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In
state and national parks, good campers abide by the rules: Pick up
your trash, no gathering firewood, no campfires outside fire rings,
no public consumption of alcohol, no running generators or loud music
late at night.
These and other rules are designed to protect the environment and
make a park visitor’s experience a positive one.
Of course, Texans have been camping long before the state had public
and private campgrounds with picnic tables, restrooms and showers.
As a long-forgotten memoir shows, rules for those who overnight under
the stars or in tents are nothing new. Way back, however, the rules
– all unwritten -- were decidedly different.
Born in Poland in 1840 when the Russian Empire controlled it, Adolf
Bakanowski came to Texas in 1866 to organize the various Polish Catholic
parishes in the state. Essentially, he served his church as a circuit
rider, traveling from Panna
Maria in Karnes County to Bandera
on the west either in what he referred to as “a small covered carriage”
or on his horse “Bilik.”
Fifty years later, Bakanowski penned a memoir published in Poland
in 1916. Sections of the book dealing with his four years in Texas
were translated to English by Marion Moore Coleman and published as
“Polish Circuit Rider: The Texas Memoirs of Adolf Bakanowski, O.R.”
in 1971.
In that now-scarce 49-page booklet, Bakanowski codified what constituted
camping rule No. 1 in Reconstruction-wracked Texas.
“Wherever a stop was made,” the European priest wrote, “the rule was
that for the time you were there, everything within a radius of fifty
steps belonged to you. Anyone wishing to encroach upon this territory
had first to call out to you and wait for your reply.”
Violators of campground rules today only face the prospect of being
told to leave or at worst having to pay a fine. In frontier Texas,
the consequences of “rule” infractions tended to be a bit stiffer,
as Bakanowski explained:
“If anyone violated this rule, he was to be considered a bandit or
a thief, and one was free to shoot at him.”
Sending hot lead in the direction of someone who penetrated your personal
space did not have the force of law behind it – only gunpowder --
but the legal doctrine of a man being free to use deadly means to
protect himself long pre-dated this 19th century Texas custom described
by Bakanowski.
Today, any adult foolish enough to try camping on South Padre Island
or in any popular park during Spring Break or some other peak period
might be tempted to reinstitute the frontier rule. But alas, it’s
plainly against the law to start blasting away at someone just because
they get within 50 steps of your camp site.
Campfire culture has changed as well. These days, during dry spells
with low humidity and high winds, no open fires are permitted outdoors
on public or private land.
In Bakanowski’s time, having a campfire was a given. No matter the
time of year, a camper’s first priority after picking a suitable site
for the night was collecting fuel and building a fire. In addition
to a fire’s obvious value during cold weather, since early travelers
had no propane stoves and other modern conveniences, campers did their
cooking and coffee boiling over open fires.
“The fire,” the good Father B wrote, “besides [indicating] possession,
served also as a protection against snakes and wild animals.”
Beyond its practical uses, a campfire has always been the soul of
the overnight outdoor experience. As Texas writer-historian J. Frank
Dobie liked to say, a campfire or stack of crackling oak logs in the
hearth is the world’s greatest philosopher. Indeed, who wants to sit
around and listen to hunting and fishing yarns or ghost stories, not
to mention eating s’mores, totally in the dark?
But sometimes early day travelers made what they called a cold camp,
eschewing the comfort of a blazing fire. That was about safety, certainly
not comfort.
Anyone who remembers the heyday of the Western movies knows that when
hostile Indians or outlaws are afoot, you don’t bed down for the night
next to a campfire that can be seen for miles. Ditto for springs and
water holes.
Depending on where you camp, one thing that hasn’t changed are the
night sounds.
“Those nights spent in the wood were anything but quiet,” Bakanowsky
recalled. “Owls and hoot owls were always making their confusing noises
above our heads. The jackals [wolves or coyotes] were so bold that
they would sneak very close to the fire, especially when they smelled
the fragrant kielbasa [Polish sausage] cooking.”
© Mike Cox
April 23, 2015 column
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