Meeting Happiness Fruit at the Hundred-Herb Garden | Two Years After My Agriculture Degree, I Decided to Return to the Farm and Start Over

I. A Fateful Meeting with the Hundred-Herb Garden: A New “Peach Blossom Spring”

And then there is me – twenty-four years old, from Chongzuo, over 300 kilometres away. I studied agriculture at university. After graduating, I returned home to a job at a sugar company, publicising agricultural policies and planting techniques. But while heading out into the countryside to learn about cane farmers’ growing methods, I found that local farmers were using chemical fertilisers and pesticides heavily, and taking no protective measures when spraying.

It became clear from deeper conversations that some of them did not actually want to use so much fertiliser, pesticide or herbicide – after all, it all comes at a cost, and prices for agricultural inputs keep rising while usage keeps climbing.

But cane prices paid to farmers are low. To guarantee their yields, they have no choice but to rely on fertilisers and pesticides; there seems to be no other way.

Since encountering ecological agriculture, I have kept wondering: if we improve soil vitality and fertility, and strengthen the resilience of crops, perhaps we can reduce fertiliser use and lower the incidence of pests and diseases.

I once came across an online account of an apple farmer who planted a particular grass beneath his fruit trees, luring certain insects down from the apple canopy to feed on it and thereby reducing the pest population on the trees.

Back then, all I saw day after day were carbendazim, benzjapizuozhī and other chemical controls. To see biological control – a method born of purely human civilisational wisdom – being put into actual practice for the first time left me utterly astounded!

I thought: perhaps ecological agriculture really is another path one can take! So I often ponder the connections between ecological agriculture and crop yields, soil, the countryside, and the point at which they balance one another.

Just as this was turning over in my mind, Foodthink announced its Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme at the start of the year. After applying, interviewing, and mutual selection with the farm, I and another intern nicknamed “Dawang” came to Sister Yan Ping’s Happiness Fruit Hundred-Herb Garden. During our stay, a third intern, Liu Heng, who was cycling from Zhuhai to Chengdu on his own internship journey, joined us and shared life on the farm for just under half a month before setting off again.

In terms of location, Happiness Fruit Hundred-Herb Garden is a patch of land a few dozen mu in size on the hillside of Xishan Gorge, Wule Town, Gangbei District, Guigang City, Guangxi Zhuang Autonomous Region.

In Xishan Gorge, local villagers dig wells for drinking water, grow rice, maize and peanuts on the flat ground, and also plant fruit trees such as lychee, loquat and longan. But most of the hillside land already planted with fruit trees has been leased to outsiders like Sister Yan Ping.

Before we arrived, Sister Yan Ping mostly lived alone in a small wooden cabin she had built beside the orchard. The person she saw most often was a farmhand who lived at the foot of the hill – we all followed Sister Yan Ping in calling her Da Sao. Though we called her “Da Sao”, to us young folk she was more like a warm, lovable little mischief-maker. Sister Yan Ping and Da Sao had weathered many things together; they were close as family, and we often ran off to Da Sao’s home to chat and hang out.

Happiness Fruit Hundred-Herb Garden often gives me the feeling of a hidden paradise – unreal, as though far removed from everyday life, and yet I am very much living within it. There are no complicated social hierarchies here; the pressure to make a living seems to have vanished, or perhaps merely shifted.

Here, the handful of interns of differing ages and backgrounds work side by side with Sister Yan Ping and Da Sao. We do not talk only of ecology or planting philosophy – we talk of life, of emotion, of human nature. If anything, it feels less like studying ecological agriculture and more like a practice of self-cultivation: finding remedies in simplicity, or perhaps a path to letting go.

II. Labour: Planting Beans Beneath the Southern Hill – Weeds Flourish, Bean Sprouts Sparse

Let me start, then, with the actual work of the internship. Simply put, it boils down to four things: picking fruit, shipping, mowing and planting. The most common fruit tree in the Hundred-Herb Garden is the Wogan. Of the fifty mu of hillside land, forty are planted with roughly 2,600 Wogan trees; the rest are Emperor mandarins.

Over the three months of my internship, the Wogans went from heavy on every branch to utterly gone from every tree. The days when I could pluck a fresh, sweet Wogan from any nearby branch gave way to mowing beneath the trees, scanning the undergrowth in the hope of spotting a stray fruit or two. In a sense, the two of us interns lived through a complete Wogan harvest.

