“Try not to think of AI as replacing that instinct, but building on it instead. It’s like makeup; no woman needs it, but we all use it to enhance our features.”
“There’s the argument to be made about gilding the lily, though. Look, it’s a bigger picture thing, isn’t it? I understand that systems get automated. Machines now milk cows and shear sheep. But we’re losing our humanity, aren’t we? All those wonderful skills that will soon be lost to history.”
“That’s a very romantic view of the world,” she says, taking another piece of chocolate. “Machines make farmers’ lives easier. I don’t think any farmer would complain about bringing in automation.”
“But how long before machines begin to think for us? Before we’re not needed at all?”
She falls quiet for a moment and sips her tea, but I’m beginning to know her well enough to realize she’s thinking about how to respond to my point.
She’s silent for so long, I begin to suspect she’s not going to respond. Eventually, though, she says, “I agree with you.”
My eyebrows rise. “Do you?”
She nods slowly. “I do. I want a robot to clean my house and do my washing, so I have time to write and play the guitar. I don’t want it to write stories and create music while I vacuum the house.”
“That’s exactly it.”
“That’s a personal choice for me, and I’ll always be against AI producing art. But for me this is about making our land work better for us, to enable us to increase the quality and quantity of crops and pasture.”
“To feed the world? And you call me romantic?”
She gives me a sarcastic look.
“I’m never going to agree to it,” I tell her simply. “You’re fighting a losing battle if you’re hoping to talk me into it.”
Up until now, the rain has been relatively light, but it’s starting to intensify, hammering on the tin roof. We both look up and exchange a wry smile.
“Should blow over in a few hours,” she says. “Hopefully it’ll be gone by the morning.”
“You mentioned showing me something at sun-up?”
“Yes. It’s when the land is at its most honest.”
I lift a brow. “Interesting way of putting it.”
“If you want to understand the land, you don’t look at it in the middle of the day. You look at it before it’s been interfered with, before heat, wind, and grazing change things.”
“I guess.” I lean my head on a hand, a little puzzled. “If you don’t like the AI model, why are you working with Brielle on it? It sounds as if you have a real love for agricultural science. Whynot use your family’s fortune to work on a project you believe in?”
She nibbles her bottom lip. “I am, actually.”
“Oh?”
She hesitates again. “I’m not used to talking about it,” she admits. “My family isn’t interested because, like I said at the board meeting, it’s not sexy.”
I refrain from saying I think she could make anything sexy, and instead say, “I’m a science guy. Tell me about it.” I’m intrigued. Her car had a mobile mini field lab. What has she been doing?
“What the AI model doesn’t do,” she begins slowly, “at least not yet, is change the underlying conditions of the soil. And I started thinking… when you raise a child, it’s important to feed them properly and encourage them to get off the computer and get outdoors, right? If kids eat well and exercise, they’re more likely to grow and thrive. Well, I thought, why would it be any different for plants?”
I nod, remembering that she told us the focus of her PhD. “You’re talking about soil restoration?”
“Yes. My idea was to fix tired soil so it produces more grass, more consistently, with fewer inputs. Basically, to make the soil healthier. I was convinced it’s not just about pouring on fertilizer and pushing the land harder. I knew it must be about rebuilding the soil itself, so it does the work naturally.”
“Makes sense. So that’s the focus of your project?”
“Yes.” She hesitates. I think I understand why. I’m supposed to be here examining their flashy AI model. She’s obviously been told that her project isn’t as media friendly as Brielle’s.
“Come on,” I tease. “Tell me more. I’m interested.”
