Under the Wire

If you are involved with agriculture in any way you probably have heard of the National Agricultural Statistics Service or NASS for short. An offshoot of the USDA, their job is to conduct surveys among agriculture producers and then publish their findings in reports most disagree with. To say it is a thankless job would be an understatement. When they hit the mark with a report, the big USDA officials take the credit. If a report misses the mark, say a few million bushels of corn someone forgot to report last month, the complaints are channeled to the NASS. No doubt some confuse their initials with the NSA. These are the “big brother” folks who allegedly ease drop on our phone conversations, even our movement around the country. The confusion comes when the “good guys” and girls of the NASS lose their “S”!

Their big job every five years at the NASS is to compile the National Census of Agriculture. It’s a simple job. Just ask every farmer and rancher in America how many acres they own or rent, what do you do with them, how much money do you make and how did you spend it? Everyone is thrilled to send that information to our government.

I am exaggerating here, even though this is exactly how many view their efforts. Personally, I enjoy filling out such reports. About the closest I ever come to actual record keeping. Gives me some idea why Sue gets kind of grumpy around the first of every month. Usually after I bring home the mail.

I’m telling you all this because through agreeing to do a few PSAs on our radio program, I have had occasion to correspond with a few folks who work for the NASS, perhaps while the ones who lost their “S” listen in. All have been nice, mostly ladies. I have learned they live in Washington or nearby but are country at heart. One owns a cabin in Colorado, another just attended a country music concert not far from home. Don’t get me wrong, they probably don’t want to change places with us. One lady was astounded we did not have Netflix in our home. Told her we sprayed outside to get rid of whatever they are.

She asked if Sue and I ever went to movies. “Sure”, I told her. “Think we have gone to about six since we married over 31 years ago.” The last one we went to was “Ocean’s Eight,” shortened I figured, from the longer “Ocean’s Eleven” we enjoyed years ago. Wasn’t shortened enough, though. Fell asleep about half way through. Sue kept poking me when my snoring bothered folks six rows away.

I have learned a lot about life on the East Coast from communicating with these ladies. They, too, have gotten an insight into life on a Colorado ranch. Don’t seem very impressed. In five years, however, the next Census of Ag just may ask, “What was the last movie you went to?”

Not sure Sue will ever take me to one again. Will just leave that line blank.

Sorry ladies.