Coyote Country

I think about the quiet watchfulness of the coyotes I’ve seen recently and wonder what they think of us.”

I have been thinking about coyotes lately. I’ve seen four in the last couple of weeks, a number that comes close to matching my total sightings since moving to the Key Peninsula in 2020.

The first of these most recent sightings was just a quick flash of a tail disappearing into the woods as I rounded a bend — enough time to think “A coyote!” before it was already gone. The next, a few days later, was in early evening, and the coyote ran across the highway just south of the Home Bridge. I slowed down to glance into the brush where it had darted out of sight, and there he was, turned back towards the road, looking as though he had stopped to catch his breath after the adrenaline surge of dodging traffic. I thought about that moment on my drive home, wondering how long he would stay there, how many people would whiz by not knowing that just out of sight, the coyote was quietly watching.

The following week, I was working on my farm and stopped to refer to the crop plan I kept open on my phone. Reassured I was planting things in the right spot, I looked up to see a coyote silently padding along the back fence line, 50 or so feet away. She paused, looked at me for a moment, then kept on going, following the same path my family and I use on our evening walks. I was struck again by the timing, the pure coincidence of looking up at just the right moment and recognizing I wasn’t alone.

The last sighting came late at night, on a drive home after an evening with friends. The coyote was walking down the middle of the road, and as I slowed down to a stop, the coyote stayed put. I started to inch forward, and the coyote walked forward as well, staying just beyond the reach of my headlights. This went on for a while until she stopped, coming into full view of the headlights’ glare and turned back to look at my car. She stared for a moment, then apparently having reached the spot she was hoping to, slowly walked off the road, ducked under a fence, and went off into the dark.

So, as it seems the universe wants me to, I have been thinking about coyotes.

And I think you would be hard-pressed to find an animal more quintessentially American than the coyote. One of the continent's original inhabitants, the coyote figures prominently in many cultures’ creation myths and folklore. In some stories, Coyote helped create the world through song and molded humans in his likeness. The “song dogs” have been revered for their creativity, adaptability, and cleverness across peoples and time. And just as often, reflecting the duality within us, coyotes have played the part of trickster, a representation of the very human tendency to create trouble — often at the expense of others.

Coyotes have been living alongside humans for millennia, so it is no wonder cultures found aspects of themselves mirrored in these enigmatic animals. But it wasn’t until European expansion that coyotes began to be regarded in the same category as vermin: something to rid yourself of. Using poisons developed specifically for the job, leg traps, and guns among other means, white America has attempted to exterminate the coyote. While the number has come down from historic highs, roughly 500,000 coyotes are still killed each year, according to Wildlife For All.

Despite this, the coyote is not just surviving but expanding its territory. As colonization opened up the country by cutting down wide swaths of forests and settlers began importing easy prey in the form of domesticated livestock, coyotes have ventured further and further from their original desert and plain habitats. Today they have been recorded as far north as Alaska, have been seen in Manhattan’s Central Park, and as of 2013 have somehow managed to cross the Panama Canal — driving their range further south than ever before. It is estimated that right now, every person in the country lives within one mile of a coyote.

Coyote, forever a reflection of human strengths and follies, has beaten us at the empire-building game in a way no other mammal has.

As we approach 250 years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence, we are still living in coyote country. And while what the next 250 years hold in store for America seems at this moment just as uncertain as it must have to those men in Philadelphia, what doesn’t appear to be in question is that coyotes will continue to walk beside us. So perhaps now, instead of a continued campaign of destruction, we can instead ask what we can learn from these song dogs, our loping mirror companions.

Creativity, resilience, adaptability. If there are any qualities we will need to face the next great challenges of our age, these three must be near the top of the list. Climate change, war, AI, genocide, poverty, a seemingly unbridgeable political divide. The crises are vast and daunting. But the coyote has found ways to thrive among what can only be called a long line of abuse and continues to find a way forward.

I think about the quiet watchfulness of the coyotes I’ve seen recently and wonder what they think of us. Living just outside the corner of our eyes, laughing in the moonlight, reminding us of the wildness of the place we call home. Maybe their sudden appearances are an invitation in this moment of reflection and change; to mirror the best of them, return to the beginning, and sing a new world into being.

Madeleine Spencer is a farmer tending to community, friends, and family in Longbranch.