Finding the Fruit of Happiness at Baicaoyuan | Two years after my agronomy degree, I decided to return to the farm to start afresh
During my three-month internship at Xingfuguo Baicaoyuan, the passage of time became a blur. I seem to remember only that the skies were overcast when I arrived, and bright and clear when I departed.
I. Finding Baicaoyuan: A New ‘Peach Blossom Spring’
As for me, I am 24 years old and come from Chongzuo, over 300 kilometres away. I studied agriculture at university, and after graduating, I returned to my hometown to work for a sugar company, where I was responsible for promoting policies and cultivation techniques. However, while visiting the countryside to learn about sugarcane farming, I noticed that the local farmers frequently used chemical fertilisers and pesticides, often without any protective gear.
Speaking with them in depth, I realised that some farmers didn’t actually want to use so many fertilisers, pesticides, and herbicides. After all, these are costs, and the price of agricultural supplies keeps rising, as does the amount required.
But because the procurement price for sugarcane is so low, they feel they have no choice but to rely on chemical fertilisers and pesticides to guarantee their yields.
After being introduced to agroecology, I couldn’t stop thinking: perhaps by improving soil vitality and fertility and enhancing crop resilience, we could reduce the use of chemical fertilisers and lower the incidence of pests and diseases.
I once read online about an apple farmer who planted a specific type of grass beneath his trees to lure pests away from the fruit and down to the ground to feed, thereby reducing the infestation in the trees.
At the time, all I saw day in, day out, were chemical controls like Carbendazim and Bixafen. Seeing biological control—a true testament to human ingenuity—actually being put into practice was a revelation.
I realised that agroecology might be a different path worth taking. I found myself constantly pondering the connection between ecological farming, crop yields, soil health, and rural life, and where the point of balance lies between them.
At the start of the year, Foodthink launched its agroecology internship programme. After applying, interviewing, and a matching process with the farms, another intern, ‘Da Wang’, and I arrived at Yan Ping’s ‘Xingfu-guo Baicaoyuan’. We were also joined for about two weeks by a third intern, Liu Heng, who was cycling from Zhuhai to Chengdu for his own internship.
Geographically, Xingfu-guo Baicaoyuan consists of several dozen mu of land on the slopes of Xishan Gorge, in Wule Town, Gangbei District, Guigang City, within the Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region.
In Xishan Gorge, local villagers dig wells for their water and grow rice, maize, and peanuts on the flat land, alongside fruit trees such as lychee, loquat, and longan. However, most of the mountainous land used for orchards is leased to non-locals, such as Yan Ping.
Before we arrived, Yan Ping spent most of her time alone in a small self-built wooden cabin by the orchard. Her closest companion was likely a helper living at the foot of the mountain, whom we all called ‘Da Sao’, following Yan Ping’s lead. Though we called her ‘Sister-in-law’, to us young people, she seemed more like a kind, lovely, and mischievous soul. Yan Ping and Da Sao had been through much together and were as close as family; we often popped over to Da Sao’s house to visit.
Xingfu-guo Baicaoyuan often felt like ‘Peach Blossom Spring’—surreal, as if far removed from ordinary life, yet I was undeniably living within it. There were no complex social webs here; the pressures of survival seemed to vanish, or perhaps they simply shifted.
Here, a group of interns of varying ages and backgrounds worked alongside Yan Ping and Da Sao. Our conversations weren’t limited to agroecology or cultivation philosophies; we spoke of life, emotions, and human nature. I began to feel that this wasn’t just about learning ecological farming, but was more of a spiritual journey—finding solutions within simplicity, or perhaps, learning the art of letting go.
II. Labour: Planting beans beneath the southern hills, where weeds outgrow the sprouts
Over the course of my three-month internship, the Wogan trees went from being laden with fruit to completely bare. We transitioned from a time when sweet, succulent Wogan could be plucked from almost anywhere, to the stage where, while mowing around the trees, my fellow intern and I would hope to find one or two stray fruits left behind in the grass. In this way, we experienced the full harvest cycle.
I love picking fruit; the joy and satisfaction of the harvest are irreplaceable, so much so that I often find myself thinking: planting a seed, waiting for it to grow slowly, watching it ripen, and then harvesting it—there is something profoundly fulfilling about that process.
