Sceptical farmers, curious spectators: An eco-farm’s dilemma
Foodthink’s Perspective
I. The farmhands growing organic veg don’t buy into organic farming

However, the staff members who actually grow the organic vegetables didn’t seem to care, nor were they keen on the techniques and methods of ‘organic ecology’. Whenever a pest outbreak occurred, they would often offer a mix of complaint and suggestion: ‘If you don’t spray, the crops will be eaten clean’.
From leafy greens to yellow peaches and then to maize, this scenario repeated itself throughout my eight-month internship. In private conversations, despite watching the plants grow every day, they remained steadfast in their disapproval of this cultivation method.
I was curious and somewhat perplexed. Letian is a membership-based farm, renting out plots of 32–64m² for 3,000–5,000 yuan a year. All the year’s harvest belongs to the member, while the farm handles all the labour except for the picking. Members often leave with a bountiful harvest, many of whom are consumers who believe in organic principles. Rarely did I hear any dissatisfaction with the quality of the produce from them. This was a stark contrast to the views of the farm staff.

Thanks to a bit of linguistic knowledge, I began to understand more and more of their conversations in the high-frequency dialect environment. Also, thanks to opportunities to share meals, I saw the vegetables they grew at home, which led to chats about farming. Due to land transfer arrangements, the amount of land each household can manage for themselves is limited, and they truly lack the energy to tend to more land after work. Consequently, production is low, and most grow only what is needed for their own families. Most strikingly, the crops in the farmers’ own plots were more robust and plump, a clear contrast to those at the farm.

Some crops inevitably require pesticides, such as autumn maize. Local maize is grown in two seasons a year; in autumn, pest infestations are severe, and farmers must spray to ensure they have maize to eat in the autumn—a matter of practical necessity.
I didn’t know the specific types of pesticides, nor could I understand the names of the ones she chose, but I knew for certain that Letian Farm would not use such methods to handle pests. Unsurprisingly, Letian’s autumn maize was a pitiful sight. Although those who adhere to organic principles do not recoil at vegetables bitten by insects, there were few ears of corn left that were actually edible.
When the maize ripened, some members could not visit the farm and needed us to pick and courier the produce to them. One day, after scouring all the farm’s public maize fields, I managed to find barely 20 ears that looked presentable. But without exception, every single one harboured several cream-coloured larvae. An auntie taught me a trick: soak the maize in water to drive out all the bugs. In the process, I overcame my fear of insects.
I do not know if other organic farms have better production management techniques to grow healthy maize in the autumn. Of course, we could choose not to plant it, just as we don’t plant baby bok choy in the summer.
Having witnessed the pest damage to this pesticide-free maize year after year, it is no wonder local farmers do not believe in organic agriculture. Yet, in the minds of some, this is the price of ‘organic’; the idea that ‘the bugs eat half, and I eat half’ is part of the organic philosophy.
II. A farm that doesn’t rely on selling vegetables to survive
Located in Fengxian in the suburbs of Shanghai, more than an hour’s drive from the city centre, the farm attracts three main types of members: urban organic consumers seeking food safety and quality, adults nostalgic for the land, and families wishing for their children to experience nature. Accordingly, the farm provides harvestable land, organic vegetables, a place for children’s weekend recreation, and a platform for adults to socialise or relax. Among the farm’s many functions, agriculture and agricultural produce are only a small part of its output.

In truth, although the farm does sell vegetables at 15 yuan per half-kilogram, this is rarely the choice for most customers. Nor does the farm intend for vegetable sales to be its primary revenue stream. More often than not, the farm is happy to give a few kilograms of vegetables as a parting gift to every visitor attending an activity.
Given that the farm cannot, nor does it intend to, sustain itself by selling organic vegetables, and must provide a wide array of services to its customers, the question of how to allocate labour in a way that departs from traditional agriculture becomes a complex one. A previous intern’s description of the working conditions—“a carpenter who can’t farm isn’t a good electrician”—highlights some of the challenges the farm faces.
Consequently, when it comes to the matter of cultivation, Letian’s answer is this: the farm does not provide high-yield, visually appealing commodities. More often than not, the produce is intended to be part of the farm’s ornamentation—a scenic feature or an exhibit that fits the ‘organic’ label. Alongside the wooden fences enclosing the plots, unused enzyme composting bins, worm composting towers cluttered with members’ plastic waste, and children’s play equipment, coupled with regular nature education activities, it creates a multi-functional ‘eco-agriculture theme park’. This is perhaps the farm’s compromise with the market, a concession made by the countryside for the city, and a reflection of the constraints of limited manpower.


III. If the farm isn’t selling vegetables, what is it selling?

Towards the end of my internship, as a semi-layperson who didn’t grow up in the countryside and had learned fragmented agricultural knowledge through practice and hearsay, I found I could speak fluently when faced with members’ questions about ‘farming’. After all, they were simply basic questions such as ‘how has the weather been lately’, ‘what pests or diseases have occurred’, ‘when can the vegetables be picked’, or ‘how to cook them’. This was true for new members as well as those who had rented land for a year or two.
Perhaps members can maintain a ‘sense of novelty’ from the different produce provided by the land throughout the four seasons. But over a longer period, will they develop a deeper interest in the land and agriculture? If not, and if the novelty of produce from their ‘own land’ continues to fade, will they still choose a plot of land an hour’s drive from the city centre after a year or two? I do not know.

Of course, Letian Bay Farm will not remain static. The farm has always tried to continuously create a ‘sense of novelty’ for its members. Constantly updated facilities and a steady stream of new activities attempt to convey a message: the farm is vibrant, and every visit brings a new surprise. For most of my time at the farm, I was responsible for this part of the work, including but not limited to repairing facilities, arranging event venues, writing WeChat posts, and teaching children.

IV. Until our paths cross again




Unless otherwise stated, all images are provided by the author
Editor: Tianle
