When Extreme Heat Becomes Everyday Life, These Farmers Choose Another Way of Living (Part 2)

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Foodthink Says

This summer, extreme heat has repeatedly swept through Sichuan. Climate change is making the south-west hotter and drier. People living in rural areas know better than most what this means: when the heat becomes unbearable, farmers are forced to change their working hours and daily routines, and they are far more prone to heatstroke when tending the fields; scorching temperatures and water shortages can slash grain yields or even wipe out a harvest entirely. In some places, there is not enough drinking water, and villagers have to rely on the village committee or well-wishers to truck in water just to carry on.

The modern agricultural system, sustained by fossil fuels, has both driven climate change and marginalised smallholder farmers. While farmers struggle through their hard toil, caught between natural disasters, costly farm inputs and depressed grain prices, shouldn’t we stop and ask: does the agricultural system we have today truly benefit the people who till the land? What kind of life do farmers want?

A number of non-profit organisations deeply rooted in rural communities are working to change this reality. They hope that agriculture can become both a solution to climate change and a source of well-being for farmers, rather than a burden. The story of Home Action, published yesterday on Foodthink, is one such example. How can sustainable livelihoods build farmers’ climate resilience? And what is the logic behind the NGO’s approach? Let us hear from Hu Xiaoping, the director of Home Action.

Sichuan has been issuing frequent high-temperature warnings recently, with many areas exceeding 40 °C. How has this affected the villages where you work?

At present there happens to be very little farm work, so everyone is resting at home. If some field management is needed, they rush out to the fields at the crack of dawn. The bare soil, with no mulch or standing grass cover, has dried and compacted into hard crusts, and the few sparse weeds that sprouted have all been scorched away. Many conventionally grown crops have been damaged to varying degrees — for instance, the maize has been repeatedly baked and withered in the sun, and farmers have replanted two or three times to no avail.

Last summer, the Jianyang and Ziyang areas were also hit by prolonged extreme heat, and farmers simply could not work in the fields during the day. But once the rice ripens it must be harvested, so they would take out their torches at 10 p.m. to cut the rice, working until five or six in the morning when dawn broke, then going home to sleep.

The project villages we work in around Ya’an, owing to their unique topography, are a natural “summer retreat” — people there don’t need air conditioning to “keep cool”, and still put on an extra layer in the mornings and evenings. But the other day the temperature shot straight up to 36 °C. Perhaps for Jianyang, which frequently tops the national heat rankings, that is still “bearable”, but for the villagers of Ya’an it was an unprecedented heat experience in their lives.

◉In the summer of 2023, extreme heat and drought cracked the rice paddies in Jianyang, Sichuan.

The impact of climate change on farmers’ production and daily life is often all-encompassing. What other “new normals” in the lives of Sichuan’s farmers, brought about by climate change, have you observed?

The villagers themselves can feel how the climate has shifted in recent years. Some used to sow seeds and raise rice seedlings according to when the wild cherry trees on the hillside flowered; others would plant maize when the cuckoos began to call; and some could tell a snowfall was coming just from a certain smell in the air. In a village in Ya’an, there is an auntie who is highly experienced in making fermented bean curd. The temperatures during the eleventh lunar month are ideal for the fermentation — it does not easily turn sour or spoil. Last year she followed her usual routine, but the tofu did not ferment as well as in previous years. She found it very puzzling, and on reflection concluded that the temperatures during that period must have been higher than usual. When the climate becomes erratic, phenology shifts along with it, and much hard-won local knowledge becomes difficult to rely on.

The anomalies do not stop at extreme heat and drought. In March and April of this year, Sichuan was hit by a severe cold snap. “Peach-blossom snow in the third month — each flake that falls, a catastrophe.” Two heavy snowfalls descended on the villages of Panzhihua one after another. The large green soybeans — the main crop grown locally — had only just sprouted after being sown in spring, and the young seedlings were killed by the frost. Nearly half of the village’s large green soybeans were damaged to varying degrees. In Ya’an, the first-flush tea — the most expensive batch — was delayed by frost and failed to emerge in time. Although temperatures later recovered, the most valuable picking was already past, severely affecting the livelihoods of local villagers.