Yan Ping once wrote a passage that has become widely shared within the community of ecological smallholders:
I have a vision of happiness
where we can all eat
and have within reach
food that is safe, healthy, and vibrant with life
where we can cultivate
with ease and joy
crops that sustain our eternal cycle of life
and a small plot of land can support a family for generations
Easier said than done, however.
In late March, the three of us interns planted some flowers together, taking care to dig proper holes. Yet by June, not a single flower had bloomed; instead, the hillside was carpeted in beggar’s ticks.
After the flowers, we planted some local waxy corn and some peanuts brought by Da Wang. Following a process of digging holes, fertilising, sowing, covering with soil, and mulching with cut grass, we managed to get them to grow—though they didn’t fare particularly well!
In mid-April, we planted hyacinth beans, peanuts, sorghum… the method was simple, almost rudimentary. We simply scattered the seeds between two rows of Wukuan citrus trees and used a mower to cut the grass for immediate mulching, though the weeds were quite deep. Some of the sorghum was planted in dug holes and grew well; the hyacinth beans I scattered did alright too—at least they sprouted.
These planting attempts, much like opening blind boxes, brought to mind two lines from the poet Tao Yuanming: “I plant beans beneath the southern hill, but the weeds outgrow the sparse seedlings.” Since the beggar’s tick is a dominant plant with strong allelopathic effects, other plants essentially have to fight for every inch of survival.
Realising that this approach would likely yield no harvest, Yan Ping’s dream of supporting her family through the farm seemed out of reach. While planting cassava, she came up with a new method: first, use the mower to clear the grass until the soil was visible; then, dig a hole and add compost (the amount usually determined by her sister-in-law’s experience); place one or two cassava cuttings inside, cover them with a layer of soil, and finally mulch with the cut grass. And that was one cassava plant done! Looking back, the germination rate for the cassava was average.
The process sounds tedious, but in practice, it wasn’t that complicated—many hands make light work! Once the cassava was in, we began planting several heirloom bean varieties sent by the Yuefengdao Farm in Kunshan, as well as maize and melon seeds sent by one of Yan Ping’s friends.
Using hoes, we dug a planting furrow, fertilised, sowed the seeds, covered them with soil, and mulched. Done! I ended up with a few blisters on my hands, but a few days later, when I saw the tiny seedlings emerging, I knew the effort had finally paid off.
III. Life: Scaling the Peak, Surveying the World Below
Here, I watch the stars at night, the sunset in the evening, and the lingering glow of the afterglow. I sit by the railing of the cabin, feeling the evening breeze, and watch the moon rise to the southeast. I have always felt that once you have seen the sunset of a place, you have truly begun to belong there.
Still the most beautiful is the morning sun rising to the east of the cottage. Its light falls equally on every living creature; plants harness it for photosynthesis and transpiration, while animals rely on it to move, work, and forage. Sunlight is the engine of life’s cycle!
But one shouldn’t underestimate the Guangxi summer sun; it is only natural to be tanned several shades deeper after working outdoors. At Baicaoyuan, I didn’t just acquire farming skills—I also came away with a lower leg covered in mosquito bites and welts.
If there was one great challenge to living here, fleas were an inescapable topic. When I first arrived, the weather was cool and the fleas were less active; since I wore long sleeves and trousers to bed, I hardly noticed them. As the temperature rose over the following days, however, I found myself unable to sleep, spending most of the night scratching. The quality of my rest plummeted. While bathing one evening, I spotted a ring of red, swollen flea bites around my abdomen, as well as on my arms and thighs. I began to have second thoughts, wondering if this was a ‘penance’ I truly had to endure.
Strangely, before I had even decided whether to retreat, Sister Yan Ping suggested—amidst the complaints from Da Wang and me—that we swap rooms. Da Wang had been hesitant, fearing the downstairs area lacked doors and windows and was therefore less secure, but I had grown to loathe the flea bites, so I readily agreed to move downstairs.
Moving away from the attic solved the flea problem. The ground floor was rife with mosquitoes, but fortunately, they only left small red bumps that didn’t itch or hurt, so I didn’t mind them.
IV. Off to the market to sell our produce!
The market ran for two consecutive days over the weekend, with the annual meeting taking place on the morning of the third day. As an observer, I listened in on the discussions between the stallholders and volunteers regarding the future of the *nongxu*.
