Four Gifts I Harvested at My Internship Farm

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I. Trying to Return to the Countryside, Finding Pengcheng Natural Farm

I grew up in a Hakka village in eastern Guangdong. As a child, I often longed for the wider world. In 2015, my studies brought me to the big city I had always dreamed of—Guangzhou—and I have been studying, working and living here ever since, a good nine years now.

When I was young, the countryside meant poverty, scarcity and backwardness to me. But as I grew older, I began to recognise her “abundance”. So I started trying to return to the countryside. At last, through Foodthink’s Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme, I arrived at Pengcheng Natural Farm in mid-to-late April this year.

● Pengcheng Natural Farm sits on a hillside; look out from it and the beauty of the surrounding mountains stretches as far as the eye can see.
Pengcheng Natural Farm is located in Yinlin Village, Conghua, Guangzhou, covering about 50 mu (roughly 3.3 hectares). Its main crops are lychee, guava, sweet potato and maize, and it also grows smaller quantities of vegetables, citrus, papaya, sugarcane, pineapple and taro. Part of the harvest is for the family’s own use, part is reserved for two customers, who are invited to come and pick when there is a crop, or have it couriered to them.

The farm mainly practises Natural Farming: grass is left where it grows, tillage is kept to a minimum, and no chemical fertiliser or herbicide is used. Occasionally, organic fertilisers such as worm castings and peanut meal water are applied.

The farm is run jointly by Teacher Pengcheng and his wife, Huahua. They have a daughter, Wowo, and two cats. Teacher Pengcheng handles most of the growing and farm tours, while Huahua organises events and manages product sales; they sometimes pitch in with farm work together, and household chores are shared between them.

One of the reasons I was drawn to intern at Pengcheng Natural Farm is that work and life here are seamlessly intertwined. Teacher Pengcheng’s family does not merely work on the farm—they live there. Beyond growing crops and daily life, the farm sets aside an afternoon midweek for reading and discussion with community partners, and hosts open farm-experience events on weekends and public holidays.

Teacher Pengcheng’s family live by the same healthy, natural principles they bring to the farm. They try to buy ecologically sourced produce, use tea seed powder to wash dishes, and sort their waste for recycling; they also meditate regularly, drink tea, exercise, listen to audiobooks and read; and they take an interest in traditional Chinese medicine wellness, preferring water heated over a wood fire and firewood-cooked rice—which, they say, helps raise the body’s yang energy. It also means they put to good use the branches pruned from the farm’s fruit trees.

Here, I glimpsed the life I had always wanted—living alongside nature, caring for the natural world, for myself and for others, and doing grounded, practical things that benefit myself, those around me, society and the land.

I had originally planned a six-month internship, but after just over a month my body, which is rather frail, began to complain, so I had to cut my stay short. Even so, those brief weeks gave me a great many “gifts”.

II. Gift One: Letting Go and Balance

During my internship, “letting go and balance” was the freshest and most distinctive gift I received—and something I found myself practising constantly. As for what “letting go and balance” looks like on the farm, I observed three categories.

The first is the most common: pruning fruit trees. For example, trimming out crossing branches on lychee and guava trees, snapping off excess lateral buds from the main shoots of pineapple plants, and cutting back banana plants that have grown too thick and crowded. In each case the “surplus” is removed so that the growth space and energy between branches, between branches and fruit, between fruits, and between plants themselves can be more evenly distributed. Put another way, space and energy are redistributed, unnecessary nutrient consumption is reduced, and the plant’s resources are concentrated on the productive branches and fruit.

Consider the inner branches of a lychee tree that receive no sunlight: they tend to grow very weakly and are unlikely to flower or bear fruit. Pruning them away is therefore a logical choice, as it stops them drawing energy from the tree. Another example: during my internship I carried out guava fruit thinning. When Teacher Pengcheng first asked me to remove all or some of the fruit from guava trees with weak vigour, I was surprised and even felt sorry for the little fruits. But once he explained the reasoning, I understood—fruit trees with weak vigour struggle to retain their fruit even after it sets, and the fruits compete for the tree’s already limited nutrients, making it difficult for the tree to grow well. So, for the long term, the choice is to sacrifice the current crop, channel the tree’s energy into growing stronger, and look forward to bearing more high-quality fruit in years to come.

