An Introvert’s 106 Days on a Farm
I first encountered ecological agriculture around 2016. Through my work in nature education, I naturally crossed paths with practitioners in the field, learning that many were cultivating the land to produce healthier food, foster sustainable environments, and build a better way of life.
Back then, I was tending flowers and herbs on an urban balcony and had just started experimenting with composting. Given the limited space, the composting process simply could not keep pace with the volume of kitchen waste, and I often wished I had a plot of land of my own.
It was not until April this year, when I joined the Foodthink third cohort “Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme” and arrived at Zhiliangtian Ecological Farm in Alxa, Inner Mongolia, that I truly grasped a hard truth: farming is a high-stakes profession.
The soil here is a gift from the Helan Mountains, having been tilled for only a few decades. After establishing itself on the land, Zhiliangtian began nurturing it with sheep manure and green manure. If the earth becomes too heavy and clay-bound, you simply shovel in sand from the field’s edge and mix it in. Both the sand and the soil were deposited by wind and water. They share no sharp dividing line, yet their distinct qualities are precisely what sustain the vibrant patches of life across these desert fields.
Rainfall is light, but after several years of soil building, low-water, short-cycle crops such as melons, onions, and millet thrive. On the farm, the age-old reality of “living at the mercy of the weather” plays out in stark relief: sowing must be timed perfectly to the temperature; erratic gales constantly set seedlings back; and the rainy season at harvest is a ticking time bomb—a single heavy shower can split the melons, ruining their market value or leaching away their sweetness. In an era of increasingly volatile weather, losses to opportunistic animals like magpies are a minor nuisance by comparison.
I. A Steady Stream of Young People
Farm mentor Ma Yanwei, reflecting on his entrepreneurial journey, explained that his original aim was to safeguard Alxa’s groundwater, lakes, and broader ecosystem through water-saving, ecologically sound cultivation methods and careful crop selection. Building on this foundation, he hoped to use educational visits to deepen people’s understanding of the land and champion the spread of ecological agriculture.
Zhang Bin of the farm joined the first cohort of Foodthink’s ‘Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme’. After completing his placement at Zhiliangtian, he returned to his home province of Gansu to launch a sheep-farming venture. At just 19, his lack of experience meant he hit stumbling block after stumbling block. A year on, realising how much he still had to learn, he resolved to return to the farm for further training. Describing himself as a son of Qin, he has already mapped out his career path at a remarkably young age: breeding high-quality cattle, sheep, and horses suited to the highland terrain.
On a crop-focused farm like Zhiliangtian, his thoughts often drift back to the livestock at home in Gansu. He has kept a horse purchase at the top of his list, while carefully plotting how to build a sustainable cycle of traditional Chinese herbal cultivation and livestock rearing across his family’s winter and summer pastures. Livestock form an inseparable part of who he is; at barely 20, he is as grounded as the mountains and fields, walking his chosen path with single-minded dedication.
Meeting more ecological farmers since then—each tending the soil and themselves for their own reasons—brought to mind the words of another farm mentor, Sister Yan Ping of Guangxi’s Xingfu Baicaoyuan: “Farming isn’t hard. As long as you see it as a way of nourishing yourself, it ceases to feel like a burden.”
II. The Farm’s Ecological Wisdom
Following the Start of Summer, the farm ordered a batch of snow chrysanthemum seedlings online. Planted in late May, they had bloomed by late June. Initially, various weeds—including morning glories—competed with them for space. The morning glories were particularly troublesome, scrambling up the delicate stems and leaves of the young chrysanthemums. While the plants were still short, we did our utmost to clear every weed around them. When it eventually proved impossible to eradicate them all, we simply targeted the climbing morning glories and allowed the rest to remain. Unexpectedly, this approach not only curbed the morning glories’ advance but also meant the remaining weeds acted as natural supports for the chrysanthemums, keeping them from being easily blown over by the wind. In cultivating snow chrysanthemums, we inadvertently found ourselves using weeds to outcompete weeds. (PS: We recently discovered that snow chrysanthemum may be a potentially invasive species under review, specifically the “two-coloured tickseed” [Coreopsis tinctoria]. Please weigh this carefully before planting it yourself~)
The free-range sheep and geese never damaged the cultivated crops, feeding exclusively on the various weeds. According to Team Leader Zhao, who oversees planting operations, this is because weeds actually offer better nutrition to them than the cultivated crops do.
In Yan Ping’s herb garden, weeds are left in place, provided they are trodden down so as not to hinder the citrus trees; at Zhiliangtian, which grows herbaceous crops such as melons and millet, some weeds are manually pulled. How to effectively manage weeds whilst allowing them to fulfil their roles of conserving moisture, protecting the soil, and enhancing the diversity and resilience of the agricultural ecosystem warrants further exploration and practical application.
