Coyote Came Along ...

Dedicated to Larry Littlebird

I met you in the barnyard
at Rancho La Barberia
Two coyotes in the chicken coop,
tending the chickens (for a change).
-- Debra Roberts

In the early 90’s, coyote came to find me. I was living in a small casita on Rancho La Barberia, a large ranch owned by a friend of mine outside Santa Fe, New Mexico (NM) .. a place where back in the day cowboys used to barber up before heading to town on a Saturday night. An elder from Laguna and Santo Domingo Pueblos, Larry Littlebird, also lived there for a time with his wife Deborah at the other end of the property. Larry and I shared mind-the-fowl duties in the barnyard and one day amidst the turkeys and chickens, we got talking. Larry knew I was involved in various theater activities in Santa Fe and said he was one-coyote-short for his Coyote Gathers His People troupe which is co-founded with Deborah¹ … a performing arts troupe based on Larry’s oral tradition culture. They had been invited as one of the headliners for a Windstar Foundation’s “Choices for the Future” conference, created and hosted by singer-songwriter John Denver … and would I be interested in joining them? As a coyote? Some of the best chapters of my life announce themselves by out-of-left-field invitations. Of course I said yes and jumped in with all four paws.

This ushered in an astonishing period of ritual theater (coyote style) with a small group of rascals, some of us Native American and some not … all of us fully costumed with only our eyes shining out of our masks. With Larry’s guidance, each member of the troupe made a coyote mask which we then spent time with and listened to; a coyote character eventually revealed itself, along with its preferred attire. The only parameter was that the clothing had to cover all of our body, so no skin showed. Just our eyes. While in-character and masked, we did not speak English. We were coyotes and not humans with a racial identity. We were invited to all manner of public venues and gatherings, museums, retreats, toured with the Naa Kahidi Theater (a Tlingit Native troupe), and worked with many tribal elders. It was an extraordinary experience and a miraculous chapter of life that I still give thanks for.

To tell on myself a little here, I remember a small epic moment during the Windstar gathering. Hundreds of people had attended to hear inspiring speakers, do workshops, and be entertained in the evenings by John, Taiko drummers, and others. One afternoon I had to go behind stage to our green room to fetch a jacket I had left there. All the conference participants and crew had left the central big tent to go to lunch. My spirits and energy were high from the day and I was sure I was the only one there. So I started singing one of my favorite John Denver songs, “Annie’s Song.” Its opening lines are: You fill up my senses / Like a night in the forest. Retaining lyrics has never been my strong suit; they often alchemically change in my head and then a mysterious photographic memory part of my brain takes over and remembers the DebraVerse version. Faithfully. To this day, I remember singing: You bring out my pizzaaaaaa, like a night in the ballroom (yes, that is exactly what I sang). Turns out there was one person behind stage … John. He was on one of those old-fashioned phones with the curly chords, mounted on the wall, and doing his level best to have a serious conversation while doubled over laughing. I laughed too, got my jacket and fled. I came to understand later that John had been having a very challenging time in his life right around then so the memory of him laughing really sits well with my heart.

Coyote was not the only family member that Larry and I had in common. Honeybees also flew into our lives and sweetened our friendship. When he turned 70, Larry fulfilled a long-time ambition of learning how to keep bees … though both of us knew we weren’t actually keeping them but had the honor of being with them. The Bee People, he called them. He began by taking lessons from a legendary bee man, Les Crowder, and then sought an ongoing mentor. At the time, he and Deborah lived on a 320-acre wild land sanctuary that was once Puebloan homeland … a sacred place called Hamaatsa which in Keres Pueblo language is a word referring to a time arriving “now” within an indigenous experience. A time and a place to start over again.

Hamaatsa was nestled between Santa Fe and Albuquerque (NM). Because it was remote, it was hard to get anyone bee-ish to come out. A colony of honeybees is a brilliant and sophisticated working collective comprised of thousands of individual beings who know exactly what they are doing. It takes a minute for a human to step into that world with intelligence and understanding, so it is helpful to have a mentor at the beginning. Larry asked me if I would help and I happily leaned in.

