We received an envelope a while ago, delivered by an official government-certified carrier pigeon.

An eye-glance investigation revealed it was nothing less than the U.S. Census.

It said we had to comply or face a season of wearing orange. Orange is not in my color wheel, so I got right on the task. I didn’t want that pile of questions sitting next to my computer, looking at me the same way my father did when I was supposed to be doing something and wasn’t doing it.

Some memories can still resurrect old goosebumps.

I was amazed and surprised at some of the questions they asked, wanting not only to know the usual things about the number of people in our household, but of the mental and emotional condition of the people therein.

I wondered — if the people answering the census were mentally or emotionally unstable, would the government nosey-noses really believe the answers could be trusted? And why wouldn’t they ask neighbors if the people next door were mentally or emotionally stable? Seems more American to back-door someone to rat them out, with answers that may actually be more believable.

Of course, no one consulted me about this important matter.

The form included separate questions about men and women living in the household. They asked of me, “Do you speak any language other than English while living in this house?” In an obvious overlook, they didn’t leave me space to say, “That depends on whether or not I’m upset with my husband.”

Interestingly enough, I didn’t see a place for men to answer that question.

Another one was, “Because of physical, mental or emotional conditions, do you have trouble concentrating, remembering or making decisions?”

I had to go back and read that one again.

Questions asked about male occupant(s) included, “Does he have trouble hearing?”

Again, they didn’t leave me space to say that he hears rain coming from 10 miles away, but he doesn’t hear me tell him what time we are leaving for an important event. Not that it usually matters — we often slide in just before the event begins due to his relentless work ethic … which has both blessed and cursed us.

They wanted to know his ancestry. I think we all know what group of European people are most known for their stubbornness … THAT’s his ancestry. And he appears proud to present it whenever he thinks it’s necessary … and sometimes even when it’s not.

One of the last questions the government needed to know was, “Does he work for a “For-Profit” or a “Non-Profit” business?

My laughter was both obnoxious and house-permeating. Once again, if they had allowed me the room, I could have said he would operate a “for-profit” business if they would stay out of what we do on the farm. I thought it sad that the question made me laugh, because many years we do indeed work for non-profit status.

Still, most farmers would never even consider doing something completely different with their lives. We all know how deeply rooted agriculture runs in the veins of those who would dare to do the work, and boldly, bravely and sometimes blindly face the music and the fallout waiting to greet them every day as the sun rises on the horizon.

There’s nothing like a government census to numb our senses.

I would love to send them a census … or more appropriately, a “How About Using Some Common Senses” census.

Indeed. That would be far more appropriate.

Karen Schwaller lives on a grain and livestock farm near Milford. She can be reached at kjschwaller@outlook.com. Note new address.