Wolf Spiders Run The Cranberry Bogs
Admiral Biscuit
I hadn’t intended to get a job at a cranberry bog. Not until I met Foxberry.
Like a lot of young stallions who didn’t live on a farm, I set out across Equestria to find myself. I knew the Royal Guard wasn’t for me but that still left a lot of options open. My parents and grandparents hadn’t ever really wandered very far from home, but I wanted to see the world before I settled down.
I found myself on a train platform in the town of Beckwith, a northeastern town near the coast. After stretching my legs on the platform, I penned a postcard to my parents and mailed it at the train station, then set out on hoof to see if I could find a job for a few days before I got bored with Beckwith and decided to move on. I’d already planned to ride to the extreme northern end of the rail system just to say I’d done it, and then work my way down the coast for the rest of the summer, working as needed and lazing on beaches. I’d intended to winter down south and then—well, my plans hadn’t included ‘then’ in them.
Some small towns were welcoming to strangers; others not so much. Sometimes it was hard to find a job, even for a day or a half-day. Farming communities were good, though; there were always weeds to pull or crops to move around or wagons to tow, and I could do all those things. I hadn’t thought to carry a harness with me, but I was a smaller stallion and a mare’s harness would fit me in a pinch.
Most towns had a job board near their town square, and Beckwith was no different. I found an opportunity at a cranberry bog, which piqued my interest. I liked cranberry jelly and cranberry sauce, and I’d never seen an actual cranberry or tasted one fresh off the plant. That was always a job perk of working on a farm, sampling the crops fresh from the field.
There weren’t directions to the farm, but that was okay. The locals pointed me in the right direction and assured me that I couldn’t miss it.
The cranberry jelly and cranberry sauce I’d eaten were a distinct color of red, and I knew I’d found the right place when I saw a field of bushes chock-full of red berries.
Several ponies were working in the fields, and one of them caught my eye right away, a well-muscled mare with a juniper-green coat and an almost white mane.
There were other, closer ponies I could have talked to, but I wanted to know if her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her, so I moved into the field, being cautious where I set my hooves. “Who do I got to ask for a job?”
“Me.” She stuck her hoof out, and I bumped it. “I’m Foxberry, and this is my bog.”
“It looks nice.” I wasn’t sure why she called it a bog, since the soil underhoof was firm, but I was sure I’d find out in time. “I’ve never seen cranberries on the vine before.”
“Wonderful fruit,” she said. “They’re full of vitamins and minerals. Before I offer you a job, though, I gotta ask you how you feel about spiders. You’re not afraid of them, are you?”
I squared myself up and puffed out my chest. “No, of course not.”
“’Cause the wolf spiders keep the insects at bay. Lots of bugs like cranberries, too.”
I nodded my head. I’d worked on plenty of farms before, and it was a constant battle with weeds and bugs.
I’d only intended to stay in Beckwith for a few days, enough time to refill my bit purse and then move on. But Foxberry was cute and funny and smelled nice and I just wanted to spend more time around her, so I stayed on longer than I’d intended, watching as the berries grew and ripened. Sometimes I’d see wolf spiders scurrying around, and they didn’t bother me at all. They mostly tried to avoid me anyway.
Saturday nights, she had a picnic for everypony, and she even had cranberry juice and cranberry wine to drink. We all sat around a campfire and sang songs and looked up at Luna’s stars all spread overhead. As the night drew on and the fire burned low, our voices grew silent and were replaced with the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the throaty drone of bullfrogs. Fireflies danced around like embers from the fire, and I was content—I felt like I belonged.
As I drifted off to sleep in the bunkhouse, I thought about the way the shadows had played through her mane, how the firelight had reflected in her eyes, how her singing voice was even more beautiful than her laugh.
Every week I trekked into town and wrote another postcard home, and then as the summer days grew longer, I began to send entire letters, trying to capture the feel of a cranberry bog or the satisfaction of a day’s fruitful labors or the lilting laugh Foxberry had. The way the sun brightened both the fruit and also Foxberry’s mane. How herons sometimes stood in the ditches that surrounded the cranberry fields, even though there were no fish to be found there, or how relaxing it was to splash around in those same ditches to cool off before going back into the fields again.