III. Farm Life: Different from the Imagination
106 days on a farm for an introvert turned out, for the most part, to be 106 days of constant human interaction. It perfectly illustrates just how much people can overestimate themselves—their stamina, their tolerance for communal living, and so on.
Zhiliangtian hosted as many as ten volunteers at once this year. It was the farm’s first attempt at managing such a large group with such diverse backgrounds, ages, and expectations, leading to several unforeseen complications: friction arising from differing work styles and communication patterns, and the chaos of the larger group fracturing into cliques… The dozen or so volunteers were selected from over eighty applications this year. Over time, seven or eight were persuaded to leave—some after just a few days, others after a few months. There was no shortage of volunteers who had romanticised farm life, nor, likely, a shortage of the farm overestimating its own management capabilities.
This inevitably leads me to wonder: What exactly is it about ecological agriculture that draws so many people (including the farm mentors themselves) to test its limits, knowing full well how exhausting it will be, and to run headlong into a brick wall just to see how unyielding it is?
IV. Perhaps Simply Because Nature Remains [1]
There were also sporadic meteors, a sky ablaze with the Milky Way, and spectacular sunsets that varied daily but never lost their wonder; even the occasional sandstorm held its own quiet beauty.
Rainy days felt like festivals. The refreshing comfort of a rain-washed earth is truly only felt when you’re there. The farm companions would straightaway start kneading dough, preparing fillings, and making dumplings—everyone could whip up North-Western wheat dishes with ease. Desert chives, which stay lush until August, were always an essential table favourite.
At times like these, warm moments spent with the farm folk play out vividly before my eyes: chatting idly under the veranda in the rain with Uncle Qian, Zhang Bin, Muge, and Bailing’er; watching resident artist Li Dan lead everyone in releasing balloons to trace the wind’s path; letting my body relax by the bonfire, singing happily off-key alongside the children; the group’s lovely singing under the starlit sky; Zhang Bin taking us on his tricycle into the nearby town for barbecue; gazing together at the Milky Way and the full moon hanging over the Helan Mountains; visiting Sister Bai’s place to see the lambs; and Captain Zhao, in charge of production, rolling up his sleeves to cook a hearty meal for everyone…
It’s likely because of this kind of nature and atmosphere that more than eighty people have felt drawn to this patch of land in Alxa to volunteer. Despite the farm’s many operational and managerial challenges and frequent disarray, and even when facing uncertainties in land, climate, markets, and staffing, it has chosen to steadfastly continue ecological farming. Everyone who comes here simply does their part.
V. If It’s Just About Nourishing the Self
The internship programme fulfilled my initial aim of spending three months in Alxa. My thinking back then was simple: if I can endure a place this dry, this sandy, with its whiplash of cold and heat and relentless sun – a climate so ill-suited for a southerner – then I should be able to manage most farms. I could certainly handle the rigours of agricultural work. In retrospect, that was a rather naive assumption. Farms in different climates each have their rewards and their aggravations. After three months in Alxa, heading back south felt oppressively damp. In truth, the sandy soil of Alxa was rather forgiving for someone like me, who isn’t built for heavy lifting.
During the two months after the internship, apart from resting, I visited various places to constantly test whether my desire to enter agriculture was merely a passing fancy. Up until now, I’ve lived life step-by-step, rarely looking more than two moves ahead. Yet, after completing the farm internship, buoyed by the idea of “owning a plot of land,” I often find myself projecting five or ten years ahead, considering what I might want to do, and what I might actually be able to do.
What it truly means to me to run a farm, or to work as a farmer, is only marginally clearer to me now than it was at the start of the year. Much of it still needs to be worked out through experience – through trial and error. All I know is that I enjoy life at the farm. Yet I still wonder: can farming actually sustain me?
Furthermore, on a personal level, what precisely divides rural and urban life? Why do I feel drawn to the countryside yet terrified to take root, while remaining tethered to the city yet constantly yearning to flee?
Sister Xixi at Muyunpo remarked, even when working towards environmental or rural development goals, you don’t necessarily have to be based in a village. Supportive work can just as well be done from within an urban framework.
My answer today might be this: I hope the countryside can become part of my life, or perhaps the greater part of it. I aspire to craft a sustainable “half-farmer, half-X” life for myself.
Ever since I first encountered nature education in 2016, fate has steered me in many directions. I feel fortunate to have witnessed so many trailblazers in their respective fields steadfastly walking their own paths. Whether in nature education, community support, biodiversity conservation, environmental protection, rural education, or ecological farming, everyone is holding fast to pursuits that the wider world deems naive. But what is there to dislike about naivety? It is, in essence, a way of nurturing the self.
[1] The phrase “Mostly because there is still nature” is adapted from Sister Meizi’s WeChat Moments series “But There Is Still Nature,” and is used here to encapsulate the theme of this section.
To date, the programme has completed three recruitment cycles, placing over 60 participants at more than a dozen ecological farms across the country for internships ranging from three months to a year.
Editor: Mei Ying