I spend my days helping organizations build story-driven strategy for health equity and community change. When I get to a Spiders get a bad wrap, and we might argue that some of them have earned their reputation as a creature to be avoided at all costs. That said, for my lineage, orb weaver spiders are sacred, wise teachers. They teach us what to do with everything we gather. They teach us how to build the web.

I’m Shoshone from Wind River Shoshone and Hoopa, and in many of our ways of knowing, spiders hold a really revered place. We call orb weavers Grandmother Spider. She’s a relative we hold in high regard.

Even if you don’t want them in your basement, I want to invite you to sit with what orb weavers can teach us in our health and justice strategy work.

Start with the anchor points

Orb weavers don’t begin with the beautiful spiral. They start with a framework of non-sticky silk that acts as structural threads to connect far-off but key anchor points in the landscape. The sticky spiral, the active catching layer, comes second. Structure first. Then the strategy and beauty.

I think about this constantly in the work I do with health and equity organizations. You cannot build strategy and then go find the community wisdom to support it. You anchor first through deep listening and understanding what your colleagues and your community see working, what they need, and what they’re carrying. That’s the framework that makes everything else hold.

When we skip the anchor points and go straight to the sticky spiral, we end up with strategy that looks good and catches nothing.

Maintenance is the work

Some orb weavers dismantle and rebuild their webs daily. They consume parts of the old web to recycle the proteins for the next one. Nothing is wasted and every iteration feeds the next build.

This is the argument against the one-and-done storytelling project. Against the annual report scramble. Against the community listening session that produces a PDF, lives on a shared drive, and never gets opened again. Narrative infrastructure requires tending. It’s a practice, not a project.

When we rework a program or rebuild the web after something breaks, we’re not starting over. We’re composting. The energy from what we built before goes into what we’re building now. That’s embedded in operating in a living ecosystem. And honestly, that maintenance is where some of the most beautiful learning happens. It can feel mundane or in-between, but it’s the bulk of the most important work we can do, and it makes the work stronger.

Build from what’s actually there

The orb weaver works with the landscape she’s in. She doesn’t wish for different trees.

When I start work with clients, we start by making an inventory of existing organizational and community assets. These include the stories people are already telling, the relationships that already exist, and the trust that’s been built, or broken, or is waiting to be tended. We build from there and watch the impact and funding grow.

The web catches things you didn’t plan for

The spider doesn’t know exactly what’s going to hit the web. She builds the infrastructure and then pays attention to what shows up.

Story banks work the same way. When you invest in narrative infrastructure, you’re not just preparing for the campaigns you can see coming. You’re ready for the unexpected grant report due in three days and the funder lunch you just got a last-minute invite to. You know the web is there. You know it’s catching. And when anyone knocks at the door, you’re ready, because you have the assets to teach about your work through the voice of the people most impacted by it.

Passive hunter, stable center

Orb weavers are passive hunters. They don’t chase. They build systems and let them do the work, sitting at the center or the periphery, sensing the vibrations.

I think this is one of the most grounding teachings for people doing community-driven work. Yes, we go out. Yes, we circulate like bees. And also, we stay anchored in what we’re here to do. We don’t get scattered. We don’t get pulled into every new request, every shiny opportunity, every “should we be over there?” What’s your zone of genius? What is your promise to the community? What needs to happen that only you can do? Build the strategy that holds you there.

An indicator species

Here’s what I love most about Grandmother Spider. Her presence indicates a healthy ecosystem with abundant life. Orb weavers are an indicator species. You see them, and you know you’re in a healthy ecosystem.

What would it mean for your organization to be that for the communities you serve? For your presence to be a signal that the ecosystem is well and thriving. That people are cared for. That trust is being tended. Your presence nourishes and supports. 

Thread by thread

Nobody looks at a finished orb web and thinks about the first thread. But without it, there’s nothing. If we look too far ahead at what’s not built yet, we miss the chance to keep going, thread by thread, each iteration stronger, more beautiful, more durable than the one before.

So I’ll leave you with the same questions I sit with myself:

What web are you building? Are you building it thread by thread from real anchor points? Or are you trying to skip to the pretty spiral?

What would it look like to treat your organization’s stories as infrastructure rather than decoration?

If any of this is landing and you want company in the tending, my Story Hours are open, and I’ve got a few spots for Story Lab Sessions in April and May. That’s where we look at the assets you have, what’s possible, and how to move you closer to a sustainable ecosystem of story, strategy, and impact.

I can’t wait to connect and learn about the work you’re doing.

M

Entangled Health can be in your ears, too! Listen to the show wherever you tune into podcasts.

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