The sun had just risen over Myakka Prairie, bathing the wire grass and saw palmettos in a vibrant orange-gold light. As the sun peeked through the scattered slash pine hammocks, 9-year-old Gib Johnson rode his horse alongside his father, a seasoned cattleman.Their days on the trail were fueled by the hardy bacon and stale, hard biscuits his mother had packed for the journey. To most, it might seem a grueling way to grow up—but for Gib, it was paradise.
Gib, short for Gilbert E. Johnson (1900-1984), proudly called himself a “Florida cracker, in his interview with the Manatee County Historical Society. Born and raised in the area, he reached adulthood in an era when Florida's landscape was still largely an unfenced, sprawling expanse. Cattle left over by the Spanish conquistadors grazed freely across this vast open range, and pioneering individuals built their livelihoods by herding these animals and driving them to market in Tampa, Braidentown, or Charlotte Harbor.
His father, Morgan Jackson Johnson (1861-1943), namesake of Morgan Johnson Road, was one of the last of the old-time cowmen in the lower Tampa Bay region. The family homestead, including a sturdy two-story white house, was nestled along the banks of the Braden River.
No fences separated the herds. To keep track of whose cow belonged to which settler, brands were developed. Each rancher had a unique signature etched into a cow’s hide. Even so, things got complicated. Orphaned calves, dubbed “hairy-dicks”, often appeared without a clear mother or brand. Gib’s father used a gentleman’s rule, he branded the calf for the cattleman with the most cows in the area. On occasion these yearlings would be butchered, giving them fresh meat with rice and gravy for a few days. But before the beef had a chance to spoil, they had to salt it down and turn it into jerky.
Cow-hunting expeditions could last weeks. With no tents and only slickers for rain cover, cowhands slept on the ground, using saddles for pillows, sometimes with the slicker over the face as a makeshift tent. Only firelight and dogs were there for warmth and protection on cold winter nights.
Cowhunters rounded the cattle with 13-foot-long deerskin whips and herding dogs to round up the cattle, earning them the nickname “crackers.” Herd dogs were also used. Gib’s stories of cow dogs wrangling wild steers are dramatic. He recalls watching two dogs bring down a full-grown bull—one by the ear and the other by the nose. Sometimes, a bull would launch a dog into the air, only for the dog to land on its back and come right back swinging.
In 1905, serious efforts began to improve Florida’s lean 'woods cattle' were tough and scrawny, with long horns and little meat to offer. Bertha Potter Palmer introduced white-face Herefords, but they struggled with the intense heat and relentless mosquitoes. Real progress came when ranchers John and Will Vanderipe brought in Brahman bulls—larger, hardier, and better suited to the climate. Though wild and nervous at first, they successfully transformed the quality and durability of the local herds through cross-breeding.
Cow hunting began to fade as Florida’s landscape transformed. The arrival of fences, roads, and expanding development gradually closed off the open range, making the old practice of free-range cattle drives impractical. As land was subdivided and modern ranching methods took hold, the era of sleeping under the stars, trailing wild herds across the Myakka Prairie, and branding calves in the brush quietly came to an end—leaving behind only stories, scars on the land, and the legacy of the Florida Cracker cowboy.
In his later years, Gib Johnson reflected on the sweeping changes to the land he once roamed. The wild Myakka Prairie had been drained and divided, and the free-ranging cattle all but vanished, yet through his stories, old Florida lives on—dusted with wire grass ash, echoing with whip cracks, and steeped in the scent of black coffee by the fire. His memories offer a glimpse into a rugged life shaped by nature and cattle, where hardship met simple joy. Perhaps most enduring is the legacy of his father, Morgan Jackson Johnson, immortalized by Morgan Johnson Road along the Braden River, a quiet tribute to a Florida long gone but not forgotten.
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