Shanghai: Half city, half rural idyll
Letian Bay Farm in Fengxian, Shanghai, is certainly not your conventional eco-farm.
When I began my internship here in March, I quickly realised that agriculture here was quite different from what I had imagined: it wasn’t just about farming, but also about leasing land and hosting events. It is truly typical of Shanghai—even a farm can be this elaborate.
The farm spans over 80 mu. Aside from 40 mu of woodland and 20 mu of communal land, the remaining 20 mu have been cultivated and divided into caravan areas or tiny allotments leased to the farm’s members. These vegetable plots are typically tended by the farm’s staff, and members can either drive over to collect their produce or pay a delivery fee to have it delivered to their door.
During my three months here, all sorts of unexpected stories unfolded, giving me the chance to observe the interaction between the city and the land, and to reflect on my own choices.
I.Starting with a Single Tomato
But planting the seedlings is only the first step. They must be watered on the day of planting and again the following day. You cannot simply blast them with a hose; I have to constantly squat and stand to fill a watering can, and under the blazing sun, exhaustion sets in quickly. Even then, some seedlings may fail to take hold due to the weather, soil conditions, or pests, requiring them to be replaced. In total, it usually takes about three rounds of replanting to ensure every plot has a sufficient number of viable seedlings.
I once considered marking a single tomato seedling to see what it took for it to survive. But before the tomato had even grown, I was overwhelmed by the sheer tediousness of the process: raising the seedlings, clearing the beds, tilling the soil, fertilising, digging the planting holes, watering, planting, watering again on the first and second day, three rounds of replanting, more watering, tying them to supports, pruning the side shoots, tying and pruning again and again, and finally, netting.
After all that toil, if you are lucky enough that the birds haven’t got to it, you can finally enjoy a perfectly ripe tomato. However, since the farm avoids traditional chemical pesticides, this often happens: you finally spot a deep red tomato, only to pick it and find that the underside has already been devoured.
II. Is a small plot of land enough to feed a family of three?
Consequently, although these families harvest their own vegetables at the farm, they still need to rely frequently on food supply systems outside the farm. Their food choices reflect the social environment they inhabit: children have school, leaving no time to cook in the morning; work is hectic, leaving no time for lunch; and while they have time for dinner, eating the same few farm-grown varieties every day would quickly become tedious. Behind the weekly farm visits, their daily lives are sustained by online grocery services and supermarkets.
I once asked them: aren’t you worried about food safety when buying vegetables from elsewhere? The answer was usually: we are, but there’s no other way. Firstly, buying exclusively organic vegetables is too expensive; secondly, they cannot really tell the difference between the two.
Admittedly, it is uncertain whether organic vegetables are more nutritious or delicious. However, what is certain is that the farm’s production methods contribute to ecological protection—a point that consumers do not place much importance on. Beyond their own food safety, the care for the broader human living space and environment is something most people struggle to consider; usually, it is personal motivations that drive their consumption.
III. The Imagined Pastoral and Commerce as a Supplement
It is perhaps because of these romanticised notions that some members, after leasing land for two or three years, still cannot recognise a maize seedling, nor do they know which plants are edible and which are not. An annual rent of 5,000 yuan does not necessarily signify an appreciation for the land itself or the labour involved in working it. The vegetables, coupled with other things they value, combine to form the motivation behind the payment.
To meet these demands, the farm must commit to labour beyond mere cultivation: keeping the grounds tidy, providing spaces and facilities for recreation, and hiring extra hands to help members grow their vegetables. Furthermore, the farm relies on additional revenue from nature education and other activities to supplement the shortfall in land income. This requires those dedicated to agriculture to master marketing, education, and customer service—becoming all-rounders who must invest significantly more effort and energy.
Fortunately, after long periods of communication and adjustment, the imagined pastoral idyll and the reality of the scene have gradually merged. Among the members, there are many who genuinely care for the farm and truly value this piece of land.
When preparing the vegetable boxes on rainy days, the roots of the leafy greens are often coated in mud; they look dirty, yet no members have complained. Even if the vegetables aren’t perfectly cleaned during preparation, or if weather conditions mean only a few types of greens can be delivered for a prolonged period, complaints are rare. Recently, with the heat, the leafy greens wilt almost the moment they are picked, let alone by the time they reach the customers the following day.
I believe that if they were shopping elsewhere, many members would certainly prefer vegetables that had been cleaned more thoroughly. If the farm’s produce were sold on the open market, they might not even spare them a glance. One member once told me that when buying from a supermarket, they would always go early to get the freshest produce—leaving it for even a single night would be unacceptable.
Yet now, at least some consumers are beginning to change through their connection to the farm’s land and vegetables. They are starting to understand what out-of-season vegetables are and are embracing a diet that follows the rhythms of nature; they have come to realise that summer greens are often ravaged by insects, and can therefore deduce that the pristine leafy greens found in supermarkets must have been treated with pesticides.
IV. Will you stay here?
Indeed, whether interns or consumers, many feel adrift in the city, unable to find meaning in life. Despite having seemingly respectable jobs, they are merely ‘data labourers’ in cubicles; that is why they come to the farm to experience a more grounded way of living.
The consumers have already found their meaning. Visiting the farm every weekend, or even once a month, to experience relaxation and the joy of harvest provides a sense of stability amidst lives enveloped in anxiety and uncertainty. It even allows them to rebuild their urban lives—sharing ecological vegetables from the farm with neighbours they might not know well, thus opening up new social networks.
But the interns are perhaps still on their journey. I once asked the farm’s manager, Teacher Yuan: “Do those who abandon their previous careers for agriculture do so because they have more experience and know better what they want, allowing them to ignore the gaze of others and societal judgements?” He replied that it has nothing to do with age, but rather whether one has a plan; some people may look young, yet know exactly what they want from an early stage.
For me and the other interns, our plans for the future don’t seem clear enough; we are still wavering between various options. Between the city and this ‘dreamy pastoral land’, it is not only the farm that must adopt strategies and remain flexible—interns like me are no exception. Even one intern, who claimed they came to intern in agriculture—a field seen as ‘hopeless’ by parents—to ‘rebelliously’ deviate from the beaten path, still chose Letian, an unconventional farm, based on their academic major, hoping to acquire skills applicable to other professions.
Reflecting on this farm journey, I found that the farm provided a temporary interstitial space, isolating me from a society that worships materialism. By truly experiencing the hardships of farming, I began to genuinely treasure food, taking only what I could finish. Even since returning to university recently, this sequestered part of me has not left my life, giving me the inner strength to persevere and a clear mind. The farm is like a waypoint or a recharging station; although one must eventually return to their original life track, you learn something from the land. These lessons stay with you for a long time, and perhaps, eventually, you will be influenced enough to join the industry.
Foodthink Author | Xiao Cui