I love picking fruit. The joy and fulfilment of harvesting is something few things can match – so much so that I often find myself thinking: plant a seed, wait as it slowly grows, ripens, and is finally gathered in – what an incomparably satisfying thing it is.

Sister Yan Ping once wrote a passage that has been widely shared in the ecological smallholder community:

I have a vision of happiness:

that we may all eat

and find it within easy reach –

safe, wholesome food, brimming with life.

That we may plant and tend

with ease and joy,

cultivating crops that sustain us, ever-enduring.

A humble patch of land, enough to feed a family for generations.

But knowing the theory is hard; the doing turns out to be easy.

In late March, the three of us interns planted some flowers together, even going to the trouble of digging proper holes. But by June, not a single flower had appeared – though Bidens blossoms were everywhere.

After the flowers, we planted the groundnuts Dawang had brought, along with some local waxy maize. Through digging holes, adding compost, sowing, covering with soil and cut-and-cover mulching, we managed to get the groundnuts and maize growing – just not very well!

In mid-April, we planted rice beans, groundnuts, sorghum… The method was so simple it was practically “extensive farming”: just toss the seeds between the two rows of Wogan trees, then run the mower over the grass and lay it directly on top – the weeds were quite tall by then. Some of the sorghum had proper holes dug and grew well; the rice beans I tossed in were passable too – at least they came up.

These blind-box attempts at planting made me think inevitably of Tao Yuanming’s two lines: “I plant beans beneath the southern hill – weeds flourish, bean shoots sparse.” Bidens is an aggressive species with strong allelopathic effects, and other plants are reduced to squeezing out an existence in the gaps.

It became clear that this approach would likely yield nothing, and Sister Yan Ping’s vision of feeding her family seemed out of reach. When it came to cassava, she devised a new method: first, cut the grass with the mower until the soil is visible; then dig a hole and pour compost into it (Da Sao usually judges the amount by experience); place one or two sections of cassava cutting, cover with a layer of soil, then lay the cut grass back over the top – and that’s a cassava planted! Overall, the cassava sprouting rate turned out to be moderate.

It sounds like a lot of steps, but it’s not that complicated in practice – and many hands make light work! After the cassava planting, Kunshan Yuefeng Island Farm sent over several varieties of heirloom bean seed, and a friend of Sister Yan Ping’s sent maize and melon seeds, so we set about sowing those too.

We used hoes to dig a planting furrow, added fertiliser, scattered seed, covered with soil, mulched – done! When we finished, I had several new blisters on my hands. A few days later, tiny shoots appeared one by one – thankfully, this time the effort had paid off.

III. Life: I Shall Ascend to the Highest Peak – One Glance Makes All Mountains Small

Beyond work, life in the countryside holds equal measure of joy and sorrow. Over the three months, I often climbed to the highest point on the farm. The hills of my hometown, Chongzuo, are not tall, but sheer and precipitous, hard to scramble up; the slopes around Guigang are gentler, blanketed in soft earth, so much easier to walk up and watch the sun sink into the horizon. I could not help but echo the old line: I shall ascend to the highest peak – one glance makes all mountains small.

Here I watched the stars in the night, the sunset at dusk, the glow of afterglow stretching across the sky after the sun had gone. I sat by the railing of the little cabin, letting the evening breeze wash over me, and watched the moon rise from the southeast. I have always believed that once you have watched the sunset in a place, you have truly earned the right to feel you belong there.

But the most beautiful sight of all was the sunrise each morning, lifting from the east of the cabin. Sunlight falls equally upon every living thing: plants harness it for photosynthesis and transpiration, animals follow its light to move, to work, to gather food. Sunlight drives the whole cycle of life!

But do not underestimate the Guangxi summer sun – it is perfectly normal to come back from a day’s work outdoors several shades darker. At the Hundred-Herb Garden, I did not only gain practical farming skills; I also gained a whole calf’s worth of mosquito bites and their stubborn marks.

Speaking of the biggest challenge of daily life here, fleas are impossible to avoid. When I arrived it was still cold, so the fleas were not very active. I slept in long trousers and a long-sleeved top, and barely noticed. Then the temperatures rose, and for several nights I was bitten so badly I could not sleep, spending the whole night scratching. My sleep quality went right down the drain. When I showered in the evening, I saw a ring of red, swollen welts around my stomach – fleabites – and more on my arms and thighs. I began to waver. I asked myself: must I really endure this?

