When Extreme Heat Becomes Routine, These Farmers Choose a Different Way of Life (Part 2)

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Foodthink Says

This summer, extreme heatwaves have repeatedly struck Sichuan. Climate change is rendering the southwest region both hotter and drier. Those living in the countryside understand all too well what this entails: scorching temperatures force farmers to completely overhaul their working hours and significantly raise the risk of heatstroke in the fields. Combined with water shortages, the heat can drastically reduce harvests or cause total crop failure. In some places, even drinking water has become scarce, leaving locals reliant on village committees or charitable volunteers to truck in water just to survive.

A modern agricultural system built on fossil fuels has not only accelerated climate change but also marginalised smallholder farmers. As those in the fields struggle to make ends meet under the weight of extreme weather, soaring input costs, and depressed grain prices, we must pause and reflect: is the current agricultural model truly serving farmers? What kind of life are they striving for?

Rural-focused non-profits are working hard to shift this paradigm. They envision agriculture as both a response to climate change and a foundation for farmers’ wellbeing, rather than a burden. The Home Action story published by Foodthink yesterday stands as a prime example. How can sustainable livelihoods foster climate resilience among farming communities? What working principles guide these NGOs? To find out, we spoke with Hu Xiaoping, director of Home Action.

High-temperature alerts have been issued across Sichuan recently, with many areas exceeding 40°C. How has this affected the village where you work?

There hasn’t been much fieldwork lately, so most people are resting at home. If any crop maintenance is required, they head straight to the fields at first light. Bare soil without ground cover or living mulch has baked into a hard, cracked crust, and even the sparse patches of grass have been scorched to a crisp. Conventionally grown crops have suffered to varying degrees; maize plants, for example, have withered and dried up one after another. Farmers have attempted to replant two or three times, but to no avail.

Last summer, the Jianyang and Ziyang regions endured a prolonged heatwave that made daylight fieldwork impossible. Yet the ripening rice demanded harvesting, so farmers took to the fields after 10 pm, working under portable lamps until five or six in the morning before heading home to sleep.

Our project village in Ya’an sits in a natural ‘cool retreat’ thanks to its distinctive topography. Air conditioning isn’t needed just to survive the heat; residents actually have to add layers in the early mornings and evenings. But a few days ago, temperatures suddenly spiked to 36°C. While that might be considered ‘manageable’ in Jianyang, which regularly tops national heat rankings, for the local villagers of Ya’an it was an unprecedented experience.

◉ In the summer of 2023, high temperatures and drought caused the rice paddies in Jianyang, Sichuan, to crack.

The impact of climate change on agricultural production and daily life is often far-reaching. What other “new routines” in the lives of Sichuan farmers have you observed that are a direct result of climate change?

The villagers themselves have felt the shift in weather patterns over the past few years. Some once timed the sowing of seeds and raising of seedlings to the blooming of wild cherries on the hillsides; others planted corn when the cuckoos began their calls; and some could tell snow was on its way simply by a distinct scent in the air. In a village near Ya’an, an experienced local woman has long relied on traditional knowledge to make fermented bean curd. The temperature during the twelfth lunar month is ideal for fermentation, minimising the risk of the curd turning sour or spoiling. Last year, she followed her usual method, yet the bean curd did not ferment as well as in previous years. She found it baffling at first, but upon reflection, concluded that temperatures during that period must have been higher than usual. With abnormal climate patterns come shifts in phenology, leaving many time-honoured farming instincts increasingly difficult to rely upon.

Climate anomalies are not confined to heatwaves and drought. In March and April this year, Sichuan was hit by a severe cold snap. “Snow on peach blossoms in March is a calamity waiting to happen,” goes the saying. Two successive heavy snowfalls struck the villages around Panzhihua. The large green beans (a major local crop), sown at the start of spring, were frozen to death just as their first shoots emerged. Nearly half of the village’s entire bean harvest suffered damage to varying degrees. In Ya’an, a late frost prevented the first flush of bud tea (the most premium and expensive grade) from emerging on schedule. Although temperatures eventually climbed again, the window for harvesting this top-grade crop had already closed, dealing a severe blow to the livelihoods of local villagers.

What are farmers to do? Have they developed any independent coping strategies?