What do the farmers do? Have they come up with any spontaneous coping strategies?

When it comes to farming, they certainly try to find solutions — replanting, converting paddy fields to dryland, switching to drought-tolerant crops. Some villages have organised to repair reservoirs, and others keep drilling deeper and deeper wells, from 50 metres to over 200 metres before they can draw a drop. But are these measures genuinely long-term, or are they merely drinking poison to quench one’s thirst? This is something that needs to be assessed together with the community.

The year before last, our project in Lezhi was to grow climate-friendly rice. The method involved digging furrows and ridging the beds to shorten the time paddies are flooded, thereby cutting methane emissions during rice cultivation — a key measure for reducing greenhouse gas emissions in agriculture. At the same time, this also saves water — especially as Sichuan grows ever drier, and water-saving is particularly important for farmers.

It all sounded wonderful: water would be saved. But who could have foreseen that there would be no water at all? In the first year there was no rain, the fields were bone dry, and the rice simply could not be planted. Of course the land could not be left fallow, so by July the farmers hurriedly replanted soybeans in the dry paddies. In its own way, that too counts as a coping strategy.

◉Home Action promotes ecological no-till farming in rural Sichuan; as extreme heat and drought worsen, its advantages become even more apparent. The same plot compared across 2023 and 2025: once compacted and barren (top), after two years of no-till cover and ecological farming it has become fertile and porous (bottom).

In the context of climate change, we now pay particular attention to heirloom varieties. Compared with hybrid varieties, some heirlooms have stronger adaptability and resistance, performing more steadily under extreme weather. We are observing, in different villages, how heirloom varieties and hybrid varieties compare under the same climatic conditions, and drawing lessons from what we see.

Heirloom varieties also give farmers a little more autonomy. The villages around Ya’an, because of their unique geography and climate, have very limited choices among hybrid rice varieties. One particular hybrid rice variety that had been grown for over a decade suddenly became unavailable in the past two years. Because local demand was so small — unlike the vast cultivated areas on the valley floors — the seed companies simply stopped selling it.

When this happens, ordinary farmers have only two options: try yet another hybrid rice variety, or go back to the heirlooms. The heavy snowfall in the villages of Panzhihua in April, which I mentioned earlier, underscored once again the importance of seed autonomy. When the first batch of large green soybeans was killed by the frost and had to be replanted urgently, farmers rushed to town to buy seeds. But the local farm-supply shops had only so much stock; demand far outstripped supply in an instant, and seed prices soared. Those who were slower off the mark could not get any, even at twice or three times the price. Farmers come to realise that seeds they can save themselves, adapted to local conditions, are the truly sustainable choice for the future.

◉Heirloom rice varieties in Home Action’s project villages.

It is not only Sichuan: research has found that the entire south-west region is experiencing a growing trend in extreme heat and drought events. Some farmers are turning to old seeds, composting and diversified planting, building a more stable and resilient farm ecosystem to cope with climate change. Many NGOs are helping farmers master these techniques, Home Action among them. Foodthink has long promoted the principles of agroecology. But from what you have seen, is this approach enough?

First, we need to understand that for many of the problems facing agriculture and rural areas, climate change is only one contributing factor. Take drought again: the villages in Panzhihua have vast arable land, with each household cultivating between 20 and 40 mu — some as much as 70 or 80 mu. So fortunately, most young people in this area have the option of farming at home rather than migrating for work; unfortunately, large-scale monoculture has depleted the water sources.

When I first visited this village more than a decade ago, water came mainly from reservoirs, and there were few wells. Dig down a few dozen metres and you would strike water. At that time the village was growing flue-cured tobacco on a large scale, and to fire the curing kilns they cut down vast numbers of trees for fuel, which naturally destroyed the soil’s ability to retain water. We have been discussing with the villagers whether it might be possible to restore the vegetation.

In recent years, vegetable cultivation has also expanded massively. Both flue-cured tobacco and vegetables are extremely water-hungry crops. Now every field has a drip irrigation system, but water resources are still being depleted at a fearsome rate — sometimes there simply is no water. On top of that, climate change has intensified seasonal droughts. Last year the soybeans had just been sown and were at peak water demand, but the reservoirs had dried so low that the bottoms were cracked open.

Of course, geological changes have also played a part. The villagers say that before the Wenchuan earthquake there were plenty of streams and watercourses in the hills, but after the quake the mountain water sources diminished, further reducing the water available locally.

So responding to these problems cannot be done through technology alone. Only when the community develops a deeper understanding and analysis of these issues can more possibilities for addressing them emerge, along with a stronger, endogenous drive to act and bring about change.

◉Yuan Yong, Home Action’s technical adviser and senior agronomist, conducting a soil-comparison trial in the field with the villagers.

This is also a key finding from our work this year: climate change is an amplifier of agricultural production problems and other issues, but not necessarily the most prominent cause. It is more like adding frost to snow — the problems rural areas already face are the snow, and climate change is the frost; together they compound and lay bare pre-existing issues. In such a complex web of intersecting problems, what is your strategy?

We see our role as helping communities build their own vision for sustainable development and the capacity to act on it. By “vision”, I mean having a philosophy of one’s own about what a sustainable life looks like. In today’s mainstream paradigm, every village talks about its future development in exactly the same direction. That direction is not shaped by the village’s history, environment or resources, but by whatever the mainstream defines development to be. So we place particular emphasis on discussing development based on each village’s own characteristics, rather than blindly following the mainstream. And then there is the question of whether you actually have the capacity to carry your own vision for development into action.

What do you mean by “mainstream” exactly?

When we talk to ordinary farmers about agriculture, no matter the farming method or technique, the first question is always about yield. If a mu yields 400 kg, farmers immediately wonder: could it yield 500, 600, even 1,000 kg? There seems to be no ceiling, only ever higher targets — as though yield could be increased without limit. But does a higher yield guarantee higher income?

What does agriculture truly mean for smallholder farmers? What is the underlying logic? What we see is that agriculture is defined by technology and the market. Agriculture’s economic function has been amplified to an infinite extent, while other functions seem to carry no weight.

Coming back to the essence of agriculture, its livelihood function is undoubtedly the foremost, but there are many other functions as well: ecological, social, and cultural. If we fail to see these and focus solely on the single economic function, it becomes very hard to find room for action.

Production, living, and ecology all addressed — it sounds wonderful. But when farmers work the land, beyond simply putting food on their own table, they surely also want to earn a dignified living in society, send their children to a better school, and dare to go to hospital when a family member falls ill. The reality, however, is that smallholder farmers are now almost systematically marginalised by our agricultural policies and markets — subsidies, land policies, even advanced technology initiatives for supporting farmers, all push towards scale. This leaves smallholders with a relatively higher production cost per unit of land. So we find ourselves wondering: when we talk about agroecology today, is it an aspirational niche that smallholders simply cannot reach, or is it a way forward under the reality that they cannot compete with large-scale agriculture?

First, the cost of agroecological farming may actually be lower. Mention agroecology and many people immediately ask: no pesticide, no chemical fertiliser, no herbicide — then what do you use? They fall into a binary of what to use and what not to use.

We go to the villages and chat with the people. Without pesticide or chemical fertiliser, without hybrid varieties — can you still farm? The villagers say you cannot. And what is the result? From farm machinery to seeds, pesticide, plastic mulch film — the full set of inputs — in a good year you barely break even, and in a bad year you take a loss. What does this mean for smallholder farmers? High cost, low return; high dependence, low autonomy.

◉Home Action uses participatory workshops to help villagers identify the strengths and weaknesses of different farming models together.

