The IRS Sent an Auditor to My Kansas Wheat Farm. She Found a Mistake, But Not the One She Was Looking For

My name is Jack Morrow. I’m 49, and I farm wheat on three thousand acres outside Dodge City, Kansas.

Before that, I spent sixteen years in the Army. Seven of them as a Ranger. Iraq, Afghanistan, places I still don’t talk about.

When my father had his stroke, I came home and took over the farm. That was nine years ago.

I know how to fight. I know how to drive a combine. I know how to fix almost any engine with a wrench and a bad attitude.

I do not know how to do paperwork.

For six years, my taxes were done by my father’s old accountant, Harold, who was eighty-one and did everything on paper with a pencil. When Harold retired, I started doing them myself, with software and a lot of guessing.

Last March, the letter came.

Internal Revenue Service. Notice of Field Examination.

My farm had been selected for an audit. Three years of tax returns. An examiner would arrive at my farm on Monday at nine a.m. to review my records.

I read the letter four times. Then I went out and split firewood for three hours.

Monday at 8:58, a gray government sedan came up my driveway.

The woman who got out was about 43. Blond hair in a neat bun, a navy blazer, a rolling briefcase that immediately got stuck in the gravel.

She looked at the gravel. Then at me, standing on the porch in my work clothes with my arms crossed.

“Mr. Morrow,” she said. “I’m Lauren Mills, Internal Revenue Service. I’m here to examine your records.”

“Come on in,” I said. “I’ve got coffee. I don’t have much else.”

She paused at the bottom of the porch steps.

“Mr. Morrow,” she said, “you know I can’t accept anything from you. Including coffee.”

“It’s terrible coffee,” I said. “It barely counts.”

She almost smiled. Then she caught herself.