In agriculture, they naturally have to find ways to adapt. This might involve replanting, converting paddy fields to dry land, or switching to drought-resistant crops. Some villages have organised to repair water reservoirs, while others keep drilling wells—digging from 50 metres to over 200 metres deep—just to strike water. But are these measures a long-term solution or merely a short-sighted fix? We need to work alongside the community to determine that.

The year before last, our project in Lezhi was originally set to cultivate climate-friendly rice. The approach mainly involves digging ditches and raising ridges to reduce the time the rice remains submerged, thereby cutting methane emissions during cultivation—a key agricultural strategy for lowering greenhouse gas outputs. At the same time, this method reduces water consumption, which is particularly crucial for farmers now as droughts become increasingly common across Sichuan.

The concept seemed sound enough on paper. We believed it would conserve water, only to discover there simply was none. Throughout the first year, no rain fell; the fields remained parched, and planting rice became impossible. Leaving the land fallow was not an option. To minimise losses, farmers hastily sowed soybeans in the dry paddies come July. It serves as an adaptive measure, at any rate.

◉ As intense heat and drought conditions worsen, the advantages of the ecological no-till farming promoted by the Jiayuan Action in rural Sichuan are growing more pronounced. A comparison of the same field in 2023 and 2025 shows the shift: once hard-packed and depleted (above), the soil has become fertile and well-structured (below) after two years of ecological no-till cover cropping.

With climate change looming, our focus has shifted squarely to heritage varieties. Compared with modern hybrids, certain traditional strains possess greater adaptability and hardiness, holding up far better during extreme weather. We are currently monitoring how heritage and hybrid crops perform differently under identical climatic conditions across various villages, gathering insights to inform future practice.

Furthermore, heritage varieties restore a measure of autonomy to the farmers themselves. In the mountainous villages around Ya’an, the distinctive topography and climate already restrict the range of viable hybrid rice options. A hybrid strain that local growers had relied on for more than a decade simply vanished from the market over the past two years. Given the tiny local planting area—nowhere near the scale of the river basin plains—seed companies saw no commercial sense in continuing to supply it.

This leaves growers with just two paths forward: either gamble on trial-and-error with new hybrids, or turn back to heritage varieties. The April snowstorm in the Panzhihua village mentioned earlier serves as a stark reminder of why seed independence matters. When the first crop of large beans was wiped out by the frost, farmers needed to replant immediately and flocked to the town to buy seeds. However, the local agricultural supply shops were quickly depleted. With demand outstripping stock, prices ballooned overnight. Those who arrived too late found themselves unable to secure seeds even at two or three times the usual cost. Through experiences like these, farmers are coming to realise that the only sustainable path forward lies with seeds they can save themselves—varieties that are genuinely suited to their local climate.

◉ Heritage rice varieties growing in a Jiayuan Action project village.

Recent research indicates that high-temperature and drought events are becoming more frequent not only in Sichuan, but across the entire south-west region. Some farmers have begun adopting techniques such as using heritage seeds, composting, and diversified cropping to build more stable and resilient farm ecosystems in response to climate change. Various NGOs are assisting farmers in mastering these practices, with Home Action being one such organisation. Foodthink has also long championed the principles of agroecology. But from your vantage point, do you believe this kind of response is sufficient?

First, it is important to recognise that climate change is merely one factor behind many of the challenges facing agriculture and rural communities. Taking drought as an example, the village near Panzhihua boasts extensive arable land, with households typically farming between 20 and 40 mu, and some cultivating as much as 70 or 80 mu. Fortunately, this means most young people can sustain themselves farming locally rather than migrating for work. Unluckily, however, large-scale monoculture has severely depleted local water sources.

Over a decade ago, when I visited the village, water supply relied heavily on reservoirs, with very few wells. Drilling just a few dozen metres would yield water. At that time, the village was extensively growing flue-cured tobacco. Vast tracts of trees were felled as fuel for curing the leaves, which inevitably compromised the soil’s capacity to retain moisture. We have also been exploring with villagers whether it might be feasible to restore the vegetation.

In recent years, large-scale vegetable cultivation has followed. Both tobacco and vegetables are highly water-intensive crops. Although every field now features a drip-irrigation system, water depletion remains acute, and there are times when supplies simply run dry. Compounding this, climate change has intensified seasonal droughts. Last year, shortly after beans were sown and demand for water was at its peak, the reservoirs had dried out so thoroughly that their beds were cracking.

