2025
AI - rating [25]
On this farm lives a nice, old farmer. He keeps everything the way he likes it: in harmony… the kind that farms often have all on their own. He tweaks and nudges so everything is just right. The chickens here, the goat there. Everything arranged just so. So it works.
On a day with a light breeze, a brightly dressed itinerant artist hops the farmer’s gate and sits on the gnarly stump of a giant old apple tree. He smokes his pipe.
The Artist calls to the Farmer, who is feeding the fish in a little pond: “Hey there, fella. Might I do some work? I’d like to ‘pretty up’ this farm and make it dazzle— you know, the way it was meant to be seen. Can I do that for you?”
The Farmer is skeptical, but he agrees. The Artist only wants a night’s board and one square meal for his work.
The Artist wastes no time. He hurries to the pond, where he knits little sweaters for the fish and tailors a suit for the goat. He paints the house a bright blue and gives the chickens their own little flags to wave in tribute to the author. Then he adds brilliant spirals to the wheels of the Farmer’s cart so they spin bright yellow and red. Finally, he places a scarlet hat—embroidered with a mustang—on the Farmer’s head.
The Artist sits back on the stump and lights his pipe.
The Farmer has been watching the flurry of activity with calm. When it is over, he says, “Well… my coattails won’t get caught in my spokes now that the wheels of my cart are so colorful.”
The Artist looks puzzled. “Doesn’t this show dazzle and make you want more? Doesn’t it make you think about why the fish would even need sweaters?!”
The Farmer tells him, “Nope. Frost is why sweaters are necessary.”
The Artist taps his pipe into the wind and says, “Exactly my point!”
“It sounds like you don’t ever really have your hands full,” the Farmer says.
“One would think! … if one only thought of utility like you. But Modernity calls! Idle hands and open minds!” the Artist responds. “The mother of invention—and imagination!”
“I have need of inventions,” the Farmer says.
“You have come around to see that invention, art, and imagination share the same root. Like the author of this story, they are commensurate.”
“And with that, I am on my way.” The Artist hops up from his stump and heads down the path.
The Farmer walks over to his pond, sees the fish struggling to swim in their sweaters, and says, “But not all ideas are good ones,” and chuckles to himself.
SW_2025