Native American Creation Stories of Family and Friendship

Stories Retold

Teresa Pijoan

• Publisher: Sunstone Press
• Year: 2011
• eBook ISBN: 9781611393927
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: North American Literary Collections
• Index: Literature

The stories in this book, recorded by the author from personal interviews with Native American storytellers, hold the conflicts and compliments of family and/or situations of testing in relationships. Native cultures have lessons to be learned here, just as every culture does. These stories are not unique, yet they may help educate many of us today in finding solutions to similar problems. Symbolic language holds teachings, but without respecting the old ways, many shall never learn. Human beings have lived throughout millenniums, through floods, enduring droughts, appreciating abundance of food, yet every generation has their own trials to overcome, goals to achieve and rewards to receive or lose. These stories are to remind us of how fragile each one of us is as we struggle to survive youth, middle age, and our older years. It is important to listen and remember, for once the truth is gone, we shall certainly be on our own. Some of the Native American people represented by these stories are the Paiute, Iroquois, Pima, Kiowa, Osage, and Cherokee.

Twin Brothers of Life / Iroquois

The New Mexico, July sky was an endless pool of chalk blue. Ducks, heron, and black starlings floated about in the newly irrigated pasture. The two orange tabby cats walked the fence, trying to figure out a way to get to them without getting wet. The African Pygmy goats behind me stood on their high platform, well out of water’s way. Every now and then one of them would stamp his hoof to chase away the barn flies. Cisco, my super pup, ran by my side as I moved the hose from one side of the vegetable garden to the other. The snap peas had been excellent and soon it would be time for butter squash and zucchini.

Standing outside the barn, I watched a battered gray pickup with a shell camper turn off the dirt road onto our driveway. The truck bounced over each deep rut with creaks and groans. As it came to a stop, the back of the camper shell opened to release six young women. They jumped down, promptly shook out their long hair, and started taking off their blouses.

A tall lanky man with a beat up cowboy hat stepped out of the driver’s side of the gray truck. He looked over the farm, spotted me to call out a “hello!” I waved back to him, meeting him at the front wooden gate. Pushing his old hat back onto his head, he said, “Hey-yah, the storyteller has arrived.”

“Yes, I can see that and you brought your audience with you?”

He waved his hand in the air. “Oh, those are my daughters. You said you wanted a story about siblings, well, I have daughters. Six of them are right there. All of them want to wash their hair.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Good thing it’s July or there would be a problem!” He laughed with me. The young women appeared to be between the ages of nineteen and twenty-four years of age. Quickly, I tried to do the math in my head. Six young women with only six years possibly between them, fast pregnancies.

The young women were pulling out three foot tall water containers that had spigots on the sides. Two of the young women were on top of the camper shell lifting them up, sitting them on the roof of the camper. The others, below them, had disrobed to sparkling white camisole tops over their colorful broom skirts. All of the young women were barefoot. “Quite a sight, isn’t it?” He shook out his battered cowboy hat. “Say, you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed your facilities for a pit stop, would you?”

“No, no, go ahead. Right through the front door, take your first left and it’s at the end of the hall. Help yourself.” I pointed to the front door with my right hand and held my dog with the other. “I’ll just go and put the dog in the barnyard so he won’t jump all over the girls.” The storyteller scratched his stubbly face. He first went to the truck and pulled out a small bag, and then he went into the house. I pulled the dog into the barnyard, closed the gate, and fed the critters. It was early, only three o’clock, but somehow I knew this was going to be a busy afternoon.

The young women were busy working with bowls on the tailgate of the truck. I walked over to introduce myself, hoping to get a look at their work. One young woman was grating yucca root with a cheese grater into a yellow porcelain bowl. The young woman next to her was smashing the gratings into another bowl with a big wooden spoon, while her sister was slowly pouring water into the mush. This concoction started to bubble. The younger woman beside them took the bubbly mush and poured it on one of the other sister’s wet hair.

This worked up into a fine lather while one of the sisters, on top of the camper shell, was releasing water from the containers down onto her head. Each young woman took turns, each one was soaking wet by the end of this ordeal, all orchestrated with perfect timing. Finally, the towels were pulled out of the back of the camper and the young women started rubbing down each other’s long hair.

There were two sisters that did not appear to fit into the group. They were older than the others, had blonde hair down to their knees, and were covered with freckles. When they told me their names were Bridget and Meagan, I had to laugh. “The Celts have taken over the Southwest!” They stared at me.

While they were busy with their hair drying, and shaking out their wet camisoles, I went into the house to cook some dinner. Walking into the house, the smell of men’s cologne wafted through the air. There at the end of the hall, with the bathroom door wide open stood the storyteller. He had his back to me and was buck naked, except for his boots and his hat. His hat was dripping water onto his wet boots. Carefully he was ringing out his shirt over the bathtub and then he hung it on the shower rod. As he slowly turned, I hurried into the kitchen.

