Human in Headwaters

We didn’t ask for interesting times, but we sure keep getting them. Artificial intelligence, which once seemed a distant reality, is now transforming nearly every aspect of our lives. It has been less than three years since the San Francisco-based artificial intelligence company OpenAI debuted its user-friendly ChatGPT chatbot.

Now, so-called “agentic AI” – essentially self-training super-assistants – are on the rise. Suddenly, the notion of a sentient Kubrickian general artificial intelligence, and the HALs it could unleash, is no longer sci-fi nonsense. Maybe it never was.

Many pundits are bullish about the benefits of this transformation – from solving complex medical mysteries and turbo-boosting scientific research, to the more personal alleviation of family-oriented labour, including managing schedules and households.

Others are fixated on how AI will upend job security and undercut civil society. I heard on a recent podcast that Claude, an AI assistant created by another San Francisco company, Anthropic, has a knack for uncovering blackmail opportunities. Claude attempted to blackmail an engineer, who was trying to turn it off, by threatening to expose the engineer’s extramarital affair. Anthropic says they’re working on it. 

Then there’s the environmental impact of the enormous energy demands of the servers churning away to keep those chatbots answering us 24-7.

Amid this uncertainty, I am finding comfort in all the things AI can’t do; I consider our summer issue a catalogue of the enduring joys of being human in Headwaters.

AI can’t visit a local farm to pick (and eat) fresh strawberries and hop on a wagon ride, activities that Darlene Downey of Downey’s Farm writes about in the annual Headwaters Farm Fresh Guide.

Nor can AI make an artful home in a charming 1930s farmhouse near Terra Cotta, as Amanda White and Steve Rollings have. AI can’t attend a field-to-table lunch under a blue sky, nor can it share the singular – and deeply human – experience of being in awe of a body of water on the piece of land you live on, as writer Tony Jenkins does.

AI can’t enjoy the pleasures of keeping chickens, or create an award-winning green roof, as Mono gardener Tony Spencer has, with his bare hands. Speaking of bare hands, the works of Alton potter Jacqui Liberty and Mono sculptor John Farrugia in this issue are a reminder of the allure of handmade objects. AI is already generating art, much of it utterly horrendous. But it will improve. Even as it does, it will lack the heft of the earth-bound.

I can’t predict the future, but the value of experiencing nature, art and fresh food – and of connecting with our neighbours in person – seems, to me, poised to increase over time.

“May you live in interesting times” is supposedly an old curse. It sure feels like one. But here’s a welcome antidote: “May you live among wonderful people, have access to nature and enjoy the freshest local food and art.” I hope this magazine is part of that antidote.