Harrington's World                     08/03 09:52

   The Farm Is All Atwitter

   It's hard to put in an honest day's work when all your time is spent 
surfing, texting blogging and chatting online, says DTN Livestock Analyst John 
Harrington in this column from our sister publication Progressive Farmer. 

By John Harrington
DTN Livestock Analyst

   Between posting onto seven Facebook walls, texting and retexting idle cattle 
buyers, monitoring the interest rate "tweets" of the Citizen State Bank, and 
participating in a webinar entitled "Farming The Internet," Ned Working had put 
in a grueling morning. 

   His stomach was growling and his screen-strained eyes were screaming for 
drops. Yet one more stop was absolutely necessary before running home for lunch.

   "Is Dad alright?" Ned asked anxiously, throwing his arms around his Mother. 

   "Fit as a fiddle," Mrs. Working assured. "But I don't like the looks of that 
inflamed ear of yours. Sit right down and I'll lance it in a jiffy. Land's 
sake, that thing is bigger than Grandma's goiter."

   "It's called a Bluetooth," he dismissed, turning to the wall. "Yeah Josh, I 
just texted to confirm your e-mail about not having anything to twitter about. 
Check the noon updates on the weather blogs and then we can chat online about 
how the forecast didn't change or why it's probably wrong."

   "My poor boy, why are you taking to the gun rack?" his mother cried with 
alarm. "You've become absolutely delirious with that evil infection. I'm 
calling 911."

   "Sorry Mom," Ned apologized, removing the mobile headset. "It just a phone 
for those of us forced to live life at cyber speed. Anyway, back to dad. What 
do you think is troubling him?"

   "Why do you keep insisting that he's in a bad way?"

   "Oh, I don't know," Ned snapped. "Maybe it's because the mail carrier just 
made me sign for a letter from my own father who lives less than a mile away. 
Maybe it's because of its cryptic message: 'Come immediately. Warning: All 
electronic devices will be confiscated'."

   "Well, go see for yourself, he's in the shop," she shrugged. 

   Ned found his conservative father patching tractor tires, pounding out old 
irrigation pipe, and tinkering with a CB base station that predated Marconi.

   "Boy, we use to have fun with that thing. You were 'Top Dog', I was 'Grunt 
Train' and Mom was 'Home Plate'." 

   "It got the job done," Senior Working said, slowly looking up at Ned. "Just 
like that piece of registered mail in your pocket. You're hard to get a hold of 
these days."

   "Sorry about that. I'm sure I bookmarked the farm's new website on Mom's 
laptop."

   "Son, any good business requires a proper balance between necessary 
communication and information gathering on one hand, and plain old sweat and 
toil on the other. While you're doing a great job running the farm, I worry 
that we've become long on the former and short on the latter."

   "You and I are completely linked on this proper balance idea, Dad. That's 
why I spend so much time online, constantly looking for ways to save time and 
improve our economic health."

   "Tell me then, why are you so jumpy, Ned?" the old man barked. "If you were 
a steer with that much twitch and fidget we'd dip you for scabies."

   "It's nothing, Dad," his son said as casually as possible. "Just a 
combination of too much coffee and a long to-do list.  Speaking of which, gotta 
run."

   As he watched his waving heir move awkwardly toward the truck, Mr. Working 
knew his super-connected, fully wired son hadn't heard a word he said. The 
Senior Working also knew the real cause of Ned's exiting shimmy: pants packed 
with Blackberry, cell phone, and pager, all set on vibrate. 


(CZ)

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