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Kindred Cultures

  • Writer: Kenton S. Kephart
    Kenton S. Kephart
  • Nov 19, 2025
  • 4 min read

Why Native Texans Feel at Home on Hawai‘i Island

Native born Texan wearing a cowboy hat at a Hawaiian Paniolo Paina.
Native Texan Nani wearing my cowboy hat at a Hawaiian Paniolo Pa'ina

Since my ‘ohana’s arrival to Hawai‘i, many locals have assumed I was Native Hawaiian — and many more have simply accepted me as Kama‘āina, even after I got my DNA tested. The results were surprising: only 3% common ancestry with Pacific Islanders (the test wasn’t specific about which ones), but 30% Indigenous American — most likely Coahuiltecan. I also carry 30% German, 15% Scottish-Irish, and 3% Congolese ancestry, mixed with a little of almost everything but Spanish. (How? 🤷🏽‍♂️ Your guess is as good as mine. Somehow, I even have a Korean uncle who shares genetics with me.)


My wife, with her freckles and auburn hair, is about equal parts German, Scottish, and Irish, with 16% Indigenous American (most likely Apache and/or Tonkawa). In other words, we’re a pretty typical mix for “Native Born Texicans.”


So why would native Texans feel so at home on the Big Island of Hawai‘i? The answer lies deep in Hawai‘i Island’s history and culture.



A Shared Legacy of Land and Labor


In 1779, Captain Cook landed on Hawai‘i Island, and many of his sailors were of Scottish descent. Just fourteen years later, Captain George Vancouver gifted six cows and a bull to King Kamehameha I. A kapu was placed on those cattle, allowing their numbers to grow to nearly 25,000.


When horses were introduced in 1803, there was a new challenge — the Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) had never ridden horses or wrangled cattle. To solve this, King Kamehameha III invited vaqueros from Spanish California to teach ranching skills. These cowboys arrived at Parker Ranch around 1823. They were called Espanoles (Spaniards), which Hawaiians pronounced as paniolos. Over time, all Hawaiian cowboys became known by that name — paniolo, the heart of Big Island ranch culture.


In 1828, French Catholic missionary Father Alexis Bachelot introduced a tree then called Prosopis pallida to Hawai‘i. The Hawaiians called it kiawe — Hawaiian mesquite. This tree is closely related to Prosopis glandulosa, the honey mesquite of Texas.


For the Coahuiltecan people of South Texas, mesquite was sacred — the Tree of Life. It provided food, shelter, and medicine, and they often called themselves la gente de mesquite, the people of mesquite. Similarly, the kiawe became woven into Hawaiian life — a source of shade, fuel, and flavor.


Tamales made with pork meat and corn flour masa wrapped in corn husk.
Tamales have been a staple in Mesoamerican culture for over 5000 years.

Cultural Crossroads: Hawai‘i and Texas


On November 22, 1900, the first Puerto Ricans arrived at the northern tip of Hawai‘i Island. The Borikénis (or Borinquís) brought with them a dish known as Pasteles Hawai‘i. The taste and preparation are strikingly similar to tamales, a traditional Indigenous dish dating back to 8000–5000 BCE. The main difference? Puerto Ricans use green banana starch for their masa, while the Mesoamerican peoples used corn.


Throughout the 20th century, Hawai‘i’s sugarcane industry drew workers from across the globe — making the islands a living tapestry of cultures. Hawai‘i’s story mirrors Texas’ in many ways: both shaped by Native peoples, ranching traditions, and waves of immigration. Yet Hawai‘i holds onto two treasures that Texas seems to have forgotten — Aloha and ‘Ohana.


Like Texas, Hawai‘i shares that same cowboy spirit and respect for hard work. In Texas, kids are taught to say sir and ma’am; in Hawai‘i, keiki learn to greet elders as Unko and Auntie. ‘Ohana extends beyond blood ties to include hānai (adopted) friends, and Aloha shines through mutual respect and care.


Without diving too deep, I’ll summarize Texas’ cultural tolerance this way: for a long time, Native Americans found it safer to adopt Mexican names and identities than to be recognized as Indigenous. Hence the reason that there is no birth record for my great grandfather - only a military service record and headstone at Fort Sam Houston.


Sunset through a Kiawe tree on the Hawai‘i Island coast, captured by local photographers in an authentic Hawai‘i photography style, reflecting the shared mana and cultural connection between kindred cultures.
As the sun slips beneath the horizon, the Kiawe stands in quiet reflection — a reminder that roots and spirit endure across oceans. 🌅 Hawai‘i Nei Photos by Hawai‘i Island Photographer Kaimana — honoring the shared mana of kindred cultures.

Why Native Texicans Feel at Home on Hawai‘i Island - Kindred Cultures


Hawaiian Mesquite (Kiawe):

Just like Texas mesquite, kiawe has countless uses — from food and medicine to wood for smoking. The honeys taste similar, and the beans can be turned into flour, jams, and jellies. Both woods create some of the best smoked meats you’ll ever taste: huli-huli chicken, smoked ribs, sausage, or pork belly. And if kiawe isn’t available, guava wood makes a fine substitute — its flavor a mix between hickory and applewood.


Hawaiian Tamales (Pasteles):

Heavier and smoother in texture than Texas tamales, pasteles are a delicious reminder of the deep Indigenous roots shared between the Pacific and the Americas.


Hawaiian Cowboys (Paniolos):

Just like Texas cowboys, paniolos carry pride in their work and a respect for the land — but with a more relaxed, welcoming spirit, especially across the ranches of Kohala.


Hawaiian Culture and Language:

While the Coahuiltecan, Apache, and Tonkawa languages have faded into history, ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i remains alive — as does Aloha.



The Texas I grew up in is nalowale. Roughnecks replaced cowboys. Smog saturated the air. Oil poisoned the water. The night skies were dimmed by methane burners. Greed and discord replaced respect and rhythm. These days, there’s not much left to miss — though I’ll admit, I do miss the bluebonnets. But then again, so does every other Texan.


When locals ask if I miss Texas, I smile and say,


“Aloha left that land long ago. When the Indigenous voices were silenced, so was its mana.

These days, I find what’s left of home here — where aloha still breathes.”


Written with aloha by Hawai‘i Island Photography — sharing stories of land, lineage, and light through the lens of Hawai‘i Island photographers. Dedicated to preserving culture, connection, and the spirit of aloha.



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