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Remember when Anthropic's AI jobs report suggested gardeners were among the safest workers because AI couldn't pull weeds or tell a rose from a dandelion? I joked about that in AI Insider earlier this year.
Well, Anthropic updated the research to freak us all out a bit more.
This time it asks a bigger question: What happens when you combine AI with robots? That change pushes many hands-on jobs much higher on the disruption scale. On paper, it makes sense. In practice, I'm skeptical.
For instance, anyone who's spent time working in a garden knows how hard it is to identify the right plant, kneel in awkward spots, and pull a weed out properly by the roots without damaging everything around it.
Robots are improving. But if you've ever watched one tackle a messy real-world task, you'll know there's a long road between a research chart and reality.
The chart below illustrates how adding robots could change job-task exposure across selected job categories. Cleaning & maintenance includes gardeners along with janitors and similar roles.
Various venues have hosted the Autumn Mediterranean Garden Fair over the years, but the wonderful increasing support of plant lovers and gardeners has been the main inspiration for our volunteers.
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For Orion Magazine, Seth Kaplan writes of turning to his tomato plants as a way to decompress after a long day at work. In this brief but beautiful essay, he revels in the tactile pleasures of trimming leaves and pinching suckers, of tending beings that make no demands.
The tomatoes do not have opinions, or so I tell myself, though it is mostly a lie. For they do lean toward the sun and then, perversely, away from it. They sulk when I overwater and they sulk when I forget, and they have firm convictions about how much attention is too much. But whatever they want, they show me plainly. A leaning plant wants turning. A pale, unhappy one wants trimming. A bushy one wants care. There is no tone in it—no door slamming or softly clicking shut upstairs, no message that says fine in a way that is clearly not fine. When a tomato is unhappy with me, it tells me in a language I can actually answer. And it does tell me. Skip a few days—a work trip, a long weekend, some obligation that drags me out of the side yard—and they turn unruly, almost insolent.