Geological shifts also play a role. Villagers remark that prior to the Wenchuan earthquake, mountain streams and ditches held plenty of water. Following the quake, however, mountain water sources dwindled, correspondingly reducing local water availability.

Consequently, technological solutions alone are insufficient to tackle these issues. It is only when a community gains a deeper understanding and analytical grasp of these problems that viable responses can emerge, sparking a stronger, internally driven momentum to act and bring about change.

◉ Yuan Yong, technical advisor and senior agronomist for the Homestead Action, conducts comparative soil trials in the fields alongside the team.

This is also a significant finding from our work this year: climate change acts as an amplifier for agricultural production and other challenges, but it is not necessarily the most pressing cause. It is more akin to ‘frost on top of snow’ — the pre-existing rural issues are the snow, and climate change is the frost, compounding and exposing underlying vulnerabilities. Confronted with such a complex web of intersecting issues, what is your strategic approach?

We see our role as helping communities develop the vision and capacity for action needed for sustainable development. By “vision”, we mean having a clear philosophy of your own when it comes to sustainable living. In today’s mainstream narrative, every village talks about future development in exactly the same terms. This direction is not grounded in a village’s own history, environment, or resource base, but rather in whatever the mainstream defines as “development”. That is why we place such emphasis on framing development around each village’s unique characteristics, rather than blindly following the trend. Equally important is whether you actually have the capacity to put that development vision into practice.

What exactly do you mean by “mainstream”?

When we speak to farmers about agriculture, regardless of the farming method or technology being discussed, their first question is always about yield. If a field yields 400 kilograms per mu, farmers immediately wonder: could we push it to 500, 600, or even 1,000 kilograms? There’s no ceiling, only higher targets; it seems as though production can be increased indefinitely. But does higher yield actually translate into higher income?

What does agriculture actually mean for smallholder farmers? What is its underlying logic? What we see is that agriculture is currently defined by technology and the market. Its economic function is endlessly magnified, while all other functions appear to be rendered irrelevant.

Looking back at the essence of agriculture, its primary role is undoubtedly livelihood provision. But beyond that, it serves many other purposes: ecological, social, and cultural. If we fail to recognise these dimensions and focus solely on its economic function, we will struggle to find space to operate.

Paying attention to production, livelihood, and ecology all at once sounds rather idealistic. But farming is about more than just putting food on the table. Farmers naturally hope to earn a decent living that commands respect in society, send their children to better schools, and afford to seek medical care when family members fall ill. The reality, however, is that smallholders are now being systematically marginalised by our agricultural policies and markets. Subsidies, land policies, and even so-called advanced tech-assisted farming measures are all designed to encourage large-scale operations. This leaves smallholders facing relatively higher production costs per unit of land. So we ask ourselves: when we talk about ecological agriculture today, is it an unattainable niche pursuit for smallholders, or is it a viable path forward in a reality where they simply cannot compete with large-scale industrial farming?

Firstly, the cost of ecological agriculture can actually be lower. As soon as ecological agriculture is mentioned, people often jump to: “No pesticides, fertilisers, or herbicides? Then what are you supposed to use?” It reduces the conversation to a rigid binary of what to use versus what not to use.

We’ve had conversations with villagers on this. We ask: without chemical inputs and hybrid seeds, can you still farm? Their answer is invariably: no, not at all. The result is that from machinery to seeds, chemicals, and plastic mulch, the entire package leaves farmers barely breaking even in a good year and running at a loss in a bad one. What does this mean for smallholders? High costs, low returns; heavy dependence, and little autonomy.

◉ Homestead Action facilitates participatory workshops, working alongside villagers to identify the strengths and weaknesses of different farming models.

Recently, a number of seasoned rural development practitioners have concurred with your perspective: beyond worrying about how to command premium prices for ecological produce, what matters more is how ecological farming can drive down costs. With fertiliser, pesticide, and seed prices soaring, conventional agriculture is barely profitable anyway. On top of that, farmers are held hostage by the market, with no guarantee they will be able to sell their harvest. When extreme weather wipes out crops across the board, the lower upfront investment in ecological farming at least ensures losses are minimised—every little bit saved counts.