Besides weeding and caring for the plants, there were always other duties. Wagon duty rotated between ponies, carrying weeds to the compost piles mostly but sometimes going into town and hauling back supplies.
I’d worked on farms before, and most of them had barns full of implements. I had enough experience to at least have a reasonable idea what a machine might do.
There weren’t any cranberry harvesting machines.
Like most farmponies, she used some of her land to plant pasture grasses for food; she had a small hay rake and a windrower; she had a broadcast seeder and a sulky plow and a spring-tooth harrow. She also had a rowboat and lots of rubber tubes and when I asked her what those were for, she just laughed and said that I’d find out when the cranberries were ripe.
Did she row around in the ditches during harvest time? That didn’t make any sense at all.
I’d stayed in one place long enough that my parents started sending letters back. First they were addressed ‘C/O Beckwith Train Station’ and then ‘C/O Foxberry Farm.’ It felt weird, being in one place long enough to get mail.
Foxberry plucked a ripe cranberry off the bush and held it delicately in her lips. She motioned for me to set my trowel down, and I did.
She held her head up, and all the other fieldhooves moved in, watching as she released it, dropping it neatly on the blade of my trowel. To my amazement, it bounced.
A cheer erupted from my fellows, but my eyes stayed on the berry. I’d never seen fruit bounce before.
“That’s how you know they’re ripe,” she said. “And that’s why some ponies call them bounceberries.” Foxberry lifted her head, and made her proclamation. “Tomorrow, we harvest.”
Then she started giving orders, like a general commanding her troops. Equipment needed to be marshaled, notice given at the train station for a box car . . . I was lost in the wonder of it, and she had to say my name twice before I realized she was talking to me.
I was to be on cranberry wrangling duty, whatever that was. They hardly needed to be wrangled; they were still on their bushes, although perhaps as they were harvested they bounced away.
After we were dismissed for the day, I thought about that; imagined a whole field of cranberries bouncing off, chased down by a group of ponies with cranberry nets. Cranberry nets were a thing; I was to be one of the ponies on net duty.
It was a great responsibility, and I vowed to not let a single cranberry escape.
I awoke to a strange new world. Leaving the bunkhouse was normal, although we were all more enthusiastic since there was a crop to be harvested. Months ago, I wouldn’t have ever thought that I would be looking forward to harvesting a field, but now I was.
We trekked to the barn, and I got my cranberry net. I couldn’t help but notice that the boat and most of the rubber tubes were gone, and when I first caught sight of the cranberry bog, I immediately saw what they were for. Foxberry had opened the gates on the irrigation ditches and flooded the field; all the bouncy berries had floated off their bushes and were now drifting throughout the bog.
Ponies with wagons were already lining up along the edge of the bog, barrel-deep in the water, and a few others were dragging the rubber tubes through the water, wrangling the cranberries.
Foxberry had her boat in the water, but she wasn’t in it; she was in the water and some trick of the morning light made her back look grey.
I remembered where the ditch was, and estimated that the water would be up to my chin if I waded through it, so I jumped off the bank and into the bog, moving towards the raft of cranberries. I didn’t need to be told what to do, it was obvious. Pick them up with the net, dump them in a wagon.
She was a shining beacon in a lake of cranberries, and I jumped in with no hesitation, net held in my mouth.
The water had covered the bushes, and the cranberries had floated free.
That wasn’t all that had floated free.
My attention was focused on Foxberry, on the ripe crop; I didn’t notice when I picked up the first spider, or the second, or the third . . . I was a quick learner, and I quickly learned that wolf spiders could swim, that they didn’t like to swim, and that they figured that climbing on something out of the water was better than swimming.
That weird trick of the light that I thought had made Foxberry’s back look grey wasn't a trick of the light at all; it was dozens and dozens of spiders, all seeking refuge from the water. They weren’t just on her back, either; they were crawling up her mane and perching atop her head, hundreds or thousands of them and as I waded closer, I began to become overrun with spiders, too. Spiders crawling up my legs, up my tail, even—
”I gotta ask you how you feel about spiders.”
