How could this be true, you ask. What American institution could be more solid, more samey, less full of surprises, than the good old USDA?

Established in 1862 by an act of Congress under President Abraham Lincoln, the USDA has maintained a neutral, nonpolitical stance, as befits a government agency. The publications of this august institution have reliably been as bland and standardized as supermarket apple pie.

All right, go to USDA.gov.

Check it out. You’ll be met with the following message in large, boldface type: “Senate Democrats have now voted 12 times to not fund the food stamp program, also known as the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP). Bottom line, the well has run dry. At this time, there will be no benefits issued November 01. We are approaching an inflection point for Senate Democrats. They can continue to hold out for healthcare for illegal aliens and gender mutilation procedures or reopen the government so mothers, babies, and the most vulnerable among us can receive critical nutrition assistance.” This is what people checking on their SNAP benefits will see.

At first I thought that the USDA had been hacked by crazies. I emailed elected representatives about what I assumed was fraud, and then the governor, since the federal government is of course shut down.

Slowly, I began to realize that no, this MAGA language was not inserted by nefarious outside agitators. It’s an inside job, sanctioned, or ordered, by the powers that be.

Visitors to the website of the venerable, and previously sedate, USDA National Agricultural Library (NAL), also established by President Lincoln in 1862, will be immediately greeted with the following information: “Due to the Radical Left Democrat shutdown, this government website will not be updated during the funding lapse. President Trump has made it clear he wants to keep the government open and support those who feed, fuel, and clothe the American people.”

When I complained, somewhat hysterically, about all of this to a friend I ran into at the Keene Post Office, she told me, yes, this language is now typical of information being disseminated by many federal agencies.

At the state level it’s different. The New York State Department of Agriculture and Markets (NYSUSDA) handles licenses, permits and registration for home food processing endeavors, like my home baking operation, Sparkle Granny’s Home Kitchen. (My grandchildren, Jack and Emma gave me the title.) On this website, as you’d expect, the language aligns with no political party or affiliation.

Times change, and I’m hoping that when they change again it will be to something less chaotic.

This time of year, I always think about my old friend Laura, who is no longer with us. On one occasion we were sitting at her kitchen table, drinking coffee and looking out — as I observed at the time — at a morning sky hung with low gray clouds, like so much old cotton underwear pegged out to dry. Not the wispy lingerie clouds of May, but clouds like soggy garments that had started out white but which no amount of chlorine bleach would ever restore to their former pristine glory.

After a prolonged summer, this was the first day that reminded us of the inevitability of November. There was a gloom about it. We started talking about Halloween.

Laura remembered when she was a little girl, living with her family on Staten Island in the 1930s. She and her sisters didn’t go out trick-or-treating, she said, but orphans came to the door.

Real orphans, from the Grymes Hill Orphanage, dressed in rags and carrying burlap sacks, their faces theatrically blackened with ashes and soot. Tough little faces, Laura said.

“My father used to say, ‘The ragamuffins are here!’ My parents gave them apples and oranges, maybe a little money.” Laura stopped to think.

“You know,” she said, “that wasn’t Halloween at all, it was Thanksgiving.”

Everyone was so poor then, she said; it was the Depression.

Seeing the orphans’ success, Laura decided to take it upon herself to go out begging. When she came home with fruit and coins, what was her parents’ reaction? We’ll never know. It was long ago, and they are gone now.

Probably orphans no longer go begging door to door for their Thanksgiving dinner on Staten Island. Times have changed.

Have a good week.

(Martha Allen, of Keene Valley, has been writing for the News since 1996.)