The Farm as a Classroom

Science fiction has long been one of my “go to” genres in entertainment. However, as I’ve gotten older, it seems less like fantasy and more like a horror movie.  Not because the special effects have gotten better, or the messages have gotten too frightening. It’s because some of the lessons in those messages have gotten lost in the tech.   I’ve known for a long time that humans are inherently lazy. Not in the way of “slovenly,” but as we have always sought”easier” ways to do things. Whether it was slavery, machinery, robots or AI, society in general has taught us that “easier” is better. I remember a “Slim Goodbody” message from my childhood where Slim stood in his white body suit, against a white background and told us about how technology was making our world smaller.  That eventually we would just become bodyless heads, with no muscles left. He wasn’t wrong. While Slim was worried mostly about our lack of physical fitness, the issue was deeper than that. It was what kind of world were we building? I admit that I appreciate a helping hand, even an automated one, but I don’t want that hand to take over my thoughts, my goals or my soul. As an environmentalist I’ve been concerned all my life that the human race has forgotten that we are still members of the Earthkind race. We still need clean air, water, shelter, and community, in order to thrive.  I say community because even as a person who lives a more isolated life, I still need my community of hearts and minds, even on the hoof and paw.  It is that connection to agriculture that has helped me stay strong in my darkest times. Olmsted  proposed parks serve as the essential connectors between humans and nature. He brought the idea of connecting to the Earth into his Emerald Necklace, Central Park in New York City, and other projects.  While people had always appreciated greenspace, he brought that connection into focus.  But his particular emphasis was on improving the human experience in urban areas. What I see now is that we are losing the broader perspective. The media and society increasingly focus on urban life, at the expense of remembering the importance of rural areas and communities. Artificial intelligence is increasingly collecting data and information about the world, but it cannot nurture something that is intangible. There is a sense of peace that is found among trees, at the shore, or on a farm. Farms particularly are a classroom that is rarely considered, and I worry is getting lost in this “computer framework.”

During my time working in farm education I saw a lot of touching moments of connection, but the ones that stay with me the most are the illustrations of disconnection.  Focusing on commerce, economy and the chase for the “almighty dollar,” is costing us in ways that few people imagined. It is this loss that I think is becoming an existential threat to our society. Not because AI can’t teach it. It’s because no one has bothered to quantify it or even value it.   I love seeing children get involved in 4H and FFA, but the focus of both of these groups is agricultural economics.  Parents may see the more important lessons, but these are rarely taught in coursework.  What do I mean?  4H  requires that children maintain records on their projects, from what they are feeding, to what they are observing in their gardens/barns.  From an economic standpoint that is about “what is cost beneficial,”  but from the viewpoint of stewardship, it also encourages the child-steward to think about their animal or plant’s well being.  Is it getting enough food? Water? Does it have enough sunlight or space? Does the animal do better under certain conditions, or what makes it suffer?  These require an emotional observation, a connection that is more than financial.  Losing this focus has allowed farms to become “agricultural factories,” where the bottom line is economic profit, more than “farm welfare.” While a farm may make money, that balance sheet increasingly tilts to the red if the soil isn’t healthy, the plants are well tended, or the animals are not feeling safe or well cared for.  This leads from illness and lack of thriftiness to increased feed and veterinary costs, lower costs in yield per animal or field. But our society’s focus on finances and “ease,”  is costing us in society as well.

As a park ranger, I received questions from adult, pregnant women with children already, ask me “How old was the cow when it starts to give milk?”  My answer was “How old were you?” because that core issue is not about a cow. It’s about being a mammal.  Humans are mammals, and animals, at our core. The woman who asked me that question was at first shocked at my impertinence, but I watched her indignity change to awareness when she realized that connection. “I thought there was just an age when the tap turned on,” was her reply, but she left that farm with a renewed connection to her place in the wider world.

But more shocking was the visit with teenagers from an urban halfway house.  Of the five, two of them were pregnant girls. As a group they were offended by the smell of a working dairy. They focused on the manure, in particular, which I just explained as “animals have to remove waste. These animals have no other place to relieve themselves, so it is what it is.” While they were still uncomfortable, they were able to get past the odor. 

But the farm had a cow that had just given birth, and while her calf was no longer with her, the amnionic sack was still hanging from the cow. The girls were totally disgusted at such a thought.  I explained “that’s a miracle. That calf lived in a water bed for nine months, protected from impact, infection, and was cared for, all within that bubble.”  They were not impressed.  But when I told them that the cow had to give birth in order to give milk, I added “you will too.”  The young women totally disagreed.  “No I’m not.  I’m giving the baby up.” When I told them that they had a similar “bubble” growing inside them, they refused to accept it.  I replied “It doesn’t matter if you’re giving the baby up or not. Unless they give you a shot to stop the milk, you are going to be producing milk, even if the baby isn’t there.”  The  girls refused to accept that fact.  My only response left was to turn to their chaperone and say “You need to get these girls some biology classes, fast. They have no idea how they got to where they are, or what is happening next.”  The teacher nodded, but basically ignored my comment. While AI and robots can tend to a flock of hens, or a clutch of eggs, until the eggs hatch, it cannot teach those babies how to scratch for food, how to swallow, or when to acknowledge threats from predators. Already teachers leave those biological realities aside in their quest  to “hatch eggs,” in the classroom. As if watching an egg crack open and a chick emerge, was the endpoint of the exercise. Commercials love to show cute fuzzy chicks “hatch” out of eggs. But they forget that in reality that chick is wet, floppy, blind and exhausted when it comes out. Birth isn’t cute. It’s hard work, whether it’s for a human mother, or a chick hatching. The act of coming into this world is a struggle, which society would like to forget.

When teachers would ask me if they could have some eggs to hatch, I always asked them where the chicks were going to go after they hatched. To the person they all said “They hadn’t thought of that.” Many thought I would take the chicks back, but when I said I couldn’t, they’d ask why.  “Because I don’t need that many mouths to feed, and I don’t want the biosecurity threat of bringing strange animals back to the farm,” was my answer. Most teachers understood that whole idea of “mouths to feed,” but the concept of biosecurity was one they hadn’t thought of. Is that something that AI is going to stress?  I don’t think so.

As more communities face the realities of climate change, they are increasingly considering resiliency in their plans.  But for most that means “where am I getting my electricity?  How do I get internet?” leaving out the more important aspects of life of “where is my food coming from if the road is destroyed?  What water am I drinking if the water pumps can’t function? ‘  Even more importantly, they need to get past the idea of  “personal protection” as in “gun rights,” and into the deeper issue of “how will I rebuild the roof of my house if I’m injured and can’t climb a ladder? Who will help me if I get hurt? “ These are issues of community, more than they are about personal threat. 

  Can computers and AI teach people to trust and cooperate? If we focus on finances only, do we maintain the knowledge to grow our own food, help an injured neighbor, or rebuild a house without contractors doing the work? Resiliency is more than being able to withstand a personal threat. It is about recognizing the importance of community, of connecting with the realities of life beyond finances. These are not things that AI can teach. They can recognize the need, but computers can’t fulfill those needs in an immediate way.  If there is no electricity, no internet, how do they “teach” anything? 

  Protecting that innate connection between people and between humans and wider world, is critical to the survival of our species, let alone our cities.  This is just the beginning of a wider conversation that needs to be had, and from what I can see, most people aren’t even opening the door to start it.  Science fiction as a horror story is not about the “ghost in the machine.”  It is about the graves of lost wisdom, and our natural tendency toward “letting someone else do the work.”  That is the future that I worry about, and that is completely within our power, if we want to recognize it.