We had an understanding, spiders and I. An uneasy truce. They could do their thing and leave me alone and I was fine with them, but this. This was too much, this was beyond the pale.
I only stopped galloping once I was safe inside the waiting room at the train station. The waiting room that was spider-free, the waiting room that was the intermediate stop to my destination of ‘anywhere but here.’ Cranberries, it turned out, came at a terrible cost.
The last spider vacated my body two stops down the line, and it wasn’t until the train arrived in Baltimare that I was reasonably confident I was spider-less. My seat-mate hadn’t said anything about spider refugees making a home in my mane, anyway, and I thought she would have.
I’d been intending to go south, ride along the coast and take whatever temporary jobs I could get; I’d intended to spend the rest of the time lazing on the beaches. And I could still do that. South was sunny and warm and the beaches were sandy and didn’t have spiders.
With no destination in mind, it had been easy to buy a ticket to anywhere but here, to get on a train, to settle in with fellow travelers and to let the conversation wash over me, to drift in and out as a seat-mate regales me with a tale I couldn’t care to remember. To watch the scenery blur by, trees and shrubs and bushes and buildings and fields and lakes and she should have warned me.
Dear lord.
I was going to say this was a supremely comfy story...
... but no. No, Biscuit. Not anymore. You've taken my comfy, and thrown it to the spiders.
Now really, they probably weren't any happier about the situation than you were. Imagine going about your business as you always do, and then one day the whole gorram world floods leaving you to ride to safety on the back of the nearest kaiju.
Though yes, this is the sort of thing that needs a bit of a warning.
That went from cute to horrifying in ten seconds flat!
10329977
That gave me a wonderful mental picture of a bunch of humans escaping a flooding city on the back of a giant pony.
I would be dissapointed if not at least one of the ponies started bouncing, too.
Cranberries: "Challenge accepted!"
Heh.
That ending was certainly unexpected.
Edit:
Fixed grammar.
This is very much a real life thing:
https://cheezburger.com/9659653/tumblr-user-explains-why-youve-gotta-be-cool-with-spiders-to-work-in-cranberry-bogs
https://www.oyster.com/articles/tales-from-the-bog-inside-a-new-england-cranberry-harvest/
Oh, the Spidereses....
What a charming little story You have quite a way with words, friend. I loved this. What a random premise, too. Have all my Raritys
10329876
The spiders run the cranberry bogs.
10329902
I bet that there are some other ponies who keep spiders to keep other insects at bay . . . it seems like a pony solution, anyway.
10329977
I agree--you can’t blame the spiders at all. All they want is a ride out of the water, is that too much to ask? Especially after they worked so hard all year long to keep the cranberry plants bug-free?
Foxberry did ask him how he felt about spiders, although maybe she could have been more specific about how many there would be, and where they would be.
10330266
Lots and lots of spiders can do that.
On Citation Needed, they were talking about Sgt. Reckless--a Korean War horse--who was trained to run to the bunker when the Marines shouted ‘incoming’, and speculated that she had a harness that Marines could grab as she galloped by, to carry them to safety.
(She did carry back wounded Marines from the battle of Vegas Hill; she also had official rank [she retired as a Staff Sergeant].)
10330321
Probably at least one of them did.
Now I’m imagining that cheese chase they have in England, except it’s cranberries and there are a lot of them.
10330352
I know! I was legit inspired by just that, in fact.
10330513
Scores and scores of them, all attempting to ride to safety on the back of a pony. Sort of like Noah’s Ark, but with bushels of spiders.
10330520
Thank you!
Legit based on the actual fact that real cranberry fields have lots of spiders to control pest insects.
Thank you! Rarity is best pony.
My cousin worked a cranberry farm for about 3 months in between jobs and this is what made him quit. His boss didn’t tell him until the day before harvest but at least he got some warning.
Thank you, Admiral Biscuit, for helping me compile more Spider Lore.