My first impression of the Nanning market was that it felt quite sparse. Temperatures were still low in March, the stalls were positioned in a very windy spot, and there were few of them—I recall there being fewer than ten, meaning the whole event could be walked through in a few minutes. However, an ecological team from Nandan, who specialise in the living conservation of heirloom seeds and tie-dyeing, sold handicrafts such as earrings and hair ties, as well as their own home-brewed liquor. I found their presence far more interesting and substantial.
The weather was slightly better the next day, with a touch of morning sunshine as the temperature rose. Many grandparents from the nearby neighbourhood were out strolling with their grandchildren. Over the course of half an hour, footfall increased, marking the busiest period I witnessed over the two days.
The market has an internal canteen where stallholders cook with their own produce—fish, river snails, pork, bean curd skin, and green vegetables—to create their lunch or dinner. The stallholders are skilled cooks, and everyone who has eaten there speaks highly of the food.
The market practises environmental sustainability and avoids single-use cutlery, meaning everyone dining there must bring their own. As there were no extra tables, my companions and I had to hold our bowls, eating while either sitting or standing. Through these shared meals, the relationships between us seemed to grow more harmonious and close, making my first experience at the market canteen feel exceptionally relaxing.
A light drizzle fell during both evenings at the market, and everyone retreated to their stall tents for cover. Yet, this fine rain seemed to bring people closer together. As the temperature dropped, we lit small braziers to roast potatoes, Wogan oranges, bread, and sweet potatoes.
More important than the warm, delicious food was the way everyone gathered around the fire to chat about their lives, their ideas, and ecology. As a newcomer, I felt the genuine sincerity of these eco-farmers. This was also the quickest way to absorb information; in just two days, I gained a broad understanding of the farmers, products, and diverse ecological farming models within the Guangxi ecological community.
The only sad part was that as we packed up for the evening, the rain intensified, leaving us all drenched to the bone!
Later, we also visited the Hecheng Farmers’ Market in Guigang, which is right on my doorstep (Guigang is also known as Hecheng).
The Hecheng Farmers’ Market opened for the first time on 1st April 2023, also over a weekend. On the opening day, every stall was full, and the Guigang television station even came to interview people. The market was spearheaded by Chairman Huang of the local agricultural association, with Yan Ping playing a pivotal role. Whenever she is at the farm, she signs up for every market day.
A striking feature of the Hecheng Farmers’ Market in Guigang is that it is held every weekend, and the produce is not limited to ecological goods but includes local speciality agricultural products. Compared to the Nanning market, the variety of products and producers is greater.
Regardless of whether they are ‘ecological’, I believe all front-line farmers have it hard; most face survival struggles and experience exploitation at various stages of production. As a platform, the Hecheng Farmers’ Market can help them broaden their sales channels.
However, the problems are also evident: the frequent market days have led to a gradual decline in participation from many stallholders and lower footfall. Of course, Chairman Huang and the main stallholders are aware of these issues. Fortunately, everyone is actively communicating and seeking solutions, so it is worth taking a longer view and looking forward to the future development of the Hecheng Farmers’ Market!
V. A Taste of Xishan Gorge
Not far from this popular tree stood another that was far more striking to the eye. Its fruit was beautiful and evenly coloured, left largely undisturbed by pests. However, these loquats were watery and bland, with a disappointing texture. Two trees growing in the same area, yet different varieties yielded entirely different results.
Just as the lychees were on the verge of ripening, my sister-in-law invited us over to pick some. The lychee tree didn’t look like it had much on it, and every time we harvested, I was certain we had finally cleared it. To my surprise, it withstood harvest after harvest. Lychees are a peculiar fruit; eating a few is said to cause ‘internal heat’, yet eating plenty somehow causes no such trouble.
For the most part, tired of eating the wild mustard, beggarticks, and broom grass growing on the hilltop, I would turn to my sister-in-law when it was my turn to cook, asking her for some of the greens her family had grown tired of. That way, we could have some water spinach or chives.