Recently, several experienced rural-development practitioners have come to views that dovetail with yours: rather than fixating on how to sell eco-friendly produce at a premium price, what matters more is examining how agroecology can cut costs. Especially when chemical fertiliser, pesticide and seed prices are this high — conventional farming is not turning a profit either. And farmers are tethered to the market; there is no guarantee they will be able to sell at all. When an extreme weather event strikes and everyone suffers a total crop loss, agroecology at least requires less input — losing less is better than losing more.

Exactly. And some of the value in eco-friendly produce is simply difficult to quantify. Take health, for instance. When it comes to farmers spraying pesticides, people tend to think the bill is ultimately paid by consumers — by those who eat the food. But that is not entirely true. The first victims are often the villagers themselves. We are in the villages a lot, and we see skin rashes, vomiting, nausea, insomnia and all manner of pesticide-poisoning symptoms after spraying, and they are very widespread. For the household that sprays, this means high pollution, poor health; high risk, low resilience.

We talk endlessly about soil degradation, water pollution, agricultural waste, vanishing species, energy crises, climate change — these are all enormous words, and so is health. Under the existing system of agricultural production, all of it lands on ordinary people’s shoulders as one concrete problem after another.

◉Plastic waste and discarded pesticide packaging litter the villages.

How receptive are farmers and local governments to the path of agroecology?

We respect the pace at which villagers move. If a farmer feels they must use chemical fertiliser, that is fine. We do not say: “Unless you stop using chemical fertiliser at this stage, we will not work with you.” Because our remit is the whole village — its development as a community — not agriculture in isolation.

At first, the government paid little attention to agroecology and was unwilling to commit resources or policy support. That is not necessarily all bad, though — at least there was no great interference. But we have noticed in the past two years that once the agroecology trials across the project villages began to show results, some local governments, for various reasons, started taking an interest and giving coverage in the media.

If the government takes this seriously, two things happen. First, villagers gain more confidence, because endorsement from the local authority carries real weight with them. Second, the process of spreading from one village to another and on to more villages becomes smoother.

Beyond that, for some villagers it is important to establish external sales channels. But that is genuinely not our forte, and connecting with the outside world remains a difficulty. The village in Panzhihua, for example, relies on farm produce as its main livelihood, and it really does need to figure out how to sell. In Jianyang, the volume of eco-friendly produce from the collective economy is also considerable, but helping it reach the market is something we struggle to support. That, to some extent, influences what villagers choose to grow. At present, Jianyang’s ecological products are sold mainly through WeChat Moments. Because it is a collective enterprise, there is also the support of local government procurement.

More than a decade ago, when I was working with Community Partners, I had already started doing CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) — town-and-country exchanges, urban farming, farmers’ markets — and discovered how hard it is. The market is an old problem, and connecting with the outside market demands a great many capabilities. It is not only about external demand; it is also about quality control, customer service, packaging, promotion. This is not what we are good at, and we have no intention of building that capacity ourselves. Because it requires cooperation to solve, we are also looking for other resources to take on this part. We hope to provide capacity-building support for the villages, and playing the role of a platform is crucial.

◉The project village in Jianyang processes and packages its eco-friendly produce, trying to open up new channels of sale.

Do villagers ever lose heart?

It depends on whether we are talking about production or daily life. In fact, apart from Panzhihua, the other project villages are home mainly to left-behind elderly people, and their chief concern is eating healthily. In Ya’an, for instance, Old Man Luo is over seventy and still tends just over two mu of paddy and just over two mu of dryland. He himself says that stopping would be unbearable. This generation has an attachment to the land; they cannot bear to see it go fallow, and their own food needs are perfectly within reach. So for this group, we often start with the simple aim of feeding themselves — which is also one way of reducing dependence on outside inputs and building community self-sufficiency.

They care not only about their own health but about their families’ health. This year, someone from an ecological food sales platform asked whether they could visit our project villages and talk to the eco-farmers about selling them their organic rice. Last year, our paddy rice price in Sichuan was around 2.7 to 3 yuan per kilogram. The person said: “We can offer 6 yuan per kilogram.” The villagers refused to sell — not even at 8 yuan. They said: “Having gone to so much trouble to grow such healthy, such good rice, of course we keep it for our own family, and for our relatives and friends, for the children working in the city.” At the same time, the villagers have a saying: with climate change, whether we can grow this rice again next year is a question mark, so we need to store the grain. They are thinking about the future too.

