IF THE ROAD COULD SPEAK….
By John and Betty Oglesbee
Venerable, mysterious, pragmatic and timeless...I am all of these. My name is El Camino Real de los Tejas National Historic Trail, so designated by the United States Congress in October 2004. As the oldest, most significant roadway in all of Texas, it is a title both prestigious and well-deserved. I am justly proud, not only for myself, but also for the precious few visionary Texans nearly one hundred years ago who worked tirelessly to save me from oblivion. To them much honor is due, for without their efforts my history and heritage would be lost forever.
My genesis happened many centuries ago, as primitive beasts and earliest nomadic Indians instinctively chose the most logical pathways through forests, hills, waterways, and prairies for their travels. As time passed, my network of faintly distinguishable trails became more pronounced. In the easternmost section of Texas, between the Sabine and Trinity rivers, my original routes run closely parallel, and are frequently one and the same. Scholars of history consider me an enigma, as they continue to define my metes and bounds.
My original trail, for the most part, is Texas State Highway 21. Although I have been widened and straightened along the way, my serpentine meander from the arid climate of Old Mexico to the verdant forests of the Piney Woods is still much the same. At intervals along the way, signs inform the traveling public of Don Domingo Teran de los Rios, who by decree of the Spanish Crown blazed the King's Highway in 1691 from the Rio Grande across Texas to the Sabine. In the following years strategically placed missions and presidios were built along my trail. Many of these were located east of the Trinity River. Crossing over the Sabine River into Louisiana, a Spanish mission and a fort were established at Los Adaes, between Natchitoches and Robeline, Louisiana. Today, Louisiana Highway 6 closely approximates my original route.
The mystique and breathtaking beauty of the Texas landscape are legendary, and have been thus for centuries. Along my pathway in the East Texas region, modern travelers often pass beneath a canopy of trees still growing close to the road, their tops gingerly embracing. The area's bountiful streams and lakes, and its rivers...the Sabine, Neches, Angelina, and Trinity...have been important reasons why people who first entered Texas on my trail remained in this locale. As in generations past, the pleasant, gently changing seasons, rich soil, plentiful wildlife, and clean, fresh air continue to attract both young and old.
I remember those first settlers, many of whom came in with Stephen F. Austin in the 1820s, and some even earlier. Filled with determination and hope, and relieved to have made a safe journey to "the promised land," these pioneers were anxious to begin new lives in this fresh, undefiled country. They mostly camped right beside my road with their wagons and horses close by, apprehensive of the darkness in unfamiliar surroundings. The children, however, did not reflect the somber caution of their parents, undeterred by hooting owl or howling wolf. They ran about, laughing and playing, attempting to catch the elusive fireflies whose glowing, flickering lights illuminated the night.
Music made by the pioneer settlers was different from any sound I'd ever heard-- the lonesome wail of the harmonica, the rhythmic melody made by someone's fiddle, and the primitive, yet beautiful, strumming of the jew's-harp. And their singing, so filled with emotion, how can I describe it? They sang melodies filled with memories of homes left behind, of friends and loved ones never to be seen again, and of their faith in God's providence.
I remember whole groups of families traveling together, helping each other and their wagons over ditches and bayous. Later, sitting around a crackling campfire, they talked of plans and dreams, wondering what the future would hold for them and their children. Sometimes these early settlers had little more than the clothes on their backs, perhaps seeds for their first crops, an axe and rifle, and all their worldly possessions in saddlebags or wagons. I'm still amazed to remember that most of these first folks stayed, established homes and livelihoods, built churches and schools. They endured in spite of hardships and dangers, and created a legacy of perseverance for future generations of Texans.
I believe wisdom comes with age, especially for me, a thoroughfare whose checkered past spans several centuries. Although a sage observer of life at its best and worst, I have not judged those whose footsteps have chosen my path for their journey. Just observed, not judged. I watched the relentless march of conquest as both French and Spanish intruders sought to claim the land and win the hearts of Texas' native inhabitants, the Indians. Decades later, the ingenuity, wit, and survival skills of my road's American settlers brought transformation and civilization to this untamed land. And I'll never forget the sincerity and dedication of the early missionaries of many faiths who brought religion to Texas. I've witnessed triumph and tragedy, justice and heinous crime, laughter and tears, success and failure, humility and arrogance, unselfishness and greed. The good mostly outweighed the bad, I'm happy to say. I suppose there's hardly a language or dialect I haven't heard, from the Indians of many tribes to the myriad of nationalities who followed. I claim them all as "my people."
As the most ancient of trails, and the earliest land-route through the heart of Texas, I have been called by many names -- Old Spanish Trail, San Antonio Road, and The King's Highway. Some have given me more grandiose titles: Great Strategic Military Highway; Road of Manifest Destiny; and Doomed Road of Empire. I am especially pleased with my newest and most descriptive name -- El Camino Real de los Tejas National Historic Trail. It is best, and I wear it with pride.