In the Hundred-Herb Garden, we also grew chives (though not many) and water spinach (recently planted and not yet ready for harvest), as well as sweet potato leaves (a bit tough, but edible). But it was the white wild mustard we ate most often. I felt that if I kept eating it for much longer, the ‘coldness’ in my system would become quite extraordinary.
VI. Learning: What exactly is agroecology?
Yan Ping often says that we needn’t intervene unnecessarily; sometimes doing so is counter-productive. If you aren’t certain that an action will benefit the fruit tree, then simply don’t do it. Following this approach certainly makes ecological agriculture more manageable.
My takeaway from this is that the key lies in “planting the right crop in the right place”—matching the crop to the specific climate and plot of land. However, subsequent field management varies from one farmer and farm to another. At Baicao Garden, it is simply a matter of planting, applying a bit of fertiliser, and ensuring proper ground cover, with watering only during droughts; there is minimal interference with the plants’ growth. Still, I worry that such an approach could potentially lead to a total crop failure.
Yan Ping also likes to say, “The body attracts what it needs.” I interpret this as follows: taking a fruit tree as an example, if the tree requires a certain nutrient, it releases a signal to attract plants or animals capable of providing it, thereby achieving its own equilibrium. While this logic holds up, I wonder how we can be sure that whatever is attracted is actually what is needed.
Returning to the matter of fleas—what could my body possibly need from them? Am I supposed to endure the discomfort just to let them bite me? Humans can simply walk away, but if a fruit tree attracts an animal that causes it distress, it cannot flee; it can only secrete substances to deter them after it has already been bitten or pecked. It seems quite pitiful! This is precisely the point I struggle to grasp.
Secondly, increasing biodiversity to enhance the capacity to withstand threats from pests and diseases.
The greatest threat of large-scale monoculture is that at the slightest sign of trouble or a pest outbreak, everything can be wiped out, leading to total financial ruin. We often say that ecological farming possesses resilience; I believe this is inextricably linked to the development of biodiversity. When a dynamic balance is achieved between different species, large-scale disasters are unlikely to occur, barring natural catastrophes.
Thirdly, implementing vegetation cover.
The most common plants in the Herb Garden are beggarticks, thatch grass, and copperleaf. The latter can be so invasive that it entwines the entire Wokan tree, reducing the area available for photosynthesis—or eliminating it entirely—which shows how severe the competition between different plants can be. Many fellow ecological farmers emphasise the importance of leaving grass. Indeed, vegetation on the soil helps conserve water and prevent erosion, but to ensure the healthy growth of crops, one must strike the right balance with the amount of cover.
Fourthly, avoiding the use of chemical fertilisers, pesticides, and herbicides.
It is often difficult to gauge the “correct amount” of chemical fertiliser, so application rates in conventional agriculture tend to be excessively high. Crops cannot absorb it all, and when rain washes the excess away, it leads to the eutrophication of water bodies. Meanwhile, soil organisms are left with no room to function and lose their habitats, resulting in soil compaction.
Pesticides and herbicides cause soil pollution, and persistent damage can lead to the extinction of certain species. The components of these chemicals also accumulate in the human body. Over time, as we age and our immunity declines, this accumulation may trigger various illnesses.
We cannot guarantee precise control over the dosage when using pesticides, fertilisers, and herbicides. Therefore, choosing biological and physical controls over chemical ones is more environmentally friendly and kinder to human health.
VII. The Journey: New Skills Acquired, On the Road Again
As the internship comes to a close, I feel incredibly fortunate to have participated in Foodthink’s ecological agriculture internship programme. My time at the Fruit of Happiness Baicaoyuan served as the perfect first step in my journey into ecological farming.
During the internship, we visited several ecological farms across Guangxi and Guangdong, discovering significant differences in how various farms approach cultivation and management. This highlighted the inherent diversity of ecological farming practices and only deepened my curiosity about the field.
I also met many inspiring pioneers in ecological agriculture, gaining not only knowledge but also lasting friendships. A phrase often echoes in my mind: everything happened exactly as it should!
After these three months, I am even more eager to understand the perspectives of different people involved in various stages of ecological agriculture. In the future, I hope to continue delving deeper into this field in every way I can.
Here’s to a promising future for us all!
Foodthink Author | Hezi
About the Ecological Farming Internship Programme
Unless otherwise stated, all photographs in this article were taken by the author
Editor: Tianle