I gotta admit, even as someone who has a hobby as an amateur arachnologist and who will free handle a harmless spider before swatting it... yeah, dozens and dozens of wolf spiders crawling on my person is... a bit much. A tiny bit much.
One would figure they would set something up for the spiders to climb , covered poles or an awning to keep the birds off them, not a pony boat.
First we have the death as a pony cracks through ice and drowns then we get transported to Australia.
Is there something you want to tell us?
10331532
Yeah, the spiders man. Cranberries come at a terrible cost.
10331739
You’re welcome!
I think most people would say that, even the ones who are cool with spiders. But at the same time, there are people who work in cranberry bogs and get spidered up each year, and I bet at least of them come back the next year, and the next. . . .
10331817
Well, that’s not how it’s done on Earth, surprisingly, so I could imagine that the ponies wouldn’t bother either. Let the spiders have a free ride during the harvest; they earned it for all the cranberry plants they kept insect-free during the year.
And now that I think about it, there’s probably zero chance of getting bitten by an insect when you’re covered in spiders.
Take that, you fiend!
Living on the road means you don’t accumulate much stuff, and even though I had been in one place for several months, I had accumulated a few things that I really missed now. Like my toothbrush. And most of my money. I had enough in my bit pouch to carry me a few more days of traveling, but most of my pay had been banked in Beckwith.
Back with the spiders. And Foxberry.
Distance helped with the first, but not at all with the second. And although I kept my nose pointed away from her, there were still the occasional times when I could feel a tingle in my tail that was almost but not quite unlike having a spider climb up it. I mean there had been the occasional spider in the bunkhouse, mostly curious creatures who politely scurried away when shooed. And waking up to an individual (singular, not measured in buckets or bushels) had not been that bad, actually. There had not been any biting flies at Foxberry’s at all, so in that respect, the spiders had added a balance to my life that I had been seeking for a long time.
The conflict must have shown on my face, because I received a number of strange looks once I got off the train at Baltimare, and the manager at the stall and breakfast I checked into gave me a toothbrush without even getting paid for it. I gave it little thought, or at least until I looked into the bathroom mirror.
The mirror looked back. Twice. Well, far more than twice, because a spider had far more to look back with.
Nestled into the curl at the top of my mane was a spider of unusual size. To my credit, I did not react at first, but merely gave the creature a long look of deep consideration in the mirror, although I will admit my first consideration was that squashing it would leave a terrible mess to clean up. After all, it was not the spider’s fault.
“You know, you can’t stay there,” I told it.
Simple logic had little effect, but further observation made me realize why the spider was so large.
“You can’t stay there, ma’am,” I politely stated. “You and your children will need to find somewhere else. Like…”
Somehow, I did not think the owner of the stall and breakfast would react well to the mother spider being left behind when I departed, so I resorted to negotiation.
“I’ll get a box, and mail you back home. Would that be acceptable, ma’am?”
Still no sign of agreement, so I conceded yet another point.
“You can have part of my mane for concealment inside the box, since you like it so well. And I’ll pay for express delivery—”
Express delivery was expensive, and I suspected it would get even more expensive if the mailpony knew what they were carrying, and how many of them. More expensive than the few bits I had left over, for certain. There was only one thing left to do.
There’s a reason why they call trains that run at night the Red Eye, but it was less expensive, and I barely made it with my last few bits anyway. It felt odd to be walking in the dark back to Foxberry’s farm by the light of Luna’s stars and the occasional yawn. Although I could barely keep my eyes open, my hooves knew the path, and before I realized it, I was knocking on her door.
That also was an odd thing also, because Foxberry was always out among the fieldhooves, up before we rose and not going to bed until absolutely everything was done for the day. For all my time at the farm, her house was the place where she wasn’t, although it was late enough now that it could almost be called early, and if she wasn’t in the house…
“Wha?” The sleepy young mare had to be navigating by scent, because her eyes were still closed, or at least behind a loose curl of white mane tinged with cranberry pink.
“When I ran away, I’m afraid I took some things that belong back here, ma’am,” I said with another yawn. “Here.”
