Those of you – my regular readers – that know me, know that it’s been a bit of a crazy year. Well, hang on tight, because it’s going to get a little crazier still. First, a little history.

In 1999, I purchased my first (and only) home in Winnipeg. I sold it in July of 2007 and moved to Maple Creek. In July of 2008, we moved from our little house in Maple Creek to a larger one. In July of 2009, we moved to Leader. Guess what’s happening July 2, 2010?

It’s funny, coming up to the one-year anniversary of leaving Maple Creek to start The Badger, so much has deviated from how I thought it’d be and yes, from how I hoped it would be. And last week, when everything was decided, it was tough.

In Leader, I have the home I never thought I’d be able to own. A beautiful large yard equipped with a tree swing and hot tub, three bedrooms upstairs, a washroom the size of a small bedroom with a giant, deep bathtub, and a kitchen Betty Crocker would drool over. And then the massive, detached garage that I spent last summer renovating with blood, sweat and a few tears as it was transformed into The Badger’s office.

Now, at the back of the newspaper shop is a special room I just finished last month. A spider room.

I realize keeping tarantulas and other arachnids as a hobby isn’t exceptionally common, but it’s something I love. Like tropical fish, the appeal of the hobby isn’t to hold, pet or cuddle the animals, but in keeping them alive and creating the right atmosphere for the critters to thrive. Also, tarantulas are not deadly. Of the 850-odd species of tarantula discovered so far, none can kill a healthy human, though a few can hurt like hell.

I have never, ever had my very own dedicated spider room. In Winnipeg, there were some in the living room, some in the bedroom, a couple in the kitchen and a few rainforest dwellers in the bathroom to take advantage of the humidity. And by the time I had about 150 and each has to have it’s own little terrarium, I longed for a well-equipped spider room. Now, I have less than one-tenth as many spiders, but I have the room ready and I was ready to enjoy arachnoculture once again.

But, apparently, these boots I’m wearing are made for walking. And we’re fixing’ to head straight south to Maple Creek. Leader has been good to us and to The Badger. But one of my boys has had a lot of difficulty adjusting to a new school and a new crowd. Always and forever, throughout mammalian history, our children come first and so it should be.

So, square footage be damned, we’re moving to Maple Creek July 1 into a two-bedroom apartment right beside the post office. The Badger, the puppy, the 10-year-old, the seven-year-old and the reporter and the reporter’s spiders are coming home to roost. Apparently, the old Maple Creek News office used to be in that building, so in a weird way, it’s perfect.

I’m ashamed to say I spent the better part of a day feeling sorry for myself, at how things have changed from what I wanted them to be. And I admit I selfishly mourned the loss of my new spider room, the pond in the backyard, the shed I just built.

To cheer myself up, I had convinced myself that I deserved an early birthday present. A special present. Yep, you guessed it. A spider.

But not just any spider. This one was a blue tarantula. And $200 at the size of my baby fingernail. As they get older and bigger, the price gets higher and only a few are brought into Canada every year for sale. I only buy captive bred spiders, because habitat destruction in many Third World countries is bringing wild tarantula numbers down in some areas to the point of extinction. Adding pressure of the hobby for smugglers to obtain wild caught specimens…. well, that’s even more depressing to think about than losing your spider room.

So, I did it. Paid $200 for a .5-inch spider that will one day be 6” and blue. Though I made the purchase in part because I was unhappy and looking for something to distract me, as I went through all the steps of unpacking the spider from a densely-packed pill vial, I genuinely began to feel happier.

I unpacked it very carefully and gently nudged it into its new home, an empty deli cup with peat moss, organic soil and a few pinholes for air flow. It posed perfectly on some fake leaves I had placed in the cup to provide shelter and a place to hide. It’s delicate pattern and blue sheen were incredible. After wanting this species for seven years, I finally had one and it was all mine.

After quietly closing its lid, I returned to my Betty Crocker kitchen and prepared soul food for the kids – store-bought perogies and sausage – and I pulled myself out of my self-pitying slump.

Sure, I had a beautiful home and a king size bed, but most nights, I’m so tired, I fall asleep on the davenport anyway. And most days, I try not to look at the house much because I’m so far behind on cleaning. And yeah, I had a backyard so lush and lanscaped and big, I could almost convince myself I was outside of town, about to go ride out to check on my cows. But I have no time to enjoy it, no time to do the chores and my unplanted garden is sowing guilt instead of corn. By the time supper was done, I was feeling good about the move. After all, in our new spot, with the fire hall almost directly beside the apartment and the RCMP detachment across the street, it’s a reporter’s dream come true.

I wandered out to the shop and back to the spider room to feed my eight-legged charges and first up was my pretty, blue new addition. I opened the lid to offer it a cricket and it was… gone. Vanished. Missing. Escaped.

I have had two spiders escape in the entire time I have kept them and the first was out of an experimental, communal enclosure. I looked up and I looked down. I looked everywhere. No blue spider. There was a hole punched out of the side of this deli cup that I never noticed. And in an hour, something I’d been wanting for seven years had vanished.

The next morning, I stomped back into the house after searching from sunrise for the spider. I felt sad, and lonely and disappointed in and sorry for myself. I fell onto the couch in the same dramatic way I probably did when I was 15 and had a bad day at school. Which is when my boy came up and hugged me and said, “Thanks for loving me enough to move again. I’m sorry you’re sad.”

And poof! Just like that, the negativity disappeared, just like the spider did. It doesn’t matter where I live. I have wonderful friends, two fantastic kids, an amazing dog, great family and a kickass truck. What more could a gal want than that?

Well, another blue spider, as it turns out. My mother, sister and brother-in-law in Winnipeg surprised me with a new one, compeltrely fiishing the process of cheering me up. And I learned that I  am so lucky, no matter where it is we happen to be living.

The Leader office will still be open at the same location a couple of days a week, on Wednesdays and Thursdays. Thanks to my renters for allowing that. And… sorry to my renters for the missing tarantula. Don’t worry, it probably won’t make it all the way to the house.

Thank you to Leader for your hospitality and kindness. The Badger will always have a presence here, and for that, I want to especially thank Gord Stueck, who has been a tremendous source of support and encouragement since the idea of The Badger was conceived.

Thank you to Maple Creek, for welcoming the weird, tattooed chick from Manitoba into your fold and keeping her there, no matter where she ended up. We’re happy to be coming home again, for without a doubt, Maple Creek was more home to us than I think Winnipeg ever was.

Who could have known that less than a year after I moved, I’d be single, with one very unhappy child? Had I known, would I have quit my job and risked everything to start another newspaper? I don’t know. But a good friend once told me that we make the best decisions we can, on the day that we make them. And what more can we ask for than that?