Did you know that one in three Americans don’t know what “one in three Americans” really means? I don’t really have a scientific study to prove my assertion, but this seems like a reasonable statistic. I have always loved statistics. I still remember the first statistic I encountered as a child. “Two out of three dentists recommend ‘bright and shiny’ toothpaste,” the advertisement proclaimed. This led me to a whole rash of questions. “What does the third dentist know that the first two don’t? And how do they know – did they ask every dentist in the country?”

I chuckle at my childish naiveté as a more educated me knows the statistic is based on a stochastically determined random sample of qualified dentists. I also learned that randomness is impossible with our current means of determining random. And our sample can be biased perhaps by our “qualified” parameter. On second thought, maybe childish me really did make more sense … they should ask every dentist in the country.

Let me be clear, my best understanding of statistics was learned at a 21 table in Jackpot, Nevada. I spent an evening sitting next to a semi-coherent inebriated man who mumbled about Fibonacci all night long … all while doubling down on a pair of threes. Don’t get me wrong, in my educational career I took four separate statistics classes all taught by people with a Ph.D. We discussed probability, mean, bell curves, T-tests and even Fibonacci. I’m just saying the inebriated man made more sense. It’s been over 20 years since I’ve honed my statistical skills at the gambling houses of Nevada. Since I acquired a mortgage and an operating note, a two-dollar bet for a game of chance has lost its thrill.

In reality, statistics are pretty boring. The part that interests me is the interpretation of the data. Whether it’s predictive or just better explains the world around us, the data can tell a pretty compelling story. But always remember, if you torture the data enough, it will confess to anything.

Let’s get into the numbers. Did you know the average age of the American farmer is 56.5 years old? I remember this statistic from the early ’90s when the average age of farmers was alarmingly high at 50.5 years old. The interpretation has been that farmers are aging and there isn’t a new generation of farmers to take their place. But let’s dig a little deeper. The average age of a farmer is about seven years older than a small-business owner, which is more of a reflection of how capital-intense farming is instead of how old farmers are becoming. A farmer could easily need an extra seven years to build the wealth required to buy a farm compared to other forms of business.

The increasing age, though, may have more to do with demographics than anything. Have you ever heard of the baby boom? This generation is so much larger than every other that it skews most population statistics. Have you ever wondered why there are so many medication advertisements? Baby boomers. Have you wondered why the late ’60s and early ’70s were so turbulent? That was puberty and the teen years for the baby boomers. Have you wondered why we have had a baby boomer as a president for the last 30 years? Is it because they are extraordinary at governing? I think a better explanation is that there are just more of them.

The average age of a farmer was rising steadily from 1945 to 1974, loosely tracking the increase in death rate. In 1978, the baby boomers had accumulated enough wealth to start buying their own farms. The average age actually dropped for the only time in 75 years of the data.

Statisticians and cowboys are both unafraid to make predictions, so as a cowboy, I have a prediction. As the baby boom farmers retire, don’t be surprised if the average age of a farmer plateaus – and maybe even drops a little.

Next, the average farmer feeds 155 Americans. In my younger years, this statistic was tossed about to scare agriculturists to advocacy. I agree with this need for advocacy, and I also think this statistic could be used to scare the other 155 people into a greater appreciation of the one farmer. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, nuclear winter or some other societal-bending event, your odds of avoiding a famine are one in 155 … unless you develop a personal relationship with a farmer, then your odds are slightly better than one in 155.

My bit of advice when it comes to statistics is: Always be skeptical. Be skeptical of the raw data, the analysis of the data and the eventual interpretation. But most importantly, be skeptical of any statistic you read in this column. There is a one-in-three chance it’s just made up.