Long ago, before there were people on the Earth, the world belonged to the animals. The land stretched wide and wild, with no cities, no smoke, no fences. The wind ran freely over the hills, and rivers hummed old songs only the animals like the Coyote could understand.
Coyote was one of those animals, and not just any animal, he was the trickster. Half fool, half genius, Coyote was always sticking his nose into trouble. He could make the trees laugh and the mountains roll their eyes. But even with all his mischief, Coyote was clever. And deep down, when the moment was right, he could do great things.
One day, Coyote stood on a high ridge in what we now call the Columbia Plateau. He looked out over the valley and sighed. “It’s too quiet,” he grumbled. “Too still. No laughter, no stories, no one to play tricks on but old Bear and grumpy Beaver.”
He trotted down the slope until he came to the banks of the Big River. There, he found Old Woman Earth, bent over, humming to herself as she shaped the world with her long, clay-streaked fingers.
Coyote and the Old woman
“Grandmother,” Coyote said, “why did you make all this beauty with no one to see it?”
Old Woman Earth didn’t look up. “The trees watch. The rivers sing. The stars listen.”
“But none of them laugh,” Coyote said. “None of them wonder. We need something new, something curious, something talkative. We need something like me!”
Old Woman Earth finally raised her eyes. “Like you, Coyote? Mischievous, selfish, full of wiand appetite?”
“Well, maybe not exactly like me,” he said, tail flicking. “But something in-between beast and sky. Something with hands to build and a heart to feel.”
Old Woman Earth paused, then handed Coyote a lump of river clay. “Then make it,” she said. “But understand: what you create, you will be responsible for. That’s the rule.”
Coyote took the clay and shaped it with his paws. He made arms, legs, a head. He gave it eyes wide like an owl’s and a nose sharp like his own. He gave it clever fingers and a laugh like the breeze. When he was done, the figure lay lifeless on the ground.
“Now breathe into it,” Old Woman Earth said.
Coyote hesitated. “What if it doesn’t turn out right?”
“Then you’ll learn,” she answered.
Coyote Creates Human
So Coyote breathed his breath into the figure’s mouth, and slowly, the clay being stirred. It blinked. It sat up. It looked around in wonder.
It was the first human.
Coyote leapt with joy, yipping and dancing. “I did it! Look at that! It’s alive!”
But the human was confused. It stood on shaky legs and wandered off, unsure of who or what it was. Coyote followed it, shouting, “Hey! I made you! Come back!”
The human kept walking, bumping into trees, touching rocks, staring at the sky. It didn’t know how to hunt, how to speak, how to be part of the world.
Coyote went back to Old Woman Earth. “It’s broken,” he complained. “It doesn’t know anything!”
“Then teach it,” she said. “You are its maker.”
So Coyote followed the human and taught it to speak. He showed it how to gather berries and track deer. He taught it fire, and how to laugh, and even how to cry. The human listened and learned quickly, adapting in ways Coyote had never seen.
But soon, the human began to do things on its own, build its own shelters, make its own tools, tell its own stories. It stopped needing Coyote as much. It even began to ask questions Coyote couldn’t answer.
“Why are we here?” the human asked.
Coyote scratched his head. “I made you because I was bored,” he admitted.
The human frowned. “That doesn’t seem like enough.”
“Well, maybe I made you so you could make more, stories, families, mistakes. Maybe I made you because the world needed someone to care for it.”
The human nodded slowly, then looked up at the stars.
That night, Coyote returned to the ridge where it all began. He watched the human’s fire glowing in the valley below. He didn’t feel lonely anymore. He felt… satisfied.
He had created trouble before, yes, but this time, he had created something more powerful: a being with the power to build, to break, and to choose.
Moral of the Tale
Even the most mischievous among us can create great change. Coyote teaches us that true creation takes more than cleverness, it takes patience, care, and responsibility. The tale reminds us that what we bring into the world will grow beyond us, and it’s up to us to guide it with wisdom.
Knowledge Check
What is the moral of the folktale “Coyote Creates Human”?
The story teaches a lesson about responsibility and humility, showing how actions, especially acts of creation, can lead to lasting change that must be nurtured.
What cultural group does the tale “Coyote Creates Human” come from?
This folktale originates from the Plateau Native American tradition, particularly among tribes such as the Nez Perce and the Yakama in the northwestern United States.
Why did Coyote create human?
In the tale, Coyote created human out of boredom and curiosity, which sets the plot in motion and leads him to take responsibility for his creation.
How does the folktale “Coyote Creates Human” explain a natural feature or animal trait?
The story offers a traditional explanation for why humans are curious, clever, and emotional, traits that set them apart from animals and tie them to the trickster who made them.
Is “Coyote Creates Human” considered a trickster tale, ghost story, or moral fable?
“Coyote Creates Human” is a Native American trickster tale that reflects the values, humor, and spiritual beliefs of its originating culture.
How is this folktale relevant to modern readers?
The message of “Coyote Creates Human” remains relevant as it teaches timeless truths about responsibility, the power of creation, and the importance of guidance in shaping the world we live in.
Cultural Origin: Plateau Native American (Yakama, Nez Perce, and neighboring tribes)