And yet, in an unexpected turn, just before I had decided whether to quit, Sister Yan Ping – hearing Dawang and me complain – proposed: why not switch rooms? Dawang was uneasy about the downstairs room, which had no proper doors or windows and felt a little unsafe; I, on the other hand, had had more than enough of the fleas, so I agreed to move to the room downstairs.

Once away from the attic, the flea problem was solved. The ground floor has plenty of mosquitoes, though, but fortunately they only leave small red bumps – no pain, no itch, nothing I cannot live with.

IV. Let’s Go – Off to the Market to Sell Our Vegetables!

Now, let me tell you about the farmers’ market! In the Two Guangs – Guangdong and Guangxi – the local word for a market is xūshì, and going to market is called gǎnxū (also written 圩, xū). In late March, we and Sister Yan Ping took part in the Nanning Urban Farmers’ Market.

The market runs for two days over the weekend, and on the third morning there is an annual general meeting. As a spectator, I sat in on discussions between stallholders and volunteers about the market itself.

My first impression of the Nanning market was how quiet it felt. The temperature in March was still low, the stall positions were right in a draught, and there were few stalls – come to think of it, there did not seem to be more than ten, and you could walk the whole thing in a few minutes. The most interesting and rich offering came from the ecological team from Nandan, who do living conservation of heirloom seeds and tie-dyeing, and who also sell earrings, hair ties and other handmade goods, along with their own home-brewed drinks.

The second day had better weather. There was a faint glow of sunlight in the morning, the temperature rose, and quite a few grandparent-and-grandchild pairs from the nearby housing estate came out for a stroll. For those half an hour or so, footfall picked up – it was the busiest stretch I saw across the two days.

The market has a communal canteen. Stallholders bring their own produce – fish, river snails, pork, tofu skin, greens – and cook it up into a shared lunch or dinner. The cooking is impressive; everyone who has eaten there praises it.

The market is committed to sustainability: no disposable bowls or chopsticks are provided, so everyone must bring their own. During meals, with no extra tables, my companions and I all had to hold our bowls – sitting or standing – until every plate was clean. Over meals, the bonds between people seemed to deepen, growing warmer and closer, and as someone eating in the market canteen for the very first time, I felt an unexpected ease.

Both evenings at the market brought a fine drizzle, and everyone sheltered inside their stall tents. But somehow the light rain drew people closer together. The temperature was not high, so people set up little portable stoves and roasted potatoes, Wogans, bread, and sweet potatoes.

More than the warm, tasty food, what mattered was everyone gathered around the stoves, chatting about how things were going, about ideas, about ecology. As a newcomer, I felt the genuine sincerity among ecological growers in a way that stayed with me. It was also the fastest way to absorb information: in just two days, I got a rough picture of the growers, produce, and diverse ecological farming models within Guangxi’s ecological community.

The only downer: by the time we packed up at night, the rain had grown heavier, and we all ended up soaked to the bone!

Later, we also took part in the Hecheng Farmers’ Market in Guigang, right on our doorstep (Guigang’s alternative name is Hecheng).

The Hecheng Farmers’ Market first opened on 1 April 2023, running over a weekend as usual. On opening day, every stall was taken, and the Guigang television station even came to do an interview. The market is spearheaded by Chairman Huang of the local agricultural association, and Sister Yan Ping also plays a pivotal role. Whenever she is at the farm, she signs up to take part in every market day.

A clear feature of the Guigang Hecheng Farmers’ Market is that it runs every single weekend, and the produce is not limited to ecological products – local speciality agricultural goods are on offer too. Compared with the Nanning market, both the products and the growers are more diverse.

Setting aside the question of whether something counts as “ecological”, I think every grower working the land first-hand has it tough. Most face a struggle just to make ends meet, and exploitation happens at every stage of the chain. As a platform, the Hecheng Farmers’ Market can help broaden their sales channels.

But the problems are just as obvious: holding a market so frequently, many stallholders’ participation has gradually declined; footfall is low. Of course, Chairman Huang and the key stallholders can all see these issues. Fortunately, everyone is actively communