Farm & Ranch
The Chisholm Trail Never Left Oklahoma
Congress has tried three times in the last five years to make the Chisholm Trail official. Each bill proposed the same idea: fold the old cattle route, along with its neighbor the Western Trail, into the National Trails System as a National Historic Trail, the same federal designation that covers the Appalachian Trail and the route Lewis and Clark walked. Lawmakers introduced the measure in 2020, again in 2021, and again in 2023. All three died in committee.
Oklahoma ranchers are a large part of the reason why.
The National Park Service spent a decade studying the idea. Congress authorized the feasibility study in 2009, and the Park Service delivered its findings to Congress in 2019: both trails qualified. The study never settled who would answer for a designated route that runs through 109 counties in four states and touches about 76.7 million acres, most of it wheat and cattle ground owned by the families who work it, not by Washington, and taxed by the county, not the Park Service. No farm or ranch organization sat at the table when the Park Service held its public scoping meetings, despite agriculture being the dominant land use along most of the corridor. Only 326 people statewide showed up to speak for that much acreage.
The Oklahoma Farm Bureau read the study and objected on paper. In comments signed by then-president Tom Buchanan and regulatory affairs director Marla Peek, the organization laid out the cost: $500,000 to $800,000 to write a management plan, $350,000 to $500,000 a year for Park Service staff, and as much as $4 million just to inventory the route, expenses that tend to land on the landowners a designation is supposed to honor. Farm Bureau argued for what the Park Service calls Alternative A: no action. Do the study, note the history, and leave the fences where they are.
The Chisholm Trail exists today because nobody in Washington drew it on a map in the first place. The current fight over federal designation turns that history upside down.
Texas came out of the Civil War with one asset: cattle, and too many of them. Longhorns that couldn’t fetch five dollars a head in Texas were bringing forty dollars in Kansas and points east, and an Illinois cattle dealer named Joseph McCoy saw the gap before anyone else moved on it. In 1867 he talked the local railroad into laying a spur to Abilene, built pens and loading chutes, and sent word south that a market had opened. Abilene shipped 35,000 head that first year. By 1871 the number had climbed past 600,000.
The trail McCoy’s cattle rode north carried someone else’s name. Jesse Chisholm, a Scottish-Cherokee trader born around 1805 in the hill country of Tennessee, spent his life moving goods between trading posts in Indian Territory. He spoke a dozen languages and worked as a guide and interpreter as often as a merchant, and he died in 1868 of food poisoning near present-day Geary, Oklahoma, a year after the first big herds started following the wagon ruts he and his associates had already worn into the ground. He never trailed a single steer up the route that carries his name.
A braid of smaller trails existed instead, feeder routes out of South Texas that converged near the Red River and ran as a single corridor north through Indian Territory before splitting again on the Kansas side. Tribal governments along the way collected a toll for the right to cross their land, most accounts put it at ten cents a head. Nobody surveyed a right-of-way. Nobody filed an easement. Drovers picked their own path within a corridor that could spread several miles wide, wide enough for two thousand to three thousand head to graze as they walked, moving ten to twelve miles a day and stopping wherever there was water. A trail boss, a cook, a wrangler, and ten or so cowboys could push twenty-five hundred cattle from the Rio Grande to Kansas in about three months. By the U.S. Bureau of Statistics count, somewhere between five and six million cattle made that walk between 1867 and 1884, the largest voluntary migration of livestock in American history, arranged through handshake deals between cattlemen and tribal nations and not one act of Congress.
It didn’t last two decades. Kansas passed a quarantine law in 1885 closing the state to Texas cattle unless they’d wintered north of the 36th parallel with a health certificate, and Colorado, Nebraska, and Wyoming followed with laws of their own. Barbed wire strung across what had been open range closed the gaps between fenced ground faster than any statute did. By the late 1880s the great herds had shifted west to the Western Trail or stopped moving altogether, replaced by railroad spurs that reached closer to the ranches themselves.
That history is why the current fight reads strange from the saddle. A route that took shape because government stayed out of the way is now up for federal protection, and the protection is the thing landowners along it don’t want. The Western Region Property Rights Coalition, which formed to fight the designation, argues that a National Historic Trail functions less like a line on a map and more like a viewshed the Park Service can regulate for miles in any direction from any point along the route, without buying the land or asking the people who farm it. Representative Ron Estes of Kansas, who has sponsored every version of the bill since 2020, points to the trails’ place in the story of how Texas cattle rebuilt a ruined region’s economy after the Civil War and argues federal recognition is overdue. The Department of the Interior has told Congress it supports the idea and would welcome technical fixes to get it passed. Farm Bureau chapters across four states have told Congress the opposite.