The second category involves giving up some growing space to let grass thrive, or planting green manure and building an ecological pond—all in the service of biodiversity, so that the entire growing environment reaches a more balanced state. You would rarely see this in conventional agriculture, where weeds are the enemy: competitors for nutrients that must be eliminated.

● Left: while channeling and storing water, the ecological pond also attracts amphibians such as frogs to settle and breed, and provides a habitat for aquatic creatures. Right: weeds deliberately left to grow on the farm.
But in Natural Farming and other forms of ecological agriculture, grasses are friends that can flourish together in harmony. Natural Farming identifies three essential qualities of fertile soil—warmth, moisture and looseness—and leaving grass in place is an effective way to maintain all three. That is why Pengcheng Natural Farm, which practises Natural Farming, deliberately sets aside plots for grass to be sown or to grow naturally, and also keeps weeds in the orchards and vegetable plots as long as they do not hinder the crops.

The third category is more subtle and relatively harder to manage: reducing unnecessary human intervention—practising reduced tillage, applying less fertiliser, avoiding pesticides, and doing no or minimal weeding. Natural Farming trusts in the power of nature and holds that excessive human intervention disrupts ecological balance. This is not about doing nothing at all; it is about releasing our greed, our obsessive need for control, and the anxiety of fearing too little yield, too slow growth, or crops that do not thrive.

Conventional agriculture, for instance, tends to react with alarm at the sight of pests or disease, rushing to spray all kinds of insecticides. It also piles on chemical fertiliser for fear that plants will not grow without it. These practices can all upset ecological balance, leaving soil, crops and microorganisms in an unhealthy state—and unhealthy soil and plants are, in turn, more susceptible to pests and disease.

Ecological agriculture, and particularly Natural Farming, recognises that nature maintains its own balance, in which no single species ever “dominates the world.” Lychee trees, for example, are attacked by lychee stinkbugs, but natural predators keep their numbers in check. So when pests or disease appear, the farm does not scramble to eradicate them. If soil or crops are in poor condition, the farm may apply organic fertilisers such as vermicompost. Teacher Pengcheng explains that these are similar in composition to the humus found in nature; unlike chemical fertilisers, they do not have excessively high levels of nitrogen or any particular nutrient, and they help the soil recover its inherent natural vitality, restoring balance among soil, crops and microorganisms.

When we can let go of our obsessive attachment and anxiety, calmly discern what we truly need, and observe and learn from the rhythms of nature to understand what the crops themselves require, we begin to know how to let go and find balance when resources are limited.

III. Gift Two: Simplicity and Stability

I remember the first afternoon I arrived at the farm. After setting down my bags, I followed Teacher Pengcheng to transplant a small mandarin tree from in front of the bungalow to the hillside behind. The task seemed simple enough, but I—who have barely exercised or done any physical labour in recent years—found digging the hole rather tiring.

Once the mandarin tree was in the ground, we sat down together and talked about our hopes for the internship and how to share household duties. We then picked and washed vegetables, played skipping rope with Wowo, had dinner, and watched Natural Farming tutorial videos by Teacher Luo Jie. Finally, after washing up and dealing with a few phone messages, we turned off the lights and went to sleep, bringing a gentle half-day of farm life to a close at an easy pace.

● Little Whale’s natural life on the farm in her spare time—watching the sunset, foraging for ingredients, reading, or simply daydreaming alone.

The next morning I rose at seven to begin a new day. The main tasks that day were trenching and earthing up the maize. Over the following month or so, I practised farming alongside Teacher Pengcheng and Huahua—grass management, land preparation, raising seedlings, sowing, fertilising, earthing up, mulching and pruning—while sharing household duties like boiling water, picking vegetables, cooking and cleaning.

Most of the physical work on the farm was not difficult for me, just rather tiring. The one task I truly found challenging was pruning fruit trees, because there are no absolute standards, it is rather complex, and it involves a great many technical terms and methods—topping, pinching, fruit thinning, rubbing off shoots, reduction pruning, and so on. There are many subtleties regarding when and which parts to prune, and exactly how to go about it.

