A Quest for Wisdom: Notes from an Eco-Farm Trail
I. Setting Out with Questions
Guixinyuan practices ecological farming—avoiding pesticides, chemical fertilisers, and herbicides. The owner, Brother Qiang, is an expert in permaculture, and the overall design of the farm—spanning over 100 mu of mountain forests, ponds, and fields—is the most comprehensive I have ever seen. However, as Brother Qiang is not usually on-site, the day-to-day planting is managed by two supervisors. Over time, I began to feel a disconnect with some of their methods.
It was an attitude of ‘fighting’ against the land and the plants: wielding hoes to till the earth, using tillers to prepare the soil, and spending hours every day weeding. If roots ran deep, they were yanked out with force; if the soil lacked fertility and crops struggled, fertilisers were added to force growth. But in the long run, the soil lost its vitality; the exposed earth quickly became compacted, triggering a new cycle of secondary succession—the return of the weeds.
II. Guangzhou—Pengcheng Natural Farm (9 May)
The farm is situated on a slope, featuring a combined residence and tea room where Teacher Pengcheng and his family live, a small bread oven, a mud house currently under construction, and a small pavilion at the summit. Over forty mu of hillside are primarily planted with fruit trees, with a mountain stream winding through them; the lychee trees along the lower banks grow lushly, creating a tropical vista. Pengcheng’s is perhaps the most beautiful farm I have ever visited.
Teacher Pengcheng employs natural farming methods. Currently, he uses only a minimal amount of worm cast fertiliser, but his goals are clear: no-till, no-fertiliser, and no intentional mulching. He describes fertiliser as something to be ‘used like medicine’. The farm exudes a sense of natural vitality.
Sweet potatoes, lychees, and guavas are the farm’s primary sources of income; Teacher Pengcheng believes lychees and guavas are perfectly suited to this land. In the fields, using the guava as an example, he explained the difference between vegetative growth and reproductive growth, demonstrating how pruning can control when a fruit tree grows and when it flowers and bears fruit. With enough skill, one can even shape a tree simply by pinching off young buds without damaging the branches.
However, Teacher Pengcheng has his own views on the various techniques used to manipulate fruit trees.
He explains that fruit trees possess an inherent ‘natural form’—the shape they take when left unpruned. Farmers pursuing high yields prune trees to dwarf them and encourage faster, more abundant fruiting; but once a tree has been pruned, its growth becomes erratic, necessitating constant further pruning to maintain balance. Unfortunately, most nursery seedlings are not of a natural form, meaning pruning becomes inevitable as they grow. He is currently experimenting with a few trees, attempting to guide them back to their natural form through pruning.
Beyond fruit trees, he has also tried growing other crops such as maize and taro. His approach here is far more ‘laid-back’—he simply cuts a strip through the grass during sowing, plants the seeds with a dibber, and treads the surrounding grass down to act as cover. A plot of chillies managed this way left a strong impression; because the soil had been left to recover for five or six years, it was incredibly fertile, and the chillies were thriving.
Throughout our journey, whenever we asked about technical details, Teacher Pengcheng would always say, ‘It’s not absolute.’ There are no absolute rules on the land: whether to prune, mow, or fertilise depends entirely on the climate, the soil, and the state of the crops. Of course, it also ‘depends on what you want’—this is the teacher’s second favourite catchphrase. While some farmers demand high yields, he yearns for a freer life and hopes that one day he can manage the orchard with even greater ease. This is why he pursues natural farming—minimising human intervention and returning the fruit trees to the care of nature.
III. Guangzhou – Yinlin Ecological Farm (9–10 May)
The farm owner, Guo Rui, showed us around. The living quarters comprised a kitchen, guest rooms, a café, a warehouse, and a dispatch area, while the cultivation area featured numerous polytunnels. From the layout of the space to the arrangement of the crops, everything was meticulously organised.
Growing vegetables in the heat and humidity of Guangdong is incredibly challenging. This is where the farm’s polytunnels come into their own, serving to both keep pests out and control water levels. However, this approach is a double-edged sword. Take courgettes, for instance. To combat the fruit flies, which are rampant across Guangdong, our farm has to rely on bagging. Yet, bagging cannot be done before flowering if natural pollination is desired; by that time, however, the fruit flies have often already laid their eggs inside the fruit. In contrast, the courgettes at Yinlin farm are grown in polytunnels, which eliminates the pest problem but removes the pollinators, meaning hand-pollination is required to ensure a decent yield.
The farm also sources spent Chinese medicinal herbs and kitchen waste from the local area for composting. The resulting compost tea is collected for use as a liquid fertiliser, produced in a dedicated area where it undergoes a second fermentation process before application. Unlike the strict tenets of natural farming, Guo Rui does not shy away from using polytunnels or fertilisers; instead, he employs them judiciously, seeking a balance between ecological preservation and productivity.
The farm spans approximately 70 to 80 mu. Field management is largely handled by local women—the ‘aunties’—who are accustomed to more traditional farming methods. Consequently, communication can be a challenge. For example, Guo Rui advocates for avoiding bare soil, suggesting that grass should be cut and left as mulch rather than pulled out by the roots, a practice the aunties find difficult to accept.
At the same time, the farm has become a hub for young ‘new villagers’. Some simply use the space to pursue their own ventures (such as the ‘Eat Earth Workshop’ bakery), while others immerse themselves in the actual farming, forming experimental ‘planting groups’. This convergence of people and energy keeps the farm perpetually vibrant.
IV. Happy Herbal Garden, Guigang, Guangxi (12–14 May)
At the Pengcheng and Yinlin farms, we paid for our room and board at the standard community rate for fellow farmers, but Baicaoyuan felt more like a home: the farm owner, Yan Ping, had prepared our beds long before we arrived. In return, we brought several specialities from Guixinyuan: mountain sage hydrosol, sand ginger and dried roselle, seeds for marigolds and agastache, and some heirloom sweet potatoes.
Baicaoyuan is also tucked away in the mountains, requiring a walk along a mountain path after getting off the car. Looking out, the entire hillside was planted with Wukan oranges; one side was a deep, almost blackish-green, while the other was slightly yellow, the divide between them stark and clear. Yan Ping told us that the yellowing ones were our trees.
They follow a philosophy of “lazy farming” here: no fertilisers, no pesticides, and the grass in the fields grows tall. Last year, due to heart-and-bud borers, the yield was lower than usual, falling short of 30,000 jin. Because of the pests, several citrus trees died, but Yan Ping took it all in her stride, working with Liu Heng (a second-term ecological agriculture intern at Foodthink) to introduce a wider variety of fruit trees.
Our daily routine consisted of patrolling the mountain. We followed Yan Ping, picking wood ear mushrooms from rotting tree roots and “treading the grass” for the fruit trees—using sickles to press down the overgrown grass and cover the area around the trees. Finally, we would pick some canna lilies, lovegrass, and Acalypha to take back for dinner.
After dinner, we gathered around a fire pit to chat, warming our feet over the embers. Branches of Masson pine and mugwort burned in the pit, keeping the insects away. As more and more fireflies appeared outside, we moved to a small shed on the hillside to drink and admire the fireflies blanketing the mountainside.
V. Guigang – Shande Breeding Farm (5.13)
Teacher Gan is a fascinating man. In Liu Heng’s words: “quirky yet endearing”. He leads an extremely traditional life; his home displays photos of successive national leaders and family ancestors, alongside ancestral precepts. His six children have not attended school, living instead a life of “farming and reading” at home. While working in the fields together, I was surprised to find that the youngest daughter not only recognised the crops but already understood the principles of composting. Before eating, the family stands in the centre of the hall to recite a prayer, giving thanks for everything that made the meal possible: their friends, family, and Mother Earth.
His farm is famous for growing rice, and besides selling the grain, he sells various rice products—rice tea, rice cakes, and rice noodles. At lunch, when I tried to serve some rice noodles, he stopped me, saying they needed to sit for a while longer. When it was finally time to eat, he explained that one must use a spoon and chopsticks together to lift them, gently guiding them into the bowl. This was perhaps the most moving meal I have ever had, not just because the fried rice, rice noodles, and stir-fried soybeans with dried vegetables were delicious, but because of the idea that “one must treat food with tenderness”.
Later, we visited his fields. I can’t quite recall exactly how he managed the weeds or the composting; it felt as though the technicalities weren’t the important part. Only his philosophy of life left a deep impression on me. All the way back, I kept wondering: is it actually okay to never go to school? Is it possible to live fully without acquiring more scientific knowledge or seeing the wider world?
VI. Baise – Huashan Farm (5.15-16)
Teacher Luo is currently working far away in Laos, returning only every few months, while Wanxuan Shiniang lives on the mountain alone, managing over a dozen dogs and two hundred mu of land. That day, she rowed a bamboo raft across the river to meet us. Standing on the raft and looking out over the water, it felt as though I had crossed yet another threshold: I had never imagined this journey would take me this far.
Due to a lack of infrastructure, Huashan Farm tests the limits of modern endurance: electricity cables cannot be strung across the river, leaving the farm reliant on a small amount of solar power; buildings are forbidden on the cultivated land, so only rudimentary wooden huts have been erected; and in the remote wilderness, the mentor’s wife keeps a dozen large dogs for safety, with feeding them alone taking up half of the daily workload. Yet, it was in such a hut, surrounded by dogs, that we ate rustic chicken soup cooked on a wood-fired stove, with sweet potato leaves and red mugwort boiled in the broth—simple, yet sweet. At night, we chatted by the precious glow of the lamps. The mentor’s wife was a wonderful conversationalist; she could laugh heartily while recounting a story of how a recent storm had blown the roof off, and we all came to think of her as a heroine in her own right.
However, her journey has been far more arduous than we could have imagined. I later heard from Teacher Luo that when they began reclaiming the land in 2019, they first tried planting crispy honey kumquats but found them unsuitable. In 2021, they switched to camellia oleifera, but the weeds gained the upper hand, choking out many of the seedlings. It was not until 2022, through meticulous individual care, that the survival rate of the oil tea trees began to rise. Nevertheless, several years had been lost, and the trees have yet to fully mature. During the hardest times, she even had to take on the grueling manual labour of ring-barking fruit trees for others to supplement the household income.
After spending the night in a tent pitched inside the wooden hut during the rain, the skies cleared the following day, and we went to patrol the mountain. Secondary succession in the forest was in full swing; the grass grew thick and lush, leaving the oil tea trees in a vulnerable position. Yanping suggested that simply trampling the weeds would suffice, but the mentor’s wife was anxious. Her parents-in-law often came to the mountain to help and would weed very diligently; having no farming experience herself, she was unsure of the best approach.
Teacher Luo had once hoped that Yanping could help manage Huashan Farm, as the need for manpower—whether for infrastructure, planting, or general operations—was immense. Single-handedly, the mentor’s wife could not possibly manage two hundred mu of land. Although the reality remains bitter, Teacher Luo’s family remains optimistic—regardless of the hardship, as long as there are mountains and land, one can always survive. Moreover, in their eyes, the farm is only just beginning; there is a long future ahead.
VII. Returning to Guixin Yuan
Upon returning to Guixin Yuan, the farm hosted a teacher from Taiwan. While showing him around, I pointed to some bare soil and asked for his thoughts. It was a casual question, but he immediately sensed my underlying meaning and replied: “This is naturally not ideal, but it is the result of a compromise.”
He explained that the perspectives of the two farm masters need to shift gradually; while the choice of farming method is certainly important, harmony between people is equally vital. I was startled, thinking back to the friction and adjustments I had experienced with Master Ajiang over the past month and a half. Beyond farming methods, one must also strive to understand others’ perspectives during field collaboration and be tolerant of different ways of doing things.
Later, we spoke with Master Ajiang. In truth, he understands the principles of soil restoration and the benefits of leaving grass and diversifying crops, but “this land isn’t mine, after all; there’s only a 20-year lease.” If one relies on time to slowly nurture the soil, the lease might expire just as the land is finally restored. To pursue productivity, monoculture—with systematic weeding and fertilising—is the most effective management method.
Compared to before my departure, the image of “agriculture” in my mind has become more holistic: I can see the differing philosophies and pursuits of farmers in a small plot of land, and simultaneously glimpse the broader systems of land and agricultural policy. Although ecological agriculture remains on the periphery of this picture, it may be the most inclusive and socially significant part. At Guixin Yuan, I gained an introduction to agriculture and found friendship—since entering society, few places remain as inclusive and open to beginners as this.
Throughout the ten-day journey, the book *Half-Farmer, Half-X Life* was my constant companion. Seeing ecological farming friends scattered across the Guangdong and Guangxi regions, like sparks connecting to form a line, I felt more and more that this lifestyle is viable—farming a plot of land using natural methods to provide food for oneself and one’s family, while pursuing a part-time career to diversify income and enrich one’s life. As the journey ended, I could finally say: this is where my ideal lies.
I arrived at the farm just in time for the peanut sowing. After spending several consecutive days on the mountain cutting wild grasses for mulching, I left the field alone. One day, walking past the peanut plot, I suddenly found it had turned a lush green. It was a magical moment; I suddenly felt the power of the land. Weeds grew alongside the peanuts, first appearing between the ridges and then spreading across them after the rain, so I spent some time recently controlling them.
I made many discoveries during the weeding process: the weeds at the edge of the ridges helped stabilise the soil, preventing it from being washed away by the rain; ladybirds love eating black nightshade, and stink bugs prefer another type of weed laden with seeds, so I left a patch for them. I only cut the grass between the ridges without pulling it, but I pulled the weeds near the peanut roots on the ridges, which also loosened the soil and helped the flower pods sink into the earth. I carried the cut grass away in baskets to feed the fish nearby, managing three or four baskets in a single afternoon.
To date, three recruitment cycles have been completed, supporting over 60 partners in entering more than ten ecological farms across the country for internships lasting from three months to one year.
Editor: Wang Hao