How Pumpkin Production Can Give insight into AI Resistant Assessments

Let’s take a look at the second pillar of AI-resistant assessment: Production.

When we talk about production in the context of the Five Pillars of AI-Resistant Academics, we must be clear about what we mean. Production is the thing itself. It is the academic artifact, action, or performance that the student ultimately brings forward to demonstrate their learning. Presence is being there for it. Personalization is what they bring of themselves into it. Permutation is the shifting of that product across formats or mediums. Process is the visible journey that led them to its final form. But Production is what is left standing when everything else is finished—it is the outcome that others can see, hear, touch, or experience.

Production generally falls into two broad domains. The first is physical production. This includes the creation of tangible artifacts such as drawing a map, building a diorama of a historical scene, creating a handmade infographic, constructing a scientific model, producing a sculpture or art project, or designing an architectural prototype. In each case the student is producing something that physically exists in the world. The second is mental or performed production. In this case the product is not a physical object but the demonstration itself: reciting a poem, performing a dramatic scene, presenting and defending a debate argument, performing music, teaching a mini-lesson to peers, or recording a podcast or video explanation of a topic. Both forms of production resist AI in important ways because they require ownership and embodied effort. A chatbot can generate text, but it cannot sit down and freehand a detailed map in front of me. It can generate a written poem, but it cannot stand in front of an audience and perform that poem with pacing, tone, and emphasis that reflect the student’s own understanding.

It is also important to emphasize that Production is distinct from Presence, though the two often overlap. Presence is the fact that the student is physically or verbally demonstrating the work. Production is the work itself. If a student builds a volcano model, the model is the Production. If they build it in a way that the teacher can verify they actually did the work, that is Presence. If they explain how their own experiences influenced the design, that is Personalization. If the same project later becomes a video or presentation, that is Permutation. If we can see the sketches, drafts, and stages of development that led to the final model, that is Process. Production therefore becomes the backbone of the learning artifact. It is the visible evidence of learning that anchors the other pillars to something real and observable. Let me give an example for my own experience of student-led production and how it help support student authenticity.

Years ago, when I was a young teacher and not always the best at reading every single email that came into my inbox, one small event seemed to have escaped my attention. It was the class pumpkin decoration contest for Family Literacy Night. The directions were simple: have students decorate a pumpkin based on their favorite literary characters for the parents, siblings, and guests to vote on during the event. Now the email said the pumpkins were due on the 13th. The morning of the 13th I actually saw the email, so I sheepishly went down to the principal’s office and asked if there were any pumpkins left.

“Of course there are, Mr. Moore,” my principal said joyously—she was always an incredibly upbeat person. “Whichever one you like.” Then suddenly I could see her demeanor change as a thought crossed her mind. “Why do you need a pumpkin now?”

“I need it for the students to decorate for the pumpkin contest,” I responded sheepishly.

My principal cocked her head and raised an eyebrow as she leaned slightly over her desk.

“Mr. Moore…”

“The email says it’s due tonight and it's not tonight yet. My students still have time to get this done,” I responded hopefully.

Well, I got that pumpkin back to my room as fast as I could, and shortly after that students began arriving. I gave the pumpkin to the first three students who walked through the door, handed them Sharpie markers, briefly explained the directions, and told them to have at it.

Luckily for me, one of the three early arrivals was the class artist, and they decided to do Diary of a Wimpy Kid, which was hilariously simple. For those who are not aware, the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series is essentially stick-figure drawings, and my three students made a fantastic scene on the pumpkin. At the end of the day I saw the secretary rolling down the hall collecting pumpkins. I put mine out, but she told me I had not labeled it and needed to attach something so they knew which class it came from. In my end-of-day panic I took a tardy slip from one pocket and a broken pencil stub from the other. I wrote my class name on the slip and then attached it to the pumpkin by sticking the broken pencil stub through it and into the top of the pumpkin. 

Off it went.

The next day I was walking by the front office when I heard my principal call out:

“Mr. Moore, could you come here for just a moment?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said as I poked my head around the corner.

“Yesterday when the pumpkins were coming down the hall, I couldn’t help but notice that one of them was labeled using a tardy slip and a broken pencil stub stabbed into the top. As soon as I saw it I knew that a man had to have been responsible. But I will say this, Mr. Moore—there is absolutely no doubt in my mind, or anyone else’s, that it was actually your students who made that pumpkin.”

Confused but feeling hopeful, I asked, “What do you mean?”

She answered, “Nearly every other pumpkin looked like it had been made by art professionals.” She pointed to some of the pumpkins behind her that had been selected as winners. It was obvious that the hand of no child had touched those masterpieces. Most of them had clearly been made mostly or entirely by their teachers. Unless suddenly the kindergartners figured out how to draw a near-perfect scene from The Wizard of Oz or the first-grade class somehow turned their pumpkin into a practically photorealistic Angry Bird.

“And then there was yours. It was so clearly made by your students that it actually stood out from the rest. You didn’t win the voting competition, but let your students know that Diary of a Wimpy Kid was a very funny choice, and it was one of my favorites.”

That moment stuck with me because it was a perfect example of production in action. The evidence that it was made by students—the roughness of it, the humor of it, the unmistakable human touch—was exactly what proved its authenticity. The imperfections were not a flaw. They were the evidence.

Production does not mean the work must be low quality, but when we examine student production we should always be looking for the human element. The small choices, the uneven lines, the creative decisions, the voice behind the work—these are the things that signal real learning. And in an age where AI can generate nearly flawless digital outputs, that human element becomes even more important. If I cannot see that you made it, hear that you performed it, or verify that you shaped it through visible effort, then I cannot meaningfully assess your learning. Production shifts the focus of assessment away from what a student can ask AI to produce and back toward what the student themselves can create in a tangible or observable way. When students build something, perform something, or explain something in their own voice, they invest more of themselves in the learning process—and they remember it far longer. That is why production stands as one of the essential pillars of AI-resistant academics. It draws students back toward authentic, embodied learning and reminds us that education is ultimately about what a human being can understand, create, and bring into the world themselves.