There are many wonderful
Native American stories from around the country. It is hoped you enjoy
these. If you wish to share one please e-mail it. It is hoped you enjoy
the stories |
Grandmother Spider Steals
The Sun |
| In
the beginning there was only blackness, and nobody could see anything. People
kept bumping into each other and groping blindly. They said: " What this
world needs is light." |
| Fox
said he knew some people on the other side of the world who had plenty of
fight, but they were to greedy to share it would others. Possum said he would
be glad to steal a little of it. " I have a bushy tail, " he said. " I can
hide the light inside all that fur. " Then he set out for the other side
of the world. There he found the sun hanging in a tree and lighting everything
up. He sneaked over to the sun, picked out a tiny piece of light, and stuffed
it into his tail. But the light was hot and burned all the fur off. The people
discovered his theft and took back the light, and ever since, Possum's tail
have been bald. |
| Let
me try, " said Buzzard. " I know better than to hide a piece of stolen light
in my tail. I'll put it on my head. " He flew to the other side of the world
and, diving straight into the sun, seized it is his claws. He put it on his
head, but it burned his head feathers off. The people grabbed the sun away
from him, and ever since that time Buzzard's head has remained bald.
|
| Then
Grandmother Spider said, " Let me try! " First she made a thick- walled pot
out of clay. Next she spun a web reaching all the way to the other side of
the world. She was so small that none of the people there noticed her coming.
Quickly Grandmother Spider snatched up the sun, put it in the bowl of clay,
and scrambled back home along one of the strands of her web. Now her side
of the world had light, and everyone rejoiced. |
| Spider
Woman brought not only the sun to the Cherokee, but fire with it. And besides
at, she taught the Cherokee people the art of pottery making. |
| It
is said that when a Native American reaches into a bag of grain and takes
a handful out, some of that grain spills to the ground. |
| The
true Native leaves a seed and only takes what he needs for that moment. |
| The
seed that was left on the ground is the seed for tomorrow........... |
| The
seed for the next seven generations........... |
BUTTERFLIES |
| One
day the Creator was resting, sitting, watching some children at play in a
village. The children laughed and sang, yet as he watched them, the Creator's
heart was sad. He was thinking:"These children will grow old. Their skin
will become wrinkled. Their hair will turn gray. Their teeth will fall out.
The young hunter's arm will fail. These lovely young girls will grow ugly
and fat. The playful puppies will become blind, mangy dogs. And those wonderful
flowers - yellow and blue, red and purple - will fade. The leaves from the
trees will fall and dry up. Already they are turning yellow." Thus the
Creator grew sadder and sadder. It was in the fall, and the thought of the
coming winter, with its cold and lack of game and green things, made his
heart heavy. |
| Yet
it was still warm, and the sun was shinning. The Creator watched the play
of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves being carried here
and there by the wind. He saw the blueness of the shy, the whiteness of some
cornmeal ground by the women. Suddenly he smiled. "All those colors, they
ought to be preserved. I'll make something to gladden my heart, something
for these children to look at and enjoy." |
| The
Creator took out his bag and started gathering things: a spot of sunlight,
a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the cornmeal, the shadow
of playing children, the blackness of a beautiful girl's hair, the yellow
of the falling leaves, the green of the pine needles, the red, purple, and
orange of the flowers around him. All these he put into his bag. As an afterthought,
he put the songs of the birds in, too. |
| Then
he walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing. "Children,
little children, this is for you," and he gave them his bag. "Open it; there's
something nice inside," he told them. |
| The
children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of colored butterflys
flew out, dancing around the childrens heads, settling on their hair, fluttering
up again to sipp from this or that flower. And the children, enchanted, said
that they had never seen anything so beautiful. |
| The
butterflies began to sing, and the children listened smiling. |
| But
then a songbird came flying, settling on the Creator's shoulder, scolding
him, saying: "It's not right to give our song's to these new, pretty things.
You told us when you made us that every bird would have his own song. And
now you've passed them all around. Isn't it enough that you gave your new
playthings the colors of the rainbow?" |
| "You're
right," said the Creator. "I made one song for each bird, and I shouldn't
have taken what belongs to you." |
| So
the Creator took the songs away from the butterflies, and that's why they
are silent. "They're beautiful even so!" he said |
| Source:
American Indian - Myths and Legends |
graphic by San Silverhawk
|
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