Having witnessed so many changes in the last seven decades while living in this town built by our ancestors I can’t even begin to imagine what my great grandkids will experience in their later years.
The Native Americans who occupied this area as the first generation of settlers moved in must have wondered about the same things. Just as we do today I’m pretty sure they expected changes to be something good for everyone and then found out too late that wasn’t always the case.
I remember as a kid spending many days alone on the river imagining I was the first person to explore the area of my daily adventures.
My thoughts of being alone on the wild frontier running my trap line only had brief interruptions as a vehicle would pass by on the gravel river road that led to the Mayan Ranch.
I just hunkered down in the brush and watched and it became hostiles passing through my make believe world. Sometimes Doc Gray would show up to dig some worms for fishing so I would take a break and we would swap some fish tales.
As long as the weather permitted Mr. Deskin would come down the road on his daily walk and that presented an opportunity to greet him and get a piece of candy. He got me hooked on root beer barrels and I still favor that candy to this day. Back in the day I could get all the root beer barrels I wanted for a penny each at McGroarty’s store on 11th Street.
Luckily that river road would often supply a couple beer or soda bottles for me to collect bounty on to support my penny candy and bubble gum habit. The deposit at that time was only two cents. My budget was stretched thin when I needed a ten cent box of fishing hooks or inner tube patches from the Western Auto Store along with my need of a sugar fix.
You can still see remnants of the Evans home on the corner of Sixth Street and Pecan. Some pieces of the tin roof and an old cistern remain as a reminder of some of my shared time with John, Gordon and Tommy Evans.
From that intersection the road dropping down to the river provided opportunities to test the homemade vehicles we pieced together with scrap lumber and some wagon wheels.
At the time it was a gravel road that made a 90 degree right turn at the bottom of the hill just before the river. We lacked brakes on those downhill racers so wrecks and some rough landings in the river were common. Today it’s a smooth ride down that hill on my golf cart to cross the river on a bridge instead of making a sharp right turn along what I now know was officially named Schmidtke Road.
I can still recall my childhood days as I glance upstream at the old bridge crossing that was a big part of my young Growing Up In Bandera years. By myself or with friends those were some great times.
The Bandera Bulletin still has copies of the Growing Up in Bandera books. Drop in an purchase yours today or call 830-796-3718 to place an order for shipping!
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