“Hmm…?” Foxberry took two attempts to brush back her mane before looking down into the open box, but the resulting smile was worth the entire trip. “Awww, aren’t they adorable?”
“I’m not sure… Well, as spiders go, I suppose.” That was as much as I was willing to admit at the moment, because I was about asleep on my hooves, but I did follow her out to a tiny little wooden shed beside the field and watched while she coaxed the mother spider into her new home.
“Can’t believe you traveled all the way back here just to bring me a spider family,” said Foxberry as she straightened back up. “And looks like you gave up part of your mane for her, too. That’s so sweet.”
She nuzzled closer and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before turning with a flick of her tail and trotting back to her house. “Did you bring me anything else?” she asked over her shoulder.
“Just me,” I said without thinking.
I eventually learned to appreciate the spiders.
Our kids are still learning.
10332134
Oh, not Australia, friend; the wolf spiders in the bogs are here in the US of A, keeping the cranberries safe from insect pests.
That cranberries come at a terrible cost? That I’ll never look at cranberry jelly the same way again?
That title hasn't left me alone for days now... and now I know why. There you go. :b
Half a pound of cranberry jam
Half a bottle of juice
Mix it up and make it nice
Yum! goes the stallion
All around the Foxberry farm
The Spiders chased the Stallion
Wolf Spiders Run the Cranberry Bogs
Nope! goes the Stallion.
10338311
You know, I said it back in Silver Glow’s Journal, and I’ll say it again . . . some authors get fanart; I get poetry and songs.
10333151
Oh I like that Georg, I like that a lot.
10333151
An excellent alternate ending
And I’ll be honest with you, the original ending of the story was him deciding to go back, deciding after he got over the initial shock of being covered in spiders that he could deal with that because he liked Foxberry . . . I discussed it with a co-worker, and we decided that the ending where he ran away was a funnier ending for the story.
One thing that we don’t really know about the show is how ponies deal with money. I assume most of the time in small towns they use store credit rather than carry bits around, but what about banking? I know some nations used to use post offices for some banking functions, and some countries also put post offices in train stations, so it’s entirely possible that the stallion was able to reclaim his money on his way out of town.
That would be one huge advantage to all those spiders.
I have never seen that before. That’s amazing
cdn.mos.cms.futurecdn.net/9i6Jm4qbpGXyfvkeJpQYdB-650-80.jpg.webp
Warning--wolf spider image
Did you know that wolf spiders carry their eggs around with them? They spin them all up in a little carrier on their back!
cdn-prod.servicemaster.com/-/media/Feature/Terminix/Blogs/female-wolf-spider.jpg
Warning--another wolf spider image
Somewhat related . . .
preview.redd.it/980i1shjlpt41.jpg?width=640&height=360&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=d7d8f833eb6bb2a3ce00d88375b6dd92ec6da8fd
Definitely not bees
Foxberry knows who really runs her farm.
Also, since I’m having so much fun posting related pictures . . .
i.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/newsfeed/001/871/154/459.jpg
This one’s got a spider, too
He’s just saying that to make himself feel better. You know damn well that his kids are out in the yard, covered in spiders, carrying every cute one they find into the house, maybe letting spiders live in their dollhouses maybe having tea parties with spiders (incidentally, there’s a picture of that on the internet, too)
10342752 Yeah, sometimes you see something that makes you *have* to type and type until you're done because if you quit oh honey I'll do the dishes later and what was I saying?
This was one of those.
10333151
Fun fact: According to the Fimfic word counter, this one comes out to exactly 888 words. Not sure if you did that intentionally or not, but kudos on the thematic appropriateness.
10333144
I mean, its a job where you only gotta work for a certain period each year. You just....have to have a tolerance for spiders.
10791636
That’s the thing. Easy job as long as you don’t mind wading in a bog to wrangle cranberries and also being a wolf spider liferaft. You’re cool with those two things, and you’ll get the job.
I don’t think I could do it. The wading in the bog part, no problem. The spiders . . . I don’t fear them, but I don’t want hundreds of them on me, either.
11417197
It's not a trick of the morning light. Not at all. She's got a lot of cranberry bog employees hitching a ride.