Neither side disputes the history. Cattle did walk this ground by the millions, and the route did leave a mark on the land that outlasted the drives themselves. Drive south from Enid on U.S. 81 and you’re tracing close to the line the herds followed through El Reno, Chickasha, and Duncan. Between 1990 and 1997, a rancher named Robert Klemme set about four hundred concrete markers along the Oklahoma route, working pasture by pasture with landowners’ permission, one of them standing today a mile and a half south of U.S. 81 near Bison in Garfield County. No fence surrounds it. No agency maintains it. It sits on private land because a private citizen and the families who worked that ground decided it should, which is close to how the trail itself came to exist in the first place.
Whether Congress ever manages to pass a designation bill matters less than what the argument reveals: a hundred and fifty years after the last big herd crossed the Red River, the same question that shaped the Chisholm Trail from the start, who gets to decide what happens on this ground, is still the one Oklahoma ranchers are answering for themselves.
Farm & Ranch
Old Farm Wisdom
By NTFR Staff
Farm country has never been short on rules that begin with “My granddad always said.” Some grew out of years of careful observation. Others survived because they were memorable, even if they were never accurate. Fall is a good time to sort a few of them out.
Take the old advice to feed livestock before bad weather. It makes real sense, especially when cold, wind and moisture raise an animal’s energy needs. For cattle and horses, good-quality forage also creates heat through digestion. The useful part of the saying is that animals heading into cold stress need water, forage, shelter and enough energy available before conditions get bad. A full belly won’t protect them from a storm by itself.
Then there is the belief that animals can predict the weather. Cattle lying down don’t reliably forecast rain. Horses running the pasture aren’t a dependable sign that a front is coming. Animals do respond to changes in temperature, wind, insects and barometric pressure, and experienced stockmen often notice behavior before they notice the weather. That still falls short of a proven forecast.
Persimmon seeds are another favorite. Split the seed and, according to folklore, a spoon-shaped kernel means heavy snow, a knife means cutting cold and a fork predicts a mild winter. It’s a fun tradition, but the shape inside a persimmon seed is the developing plant embryo. It can’t model a season’s weather.
The same goes for woolly worms. People have long used the width of the brown band on woolly bear caterpillars to predict how hard the winter will be. Entomologists haven’t found evidence that the color pattern can forecast months of weather. The band can vary with the insect’s age, species and growing conditions.
Some sayings are based on real natural signals but are too broad to use literally. “When the leaves turn early, winter will be hard” confuses plant stress with forecasting. Early color can come from drought, disease, heat or local conditions. Likewise, unusually thick coats on horses or cattle may reflect genetics, day length, age and health rather than an animal preparing for a particular winter.
Bird and insect behavior inspires plenty of predictions, too. Large flocks, low-flying birds or busy squirrels may coincide with changing weather because animals respond to current conditions. That doesn’t mean wildlife can predict a whole winter months ahead. Pay attention to what animals are doing now, but don’t build a seasonal forecast from it.
The same caution applies to other signs. A red sunrise may point to moisture under some conditions, but it isn’t a guarantee. A big acorn crop doesn’t prove a hard winter is coming. Livestock lying down doesn’t mean rain is on the way. Trouble starts when observation turns into certainty.
The sayings that hold up
Other old advice has held up much better. “Don’t turn hungry cattle onto lush pasture” is still sound management. Hungry animals eat fast and are more likely to overeat unfamiliar or risky forage. Gradual transitions are still recommended when cattle move to high-quality forage, grain or pastures where bloat or plant toxicity is a concern.
“Make hay while the sun shines” also deserves its reputation. Hay quality depends heavily on curing conditions. Rain after cutting can leach nutrients, shatter leaves and raise the chance of mold when hay is baled too wet. Modern equipment makes hay faster, but you still need a good weather window.
One of the most useful pieces of old farm wisdom is simply to watch what is normal. A cow that hangs back, a horse that leaves feed, a water trough that empties faster than usual or a patch of pasture cattle suddenly avoid can all be early clues. Producers who work with the same animals and ground every day build a baseline no phone app can replace.
Another old rule worth keeping: fix small problems before weather makes them big. A loose gate hinge in September becomes a gate on the ground during a north wind. A slow water leak becomes an ice problem. A thin cow that looks acceptable in warm weather may lose condition fast once her maintenance requirements rise. That is the advantage of doing work while conditions are still forgiving.
The strongest farm sayings tend to be the least magical. “Never let the water tank go dry.” “Buy the best hay you can afford, then waste as little as possible.” “A good fence is cheaper than a bad neighbor.” They survive because they point toward management, not prophecy.
Some old advice also survives because it was built for a world with less margin for error. If the well failed, no delivery truck was coming with water. If hay spoiled, you couldn’t always replace winter feed with a phone call. Preparing early was risk management, and that part still translates. Technology gives producers better forecasts, better diagnostics and faster communication, but none of it fixes a broken water line during an ice storm.
There is value in keeping the folklore anyway. Weather signs and sayings are part of rural culture, and they often start conversations about how people watched the seasons before radar apps and seven-day forecasts. The trick is knowing which sayings belong in the toolbox and which belong around the coffee pot.
The persimmon seed can stay, as long as nobody mistakes it for the National Weather Service. The old rule most worth keeping may be the simplest: pay attention early enough that you still have choices.
Farm & Ranch
Scrapie: Eradication Restart
By Barry Whitworth, DVM
Scrapie is a chronic, progressive disease of the central nervous system that affects sheep and goats. The U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA) has worked for decades to eliminate scrapie from small ruminant operations. The United States was positioned to meet the World Organization for Animal Health’s seven-year benchmark for self-declared scrapie freedom in January 2028. Unfortunately, the Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) confirmed classical scrapie in a sheep slaughtered at a facility in Oregon. With this detection, national scrapie-free status for the U.S. may be pushed back to sometime in 2033.
Scrapie is the oldest of the neurodegenerative diseases known as transmissible spongiform encephalopathies (TSEs). Other TSEs include bovine spongiform encephalopathy, known as mad cow disease; chronic wasting disease, found in deer; and Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, found in humans. TSEs are protein-misfolding diseases that damage the brain, and they are always fatal.
Researchers don’t fully understand what causes scrapie, but evidence points to an infectious protein called a prion. These infectious prions damage the normal prion proteins found in the brain. The misfolded proteins lead to brain damage and the clinical signs of the disease. Prions resist destruction, so once they are in the environment, they are difficult to remove.
Scrapie appears to spread mainly by the oral route. Lambs and kids typically ingest prions when they contact placentas and birthing fluids from infected ewes and does. Older animals can be exposed the same way. Colostrum and milk are also sources of prions, and urine, feces, saliva and nasal secretions may contain them as well. Once ingested, prions cross into the lymphoid system, where they incubate for a long time, usually two to five years, before entering the nervous system.
Genetics plays a part in scrapie infections. Some breeds are more susceptible because of their genetic makeup. Genetic testing can help producers select breeding stock with resistant genes.
The clinical signs most associated with scrapie are intense itching (pruritus), incoordination (ataxia) and wasting. Early on, producers may notice slight behavior changes in infected sheep and goats. Animals may have a staring or fixed gaze, fail to respond to herding or act aggressively toward objects. As the disease progresses, signs include weight loss despite a normal appetite, incoordination, head tremors and intense itching. In the final stages, sheep go down and may show blindness, seizures and an inability to swallow. Once the first clinical signs appear, death usually follows in one to six months.
The gold standard for diagnosing scrapie after death is immunohistochemistry testing of brain tissue, along with microscopic examination of the brain for the lesions characteristic of TSEs. Veterinarians can also diagnose live animals by testing lymphoid tissue from the third eyelid and rectal mucosa scrapings.
No treatment exists for scrapie, so prevention is key. Biosecurity is a good starting point. Maintain a closed flock, and buy replacement animals only from certified scrapie-free flocks. Limit visitors’ contact with your animals. Keep lambing and kidding areas clean, and dispose of manure and bedding contaminated with birthing fluids and placentas properly. Use genetically resistant animals for breeding to produce genetically resistant offspring.
A novel, or atypical, form of scrapie also exists. Sometimes called the Nor98 variant, it was first found in Norway and has been diagnosed in the U.S. as well. It usually turns up in a single old animal in a flock or herd, and its brain lesions differ from those of classical scrapie. Experts currently believe natural transmission of atypical scrapie is unlikely.
Small ruminant producers can help the USDA’s eradication effort by contacting the agency when an adult sheep or goat shows clinical signs of scrapie or when an adult animal dies or is euthanized. Contact Oklahoma State Veterinarian Dr. Rod Hall at 405-522-6141 or USDA Veterinary Services at 405-254-1797. Collection and testing of samples for scrapie are free.
Another important step in eliminating scrapie, and other diseases, is identifying animals with official USDA ID. The USDA National Scrapie Eradication Program requires most sheep to be identified to their flock of birth when they leave their home premises for sale, show or events, or when they commingle with other sheep.
Unfortunately, the Oregon sheep diagnosed with scrapie had no tag, which will hamper USDA traceback efforts. You can find more information on official ID at https://www.aphis.usda.gov/nvap/reference-guide/animal-identification/sheep-goat.
The U.S. needs to eliminate scrapie. Once it does, the country will gain additional export markets for sheep and goat products. Oklahoma State University Cooperative Extension Service has an informative fact sheet on scrapie. Ask your local county Extension office for fact sheet VTMD-9135, or view it online at https://extension.okstate.edu/fact-sheets/scrapie.html. Sheep and goat producers may also want to visit the USDA National Scrapie Eradication Program website at https://www.aphis.usda.gov/livestock-poultry-disease/sheep-goat/scrapie.
References
Cassmann, E. D., & Greenlee, J. J. (2020). Pathogenesis, detection, and control of scrapie in sheep. American Journal of Veterinary Research, 81(7), 600–614. https://doi.org/10.2460/ajvr.81.7.600
Farm & Ranch
Veterans Turn Mission to Conservation, Restore Land
By Justine Anderson | OCC Public Information Manager
In Pawnee, Oklahoma, one landowner needed a plan and some help to turn his 400 acres, with three ponds and acres packed with Eastern redcedars, into usable land for cattle and wildlife.
Brian Heishman is a retired, disabled Marine Corps veteran. After five years in the infantry, 16 years in Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) and 10 years contracting for the U.S. government in Iraq, Brian wanted a way to stay active and a greater purpose. Managing the land with his wife, Melinda (Mindy), and bringing it back to its original state gave him both.
“Finding a greater purpose that is satisfying is a struggle for many who leave the brotherhood, but I’ve found mine in managing this land,” Brian said.
Brian and Mindy are in their fifth year of owning the land, and it has changed quickly from a cedar-filled landscape into an ecosystem full of native grasses with more water. Brian first met with Duel Brown, Pawnee County conservationist for the Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS) and a U.S. Air Force veteran, who gave him clear advice on managing the land.
Brian wasn’t sure he could clear the cedars himself. He had never done that kind of work. After he cleared an initial 500 feet to create a fire break for a prescribed burn, he felt confident enough to sign a contract with NRCS, with help from Cole Fagen at the American Bird Conservancy. He hasn’t looked back. Since signing his first NRCS contract in 2022, Brian has found a new purpose clearing Eastern redcedars and restoring native grasses.
Under additional NRCS EQIP contracts, Brian installed cross fencing and put grazing management practices in place, with help from two other former Marines who work for NRCS, Blake Crispin and Shaun Hull. He bought equipment with a loan from the Farm Service Agency, which sped up the cedar clearing. With help from other partners, he restored the dam on the property’s largest pond, giving the cattle that graze the area a source of fresh water. Kyle Johnson of the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation helped Brian stock his ponds with a variety of fish to improve their ecological health. Brian credits the Pawnee County Prescribed Burn Association with teaching him the details of prescribed burning and advising him on best practices.
“Working with NRCS has been very easy and beneficial. My advice to others would be to get good equipment and keep at it. Conservation is possible if you just keep going. Once you see progress, it becomes addicting and you want to keep making progress!” Brian said.
A wildfire that swept through the land in 2025 sped up Brian’s cedar clearing. The fire also burned other trees, including oaks and black walnuts, but it cleared most of the cedars on the east side of the property. Brian is now clearing the burned skeletons, and he is seeing grass grow back. His ponds are filling faster, and new streams have appeared as water levels rise without the cedars pulling moisture from the ground.
“The differences between how the land looked in 2022 and now are very clear. Seeing the native grasses repopulating the land is very promising and sends a clear message that Brian’s hard work is paying off,” said Duel Brown of NRCS. “I’m grateful for Brian and Mindy and their dedication to preserving the land.”
As Brian keeps clearing cedars, his goal is simple: maintain the work he has done so the trees can’t take over again. Eventually, he and Mindy plan to build a home and enjoy what their work has produced. Brian hopes his story will encourage others to try a conservation practice and lean on the partners available to help. From brothers in arms to brothers in conservation, Brian and NRCS have shown what people can do for the land when they work together.
-
Country Lifestyle2 years agoJuly 2017 Profile: J.W. Hart
-
Farm & Ranch2 years agoFrom Plow to Plentiful: The Most Important Inventions in Agricultural History
-
Attractions9 years ago48 Hours in Atoka Remembered
-
Outdoors9 years agoGrazing Oklahoma: Honey Locust
-
Equine9 years agoUmbilical Hernia
-
Country Lifestyle5 years agoThe Two Sides of Colten Jesse
-
Farm & Ranch8 years agoHackberry (Celtis spp.)
-
Attractions3 months agoOklahoma Ghost Towns – Navajoe