Precisely. And some of the value of ecological produce is inherently difficult to quantify. Take health, for example. When discussing farmers spraying pesticides, it’s easy to assume that consumers are the ones footing the bill—the people who actually eat the crops. But that’s not the whole picture; the first victims are invariably the villagers themselves. Whenever we visit the villages, we frequently encounter skin conditions, vomiting, nausea, and insomnia following pesticide application. Various forms of pesticide poisoning are all too common. For farming households, this translates to high pollution and poor health; high risk and low resilience.

We often discuss soil degradation, water pollution, agricultural waste, species loss, energy crises, and climate change… These are all sweeping, macro-level concepts, and health is just as broad. Yet under the current agricultural system, when these issues filter down to ordinary people, they manifest as one very concrete problem after another.

◉ Plastic waste and discarded pesticide packaging are everywhere in the village.

How receptive are local farmers and the government to pursuing ecological agriculture?

We place considerable value on the villagers’ own pace. If they feel they must rely on chemical fertilisers, we are perfectly fine with that. We do not walk away from collaboration simply because fertilisers are used at a given stage. Our focus lies in the broader construction and development of the entire village, not merely in agriculture alone.

Initially, there was little government interest in ecological agriculture, which naturally meant limited resource allocation and policy backing. Yet this was not entirely detrimental; at the very least, it spared us from heavy-handed interference. That said, over the past two years, as ecological farming pilots across various villages have begun to yield results, some local authorities have started to take notice and publicise the work for a variety of reasons.

Should the government attach greater importance to this, the rollout would stand to gain in two key areas. First, local residents would feel more secure, as official endorsement carries significant weight with them. Second, as the model expands from one village to the next, and eventually to many more, the scaling process is likely to unfold more smoothly.

For some villagers, however, establishing external sales channels remains vital. Bridging that gap to outside markets is genuinely not our expertise and continues to be a stumbling block. Take the villages in Panzhihua, for example, where farming is the primary livelihood; figuring out distribution is an urgent matter. Similarly, the village collective economy in Jianyang produces substantial quantities of ecological agricultural goods, yet we find it difficult to facilitate their market entry. This inevitably shapes their cropping choices to a degree. Currently, Jianyang’s ecological products are sold primarily via WeChat Moments. Because it is operated as a collective, they also benefit from procurement orders placed by the local government.

More than a decade ago, while working with Community Partners, I began exploring CSA (Community Supported Agriculture), urban-rural exchange programmes, urban farming, and farmers’ markets, and quickly discovered how fraught it all is. Access to market remains an age-old challenge. Tapping into external markets requires a broad skillset—encompassing not just sales, but also quality assurance, customer relations, packaging, and marketing. This is not our forte, nor do we intend to develop these capacities in-house. Recognising that a collaborative approach is needed, we are actively seeking external partners to fill this gap, aiming to provide capacity-building support for the villages. In this ecosystem, the role of a connecting platform is indispensable.

◉ The project village in Jianyang is processing and packaging its ecological agricultural produce in an effort to establish sales channels.

Will the villagers lose heart?

It really comes down to whether the focus is on commercial production or daily sustenance. In fact, apart from Panzhihua, the other project villages are predominantly home to older residents left behind. Their primary concern is simply to eat healthily. Take Grandpa Luo in Ya’an, for example: well into his seventies, he still tends over two mu of paddy fields and two mu of dry land. He admits he finds it unbearable to just stop. This generation shares a profound attachment to the land; they cannot bear to see it lie fallow. Meeting their own food needs is entirely within reach. For this group, therefore, we often prioritise self-sufficiency in food. This approach not only reduces reliance on external supplies but also forms a stepping stone towards greater community autonomy.

Their concerns extend far beyond their own health to that of their families. Earlier this year, a representative from an eco-food marketplace asked whether they could visit our project villages to discuss purchasing the ecologically grown rice from local farmers. Last year, the price for paddy in Sichuan sat at roughly 2.7 to 3 RMB per kilogram. The buyer offered 6 RMB. The villagers turned it down. Even when the offer was raised to 8 RMB, they still refused. Their answer was clear: it takes considerable effort to cultivate rice this wholesome and fine. It naturally needs to be kept for the family, to share with relatives and friends, and to send to their children working in the cities. Moreover, there is a prevailing view among them: given the shifting climate, successfully growing a crop this year is no guarantee of doing so next. It remains very much an open question. For that reason, they choose to store their harvest. In doing so, they are already making provisions for the future.