I had started my relationship with honeybees six years earlier and was already beginning to teach. I lived at the other end of the country, but we found a creative way to spend bee time. Our sessions happened this way: Larry and Deborah would suit up and hang a phone on a pinion tree right beside the hive, and connect by (something like) FaceTime. Larry would go through the colony, raising each frame up in front of the camera so I could see it and we identified the queen, drones, worker bees; the different stages of brood; honey and pollen stores; new comb and bee dances. And all the while, Deborah took notes. Fun is a small pale word for our times together. Larry got into his stride very quickly and then the bees became his direct mentors.

Cliff Wilkie, a wise bee friend that I met through the Littlebirds, once shared: “When watching bees, be still and like a sponge. Let go of western thought patterns based in rationalism and the separation of nature and us … watch, observe, breathe. Slowly there will be a broadening of awareness of what the bees are all about. This evolving awareness happens on its own schedule, not ours, by breathing calmly and, you might say, letting the bees have their way with me. In other words, surrender to the bees and let them find out who you are on their terms, not ours.” There is a certain sacred something that starts to happen with bees when we are fully present with them. And that sacred something has always been a close companion of Larry’s across the whole of his life.

Larry and I had a similar approach to being around honeybees. Neither of us had a commercial intent and both of us were interested in building a relationship with them based on gratitude for all that they already do for the world, not what we could take from them. The qualities I had learned to cultivate around bees were already naturally embodied by Larry: to be calm, gentle, present, focused, humble … and to listen … all ways that when practiced on a regular basis across time lead to finer feelings of appreciation, devotion, compassion, benevolence and generosity. Bees can stir a profound remembering of who we really are … a holy recollection that changes us forever, like the honeybees transmute nectar into honey. Larry and I were students together in this field of lived sweetness.

One of the photos I most treasure that reflects Larry’s respect for the bees is one taken by Deborah the day they picked up their first colony. Before driving them home, he made prayers to bless them and welcome them into the family.

Larry welcoming and blessing the bees at Zia Bees in Dixon, NM before taking them to Hamaatsa.

Over the last two decades of my life, I have easily sat for thousands of hours in my beeyard or some beeyard somewhere in the world … watching, listening, learning and loving these small precious beings. I met Larry’s bees on Hamaatsa land and some years ago, the Littlebirds visited us in North Carolina (NC). Larry and I spent time in my apiary and one of my most cherished bee moments was hearing him sing to them in Keres.

Larry just turned 84 years young. He is the last of all the many elders who were alive and blessed Joe and I in a certain era of our life … Pueblo elders we met through Larry and others who came along, all who have now crossed over except for Larry. People whose holy ways and wisdom, humor, stories, ceremonies, and prayers are still alive in our hearts and helped to shape our lives.

I thank you Larry for so generously sharing your cultural life-ways, rich oral tradition and indigenous wisdom; for Listening Ground, Slow Story and other sacred opportunities so full to bursting with story-tellers and story-listeners; for our mutual love of the Bee People; for your wide circle of friends, poets, song makers, artists, and cultural custodians; for all the years of coyote troupe magic; for sharing your precious family, now our family, and time on the land both in NM and NC; for your ready laughter and playfulness … and for your courage in walking with reverence as a Native American man across more than eight decades of American history while still retaining your generosity and great heart. I don’t know how Creation filled one person with so many gifts and so much love, but it happened with the recipe of you.

Larry and Joe love, one of my favorite family photos.

I am going to see Larry in New Mexico the day after this post is launched. Old Man Coyote is still with us and on the move, up to all kinds of holy mischief.

I met you in the barnyard
at Rancho La Barberia
Two coyotes in the chicken coop,
tending the chickens (for a change).

Blessings on you Larry Littlebird, now and always. You and coyote snuck under my radar and into the heart of my life … and I will forever be grateful. I love you.

❤️ Debra

Deborah and Larry Littlebird

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1. I encourage you to dive into the remarkable world of Deborah Littlebird. Everything I have acknowledged Larry for, she has co-created with him or been in the field of with her bountiful cornucopia of gifts. The entirety of their life together has unfolded as a beautiful collaboration. Larry is now retired and they no longer live at Hamaatsa, but the work and legacy continue.