In the Panzhihua villages, there are more young people; they are the family’s main labour force and make production decisions. Although they face sales pressure, they pay attention to the market; seeing people’s growing preference for local, “earthy” products, they too want to preserve heirloom varieties. Although heirloom rice is hard to push into the market, what if opportunities arise in the future? These heirloom varieties may have even greater commercial value down the line, but once lost, they cannot be recovered. Even if they are difficult to sell now, growing and eating them yourself means at least the seeds are still there when you need them.

We recently held a reading group for Vanishing Foods. One of the central figures in the book is Sun Wenxiang, a farmer in Sichuan, who grows a type of heirloom rice variety called “Hongzui Nuomi” (red-tipped glutinous rice) on his family-run agroecological farm in Meishan — the texture is truly unique. It was through the reading group that we tasted this rice. Many people came to us seeking a link to buy it. But in fact, Uncle Sun simply does not need to sell this way. His whole grains, vegetables and meat are all but sold out among his social-media contacts. If you are not personally connected to him, you can only get them at his monthly Chengdu Life Market. Lately there have been so many requests for Hongzui Nuomi. I went to ask Uncle Sun, and he said we will just have to wait for this year’s autumn harvest of new rice.

This is a very successful example of an eco-friendly household farmer.

We have also noticed that many organisations pour enormous energy into creating the conditions for a livelihood, trying to lure young people back. In reality, the challenge is immense; it is far more realistic to nurture a core team averaging over fifty years of age. Our current work focuses mainly on older people, and we must recognise what makes this group distinctive: less pressure from livelihood concerns, a deep affection for the village, and a wealth of indigenous wisdom.

I look at it from a different angle: how can those who remain in the village live well and take good care of their community? For those working away, the hope is that they can come back whenever they wish, and that the good things in the village can be carried on.

◉For Foodthink’s team lunch last month, we ate “Hongzui Nuomi” (red-tipped glutinous rice), a precious heirloom variety preserved by Sun Wenxiang, an eco-farmer from Sichuan. The leftover rice, paired with wild mangoes from Guangxi and coconut cream, made for a mango rice dish of extraordinary texture. Photo: Foodthink

And the fact that the elderly are still farming is not just about providing healthy ingredients for the whole family — it is also about upholding the farmer’s vocation. This is why we believe we should not rush en masse into land transfer schemes where everyone goes to work for large-scale landholders. Setting aside the economics for now, first and foremost, for those who, for whatever reason, still wish to farm, we must provide supportive conditions so they can tend the land with peace of mind and preserve their dignity as workers. Farmers, too, deserve professional dignity, yet this seems to be something all too often overlooked.

That is also why emphasising agency and an internal perspective is a principle of our work. Our approach is this: first, step outside the mindset of modern industrial agriculture and broaden our understanding of agriculture’s multifaceted value, rather than confining it to yield and income — otherwise we are the ones narrowing our own path. Second, villagers are the true agents of change. We hear constantly about ageing, rural hollowing and atomisation, of everyone sweeping only the snow before their own door. So we need to revive community cultural practices, create diverse spaces for villagers to participate — not just in the planting process, but in local life itself. Farming culture is, after all, a way of life here. Third, uncover local traditional wisdom and resources; see the community’s own potential, not only its problems. Fourth, carry out organisational development to build awareness and capacity for collective action. One thing I personally consider especially important: address rural environmental issues within the broader framework of rural sustainable development as a whole, rather than treating the head when it aches and the foot when it hurts.

As a social organisation partnering with ordinary villagers, our value proposition is simple: farm well, eat well, live well.

Unless otherwise noted, all images are provided by Home Action

Compiled by: Ling Yu, Xiao Qi, Yuyang

Published by Foodthink