In the villages around Panzhihua, there is a younger demographic. They form the backbone of the workforce and take charge of production decisions. While they face commercial pressures, they are attuned to market trends. Noting the growing public appetite for traditional, locally sourced produce, they are equally keen to preserve heritage varieties. Although marketing these older strains of rice proves challenging, who is to say opportunities won’t arise down the line? These heritage varieties could well command a higher commercial value in the future, but once they are lost, they are gone for good. Even if they are difficult to sell at present, growing and consuming them ensures that, should the need arise later, the seeds will remain in their hands.

We recently hosted a reading group for the book Foods Disappearing. One of its central figures is Sichuan farmer Sun Wenxiang, who cultivates a heritage strain of rice known as ‘Hongzui’ (Red Beak) Glutinous Rice at his family-run ecological farm in Meishan. Its texture and flavour are truly distinctive. Thanks to our reading group, we were fortunate enough to taste it ourselves. Not long after, numerous people reached out, asking where they could purchase it. In truth, however, Uncle Sun has no need to rely on such channels. His range of wholegrains, vegetables, and meat sells almost entirely through his personal network. If you are not on his list, you would have to travel to the monthly Chengdu lifestyle market to secure a spot. When enquiries about the Hongzui glutinous rice kept coming in recently, I put it to him. His response was simple: we will simply have to wait until the new crop comes in at the autumn harvest.

This is a highly successful case of an ecological farming household.

We have also observed that many organisations invest tremendous effort into creating viable livelihoods in an attempt to draw young people back. In truth, this presents a considerable challenge; it is far more pragmatic to cultivate a core team whose members are, on average, in their fifties. Our current work primarily engages older residents. It is crucial to recognise their distinct qualities: they are generally under less financial pressure, hold a deep affection for their village, and possess a wealth of local knowledge.

I prefer to approach the matter from another perspective: how those who remain in the village can live well and tend to their community. For those who have migrated elsewhere for work, we aim to ensure that when they wish to return, the path is open to them, and that the village’s finest traditions and resources are preserved for the future.

◉ Last month, Foodthink’s office meal featured a precious heritage rice variety, “Red-mouth Glutinous Rice,” preserved by our ecological farming partner in Sichuan, Sun Wenxiang. Leftover rice, paired with wild mangoes from Guangxi and coconut milk, made for an exquisitely flavoured mango rice dish. Photo credit: Foodthink

Furthermore, older farmers continue to cultivate the land not only to provide healthy food for their families, but also to uphold the calling of a farmer. This is precisely why we believe we should not rush towards wholesale land consolidation that turns everyone into wage labourers for large-scale operators. Setting aside the economic arguments for a moment, our primary concern is to provide supportive conditions for those who, for whatever reason, remain willing to work the land. This allows them to tend their fields in peace and safeguard their dignity as working people. Farmers, too, possess professional dignity—a fact that is all too often overlooked.

This is precisely why placing emphasis on community agency and an internal perspective remains a core principle of our work. Our approach rests on four pillars. First, we must break free from the conventional mindset of modern agriculture and broaden our understanding of farming’s multifaceted value, rather than fixating solely on yield and income; otherwise, we risk narrowing our own path forward. Second, villagers are the true agents of change. While terms like demographic ageing, rural hollowing-out, and social atomisation—often accompanied by an attitude of everyone looking after their own affairs—are frequently used to describe the current landscape, we must work to revive community traditions and create diverse spaces for participation. This extends beyond merely involving residents in cultivation to engaging them in broader local life, recognising that agrarian culture is, in itself, a cherished local way of life. Third, we should draw upon local traditional knowledge and resources, focusing on a community’s inherent potential rather than merely dwelling on its challenges. Fourth, we must strengthen organisational structures to foster the community’s awareness of and capacity for collective action. I personally consider it vital to address rural environmental issues within the broader framework of holistic, sustainable rural development, rather than adopting a piecemeal approach.

As a social organisation working alongside local communities, our guiding ethos is simple: farm with care, eat well, and live well.

Unless otherwise stated, all images are provided by Home Action.

Compiled by: Ling Yu, Xiao Qi, Yu Yang

Published by Foodthink