At first, Teacher Pengcheng demonstrated the techniques while explaining them as he worked. So many terms and concepts were hard to grasp and retain at once, and I felt rather tense and anxious. Fortunately, Teacher Pengcheng was very patient, explaining things over and over without a hint of weariness, respecting my pace of learning, and never pressing me to pick things up quickly so I could start helping out—which allowed me to relax and take the time to learn and think. After hearing things several times, I slowly began to understand and gradually started making my own decisions about how to prune.

Sometimes I was on the farm all alone, yet I never felt lonely. I would happily listen to a solar term podcast called “Tuanli Jiegou”, recorded by several elder practitioners of ecological agriculture, while swinging my hoe at the work; or listen to nothing at all, just crouching mindfully among the vegetable beds pulling weeds.

And sometimes I would wander around the farm and its surroundings on my own, getting to know the plants, or ride an electric scooter to nearby Yinlin Farm to attend an event. On my way out, if I ran into an auntie from the village, even if we had never met, we would greet each other quite naturally!

● The farm’s earthen house in the rainy season—quiet, simple and beautiful.
Before this, I could hardly manage to rise early and retire early; I often scrolled through my phone until eleven or twelve at night, sometimes later. But on the farm, I would generally lie down to rest by around ten—sometimes even falling asleep at eight or nine. For that stretch of time, I lived a life of working at sunrise and resting at sunset, of hands-on labour rather than endless overthinking. Every day was simple yet full.

IV. Gift Three: Relaxation and Composure

I am someone who gets nervous easily when doing things. On the farm, Huahua and I took turns cooking for a week at a time. I do enjoy cooking, but at home I mostly made simple, small portions just for myself. So when it was my turn to cook, I felt rather nervous—worrying about what to make, whether it would taste good, or what to do if it took too long. At first, I would plan the menu the day before, then cook with a flutter of anxiety.

● Little Whale freely creating meals from whatever ingredients the farm had to offer.
Fortunately, Teacher Pengcheng and Huahua both told me to just go for it and expressed confidence that I would do well; sometimes Huahua would share a few cooking tips with me. After a time or two, I stopped feeling nervous.

Besides the trust and encouragement from Teacher Pengcheng and Huahua, being close to the land on the beautiful farm and living at a slower pace were equally important in helping me find peace and composure.

Once I relaxed, I began to enjoy the act of cooking. I could cook with an easy fluency, no longer needing to look up recipes in advance as I used to, but creating freely from whatever ingredients were available—I would pop out a little while before to see what the farm had, give a moment’s thought to what went well together, then prep the ingredients and start cooking. That was all it took.

Cooking this way brought me great joy and a sense of accomplishment. I often felt that my stir-fries had perfect colour, aroma and flavour. Of course, there were times when things did not go so well—a stir-fried shredded potato that burnt to the bottom of the wok, pan-fried fish whose skin stuck to the pan, a mugwort and egg soup that came out terribly bitter…

Over the past couple of years, my friends and I have come to realise more and more that when we can eat properly, those days tend to be pleasant, and our work tends to be more productive too. Because when we manage three regular meals a day, it means our life follows a steady rhythm, we can set things to the right tempo, and our energy stays relatively abundant and steady.

This made me realise that one of the most important reasons to pay attention to agriculture and food systems is the return to a more complete life—to becoming a more authentic, full and rich person.

But what is a “complete life”? I think everyone has their own understanding and vision. For me personally, a complete life is not only work; at the very least it includes eating, resting and doing household chores.

A complete life means taking a hands-on part in real, concrete things, rather than dwelling in a lofty, abstract world of grand ideas; a complete life has a past, a present and a future.

A complete life is one in which we can sense and connect with our “neighbourhood”, interacting with the people around us, rather than being cooped up at home or in the office, communicating with the outside world solely through a smartphone.

V. Gift Four: Acceptance and Accord

Closely tied to my nervousness is the fact that I am rather good at spotting problems. I am something of a perfectionist, always hoping to get things absolutely right. Yet the moment something falls short, I easily become disheartened. As a result, I often find myself caught in a vortex of self-anxiety.

