a huntsman spider decided I was acceptable company. Huntsman spiders are often described as alarming, frightening, or intrusive, but none of those words fit Henrietta. She was calm. Observant. Entirely unbothered by human fuss. She didn’t skulk in corners or vanish when noticed. She occupied space with quiet assurance, as though walls, ceilings, and humans were all part of the same shared arrangement. She lived with me — and yes, she came to school with me. Henrietta would sit on my shoulder while I worked at my desk, legs resting lightly, unmoving unless she chose to reposition herself. There was no drama. No squealing classmates. No hysteria. Just a large spider and a child getting on with the business of learning. To me, she was friendly. Not affectionate, not tame — but comfortable. And that mattered. Huntsmen are like that. They are not defensive by nature. They don’t lash out. They rely on stillness, awareness, and speed only when absolutely necessary. Their size gives them an unfair reputation, but in temperament, they are among the gentlest spiders you can share space with. Henrietta never bit. Never threatened. Never behaved unpredictably. She simply was. Present, steady, quietly curious. When she died, I was devastated. It was the first time I remember grieving something that wasn’t human, and it left a mark. Not the dramatic kind — but the sort that settles deep and reshapes how you see the world. Henrietta wasn’t replaceable. She wasn’t a phase. She was a companion during a time when curiosity outweighed fear and trust came easily. As a gardener now, I recognise that bond for what it was: an early understanding that relationships with the natural world don’t have to be hierarchical. Not everything wild needs controlling. Not everything unfamiliar needs removing. Behind the spade, I still see huntsman-like figures in the garden — large spiders pressed flat beneath shed roofs, motionless against timber, watching rather than reacting. And every time, I pause. I soften. I remember. Henrietta taught me that friendliness doesn’t always look cuddly. Sometimes it looks like eight legs, quiet patience, and choosing to sit with you while you learn. And that lesson has never left me. |
| 10 True Facts About the Huntsman Spider Huntsman spiders are built for speed, not webs. They don’t rely on sticky webs to catch food. Instead, they actively hunt insects, using speed and surprise. Their flattened bodies help them hide in plain sight Huntsmans are unusually flat, allowing them to slip behind bark, under loose roofing, and into narrow crevices with ease. They can grow to an impressive size. Some species can span the width of a dinner plate when fully grown, making them one of the largest spiders people commonly encounter. Despite their size, they are not aggressive. Huntsmen prefer to flee rather than fight. Bites are rare and usually happen only when a spider is trapped or mishandled. Their venom is mild to humans. A bite may cause temporary pain or swelling, similar to a bee sting, but serious reactions are uncommon. They are excellent climbers. Huntsmen can move effortlessly across walls, ceilings, and smooth surfaces thanks to tiny hairs on their feet. They play an important role in pest control. By feeding on flies, moths, cockroaches, and other insects, they help keep insect populations in check indoors and out. Huntsmen don’t build permanent homes. They are nomadic spiders, often moving on once food becomes scarce or conditions change. Females fiercely guard their egg sacs. A mother huntsman will defend her eggs aggressively, unlike her usual calm behaviour, showing a rare protective intensity. They are found worldwide, not just in Australia. While famous in Australia, huntsman spiders live across warm regions of the world, including parts of Asia, Africa, and the Americas. |
Earthly Comforts 
You brought me memories of my time in Australia. One day I found this huge spider on the wardrobe door. At that time it was the largest spider, I had ever seen in my life! Later I learned it was a Huntsman.
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I remember you wrote about her in your blog once too. A very unusual friend you had.
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I enjoyed your story and understand that sadness, when losing a pet, first felt when my little angle fish died. I also had a pet tarantula when I was a youngster after she turned up on our porch. Eventually, we decided to return her to the desert. I remember watching her step away.
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