I was born in Ann Arbor. My Texan momma assures me the winters there were bitterly cold, but my only memory of Michigan is of a lake in the summer. Sitting on a blanket on the beach, I was startled by a daddy-long-legs. My father gently picked it up and held it out to me, telling me not to be afraid. I could see how tame the spider was, crawling up and down his arm, and so I asked to hold it too. My husband told me years ago that daddy-long-legs are the most poisonous of spiders, but their jaws are simply too weak or too small to pierce human flesh. I’ve never verified that fact, but I like to think of it whenever I see one.