The house soon filled with the smells of my reheated tamales, freshly cooked fry bread, and vegetarian stew. Slowly, women found their way into the kitchen to help with the setting of the table. One of them ran to the truck, bringing back homemade apple cider and some paper cups. The large dining room table was pulled out to fill almost the whole of the kitchen. Everything was ready. Meagan went in search of her father. The storyteller arrived in his one piece, Johnny drop, long johns. He had on his socks and no hat. Meagan followed him, holding his wet boots and dripping hat. “Can I hang this up outside? Or is there a place I can put these?” I showed her where the clothes line was. She smiled. “Dad forgets to take his clothes off when he takes a shower. I’ll just hang his other duds up here until they dry.”

Half-way through dinner, my oldest daughter came home from work. She called out as she walked through the front door. I ran to meet her. Her eyes were large when I hugged her. “Mom, what is going on here? Looks like the gypsies have arrived.”

“Nicole, don’t say a word. The storyteller is here and he brought all his daughters with him. Just put your things down and come to dinner.” Nicole laughed at me. “Oh, boy, a storyteller who travels around making stories as he tells them. I love it!”

After everyone had finished eating, the daughters all worked together to clear the table and wash the dishes. The storyteller nodded to the back door. “Mind if we go outside? Tamales have a way of affecting my stomach.”

“Yes, we can go outside, it has cooled off. The weather is lovely.” I lead him to the back picnic table where we sat down and watched the clouds.

“All right, I guess you have earned your story.” He nodded toward the kitchen window. I looked up to see all the daughters laughing and working together.

“Yes, it has been great being with all of you, didn’t feel like work at all.”

“Well, it’s time for a story. The sun is about ready to rest. This story is an old story, all my daughters know this story so to tell it in front of them would make them tired. My great-grandfather wrote this story down and he passed it to my grandfather who passed it to my father and now I hold the story. When the story is finished, I can show you the old notebook. But right now, I think you should hear the story.”

I agreed with him. Then he held up his hand. “Just one question. Why are you interested in stories about children and the trials they have with their parents?”

“That’s a fair question. I have two daughters and they are difficult. Sometimes they are friends with each other and other times they want to kill each other. As a parent, I can’t understand how they compete for love. Each one gets a different kind of love and care, they aren’t the same. Perhaps if I hear enough stories, maybe I can figure out how to be a better mother.” I pushed the bangs off my forehead.

He laughed hardily. “A better parent! Hah! What a hoot!” He slapped his leg. “Parents are stuck with what they get! I care about my daughters, but found it easier to have as many as possible. That way they are busy with each other! Hah!”

His face became serious. “All right, you feel vulnerable around your daughters. When kids are very small they learn how parents work. Children are professional manipulators. They can read people in a heartbeat to know exactly how to get what they want.” Swallowing hard, he stopped long enough to shake his head. “This story should help you realize that children don’t need parents to survive, just acceptance. Sometimes they don’t even need that, just the belief that they are good people and they can survive. Here is the story, sit back, relax. We have to leave soon for I promised their grandmother I would have them at her house by dawn. She lives in Amarillo, Texas.”

As if on cue, all the daughters, including my Nicole, came quietly out to sit beside us. We listened to the story unfold on this lovely summer afternoon.

The Story of Twin Brothers of Life

In the beginning time, there were the Sky People who lived only high above the waters of life. The Sky People lived in great long lodges. The men slept on one side of the great lodge while the women slept on the other. The women placed finely woven mats on the floor of the men’s side of the lodge. The women kept their place as was the custom of the Sky people. They did not mingle with the men.

Early in the morning, the men would go hunt and return before sun dusk. The women would tend to the needs of the lodges, such as sweeping, cleaning, skinning animals, and drying jerky. All went well for a time.

There were two, a man and a woman, who were admired, and looked upon with respect who grew to like one another. This was not usual, for there were no children in the Sky Place. People lived, worked, and continued in a manner which was considered completely spiritual. One morning, the woman arose earlier and walked to the men’s side of the lodge. She saw the man whom she admired. She went up to him with a branch and began to comb his hair. The man allowed her to comb his hair, for her hands were soft and gentle. When she had finished, she nodded at him and went back to her side of the lodge.

Sometime after this, the man called for his mother to be brought to him. The mother hurried to the men’s side of the lodge, for this was most unusual. There she found her son lying on his mat, weak, pale, and barely able to speak or move.

“My son, what has happened to you?” Her son shook his head wearily. “I am going to die. You must hold my head in your hands, look into my face as my life leaves me, and let no one else come near me.”

“My son, what do you mean you are going to die? No one leaves this place, no one has died before this?” The mother stroked her son’s hair away from his pale face. “Tell me, son, what is it that you have? Are you ill? Have you been hurt?”

Her son steadily studied her eyes. “No, I am going to die. You must hold my head in your hands when you feel my life leaving me, you must look directly into my eyes so that your face is the last face that I see. You must build for me a wooden bed to lie in once my spirit has left me. Do you understand, Mother, do you understand what I am saying?”

His mother shook her head. “No! You cannot die, we are the Sky People. You cannot die!”