Now, I have found that the way out of this vortex is acceptance and accord—just as nature accepts all things, accepting one’s own imperfections and accepting everything that is happening in the present moment. In this regard, I have learned a great deal from Teacher Pengcheng and Huahua on the farm.

Pengcheng Natural Farm does more than ecological agriculture; it once ran a co-parenting group—a collective of several village families raising their children together. Unfortunately, by the time of my internship the group had already paused, but I could still sense Teacher Pengcheng and Huahua’s distinctive philosophy of raising children.

One thing I especially admire is how remarkably steady their emotions are. They have created a nurturing environment for their daughter, Wowo, full of love, acceptance and encouragement. For a time, Wowo felt resistant to going to school after being bullied at nursery. Teacher Pengcheng and Huahua did not rush to dismiss her feelings, nor did they immediately step in to sort things out themselves. Instead, they acknowledged and held space for her emotions, gently guiding her to face the situation courageously and working together with her to find solutions.

I am also someone who likes to dig to the root of things and ask “why”, and that was no different during my internship. One memory that stands out is a time while pruning lychee trees: I asked a few questions, and Teacher Pengcheng shared a great deal with me. One of my questions concerned the growth habits of lychee trees—roughly that pruning lychee trees around August makes it easier for new shoots to sprout again. Hearing this answer, I naturally followed up with “why?” But at that point Teacher Pengcheng did not go on to answer. Instead, he told me not to ask why, saying that nature simply is, that we should go along with nature, and that in time I would see for myself through observation.

● Teacher Pengcheng demonstrates the knowledge and techniques of fruit-tree pruning while trimming a lychee tree.
When I received that kind of response, I was in truth a little disappointed. I have always been in the habit of asking “why”, and I believed that asking more questions was a good thing, even a necessary one. But later, on reflection, I realised that while the spirit of probing deeply into the essence of things is admirable, that inquiry cannot be achieved solely by asking others direct questions. When we ask too many questions, we are likely to miss the very opportunity to observe, explore and learn more for ourselves.

VI. What the Ecological Farm Internship Means to Me

When I first came to Guangzhou from the countryside, the bustle and vibrancy of the big city felt fresh and exciting, but over time the fast pace, the atomised, consumerist lifestyle of the city left me feeling empty, fragmented and exhausted.

Fortunately, Foodthink and Pengcheng Natural Farm gave me the chance to return to the countryside, opening this journey of learning about ecological agriculture and bestowing so many precious experiences and gifts upon me! Every day of the internship on the ecological farm left me feeling remarkably relaxed, composed, grounded and at peace. Time slowed down here, free from so much of that restless hurry, and it was easier to live in the present moment, with mind and body in harmony.

Although the internship lasted only a little over a month, I am glad I took this important step, did what I wanted to do, and gained hands-on experience and real observation of ecological agriculture.

Although I ended the internship because my body could not keep up, that does not mean I consider ecological agriculture too arduous or unsuited to me. On the contrary, the experience has made me all the more aware of the importance of good health, and confirmed that this truly is the life I want.

Hoping that both I and others can be healthier is one of the key reasons I chose ecological agriculture. Looking ahead, I will continue exploring forward, and this vivid, living experience of interning at Pengcheng Farm will always flow through my life. I will strive to be a vessel through which seeds of hope are sown for more people.

Foodthink Contributor

Little Whale

Explorer and practitioner of sustainable living, with over six years’ experience in the non-profit sector, currently attempting to re-parent herself and reshape her life.

 

 

 

About the Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme

The Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme was launched by Foodthink in 2021, aiming to support young people interested in ecological agriculture and established ecological farms. It enables young people to master farming knowledge and skills through practice, helps consolidate and pass on the experience of veteran farmers, and at the same time supplies farms with skilled talent and brings vitality to rural communities.

To date, three rounds of recruitment have been completed, supporting more than sixty partners in total to intern at over ten ecological farms across the country, for periods ranging from three months to one year.

All illustrations in this article were taken by the author

Editor: Yuyang

Published by Foodthink