“Mother, you must do as I ask. You need to help me. Do as I ask. Once you have made a wooden bed for my body, you must take it up on the mountain over the village of the Sky People. Leave it open, leave it there in the trees on the mountain. Put me on this wooden bed with my beaded wrist guard, my bow and arrows, put my moccasins on my feet, and leave me food and water near by. Mother, you must do this.” Silently his breath left his body.

His mother leaned close to him, holding his head in her hands she watched his eyes glaze over and fade. She started to cry. The Sky People, who were outside and unaware of what was happening, all began to cry. They stopped and watched each other, they had no idea why there were tears falling from their eyes. The mother held her son’s head until he was no longer warm. She put her hands over his eyes, but they would not close. Quietly, she went outside to get the men to build her son a wooden bed carry.

The son’s body was carried up into the mountains.

His beaded leather guard was on his wrist, his moccasins were on his feet, the carefully beaded chest plate was nicely laid out and tied around his chest. Food and water bowls were put all around his wooden bed carry. The Sky People left him there, alone.

The woman from the woman’s side of the lodge was saddened to learn of the man’s death. None had died in the Sky Place and no one was sure how to behave. But each day, after his death, the woman grew in size. It became difficult for her to walk, to lean over, or to carry a load of wood. She questioned her mother about her condition, but her mother did not know what was wrong with her. Finally, at the time of the high moon in the Sky Place, this woman knelt down outside of the village and gave birth to a fat, healthy, little girl baby. The cries of the infant awoke the village. People from the lodge came running. Some had spears, other bows and arrows, women hovered back afraid of the small screaming baby.

The woman’s mother came forward with a blanket. “Here, the little one is cold and frightened, cover her and bring her with you home.” They took the baby into the women’s lodge. The baby girl grew quickly. At first the Sky People were frightened of the infant, then the toddler who was always running about, getting in their way. At the time of the next high moon, the little girl was almost fully grown. She had long hair down to the back of her knees, she spoke well, and was being taught women’s ways.

After the high moon time, the girl began to cry. She cried and cried endlessly. No one knew why she was so upset. Her grandmother came to her mother, asking if the girl had been on the mountain. The mother said, no. Her daughter hadn’t left the village, everyone knew where she was for she was always laughing and running.

The mother of the dead son came to the see the girl. “You are so much like my son. You have his eyes. You laugh like him. Would you like to see the place where my son remains on the mountain?” The girl wiped her eyes and, studying the older woman, she said, “Yes, I would like to see this place, can you take me there?” The woman shook her head. “No, I cannot leave the village, but I can tell you where this place is and you can go by yourself.” The woman picked up a stick and drew the map of how to go up the mountain to her son’s resting place.

The girl left immediately without telling her mother or her grandmother. The trees were thick on the mountain, the birds appeared to be guiding her along with their songs as she ran up the path. Sparkling brooks glowed as she ran by them on her way to the resting place. The young woman was very calm when she saw the man’s body. She sat nearby and told him stories of the people in the village. After a time, she returned to the village and told her mother about her visit. Her mother was shocked, but knew better than to scold her child for she felt this was all great magic.

Day-after-day, the daughter went up the mountain. She appeared to be much more at peace when she returned. Life was back to normal, until one time she came down the mountain with the beaded leather wrist guard. She wore it on her thin arm as if it were a trophy. She showed it to all the people. Her mother wanted to take it away from her, but did nothing.

An elder came to the girl and asked, “What possessed you to take the beaded wrist band from the dead man?”

The child glared at him. “I did not take it! My father gave it to me. He told me to keep it, saying that he was my father and this was his gift to me.”

The elder shook his head in despair. Day-after-day, she went up onto the mountain and life continued. Then one day she returned with his beaded chest plate.

She walked proudly into the village with it hanging from her neck to her knees. “Look what my father gave me! Isn’t it beautiful? He said that I am now fully grown and must go out of the village to meet the man who shall take care of me. It is time for me to leave!” She proudly showed everyone the breast plate.

When she got to the lodge, she asked her mother to make bread for her and to place it in a basket that she had made. Her mother was very unsure of this, but not knowing what else to do, she put the bread in the basket. The men were now asleep on their side of the lodge and the women, aside from her mother and herself, were asleep on the ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Foreword
• Preface
• Ocean Grandmother / Paiute
• Twin Brothers of Life / Iroquois
• Prickly Granddaughters / Pima
• Hot and Cold Brothers / Coeur D’alene
• Tree Brothers / Flathead
• Skunk Children / Ottawa..
• Sons of Sun Woman / Kiowa
• Creation Brothers / Kato-Pomo.
• Spirit Children / South Keres
• Tsityostinako and the Daughters / Tsia
• Leading Brothers / Chickasaw.
• Brother Friends / Menominee
• Sun Brother / Ojibwa
• Earth Maker / Winnebago
• First Born / Papago
• Sacred Star Siblings / Osage
• Turtle, Earth-Namer and Father of the Secret Society / Maidu
• The Ghosts of the Ponka and the Omaha
• Coming of Creation / Koksoagnyut..
• Kanati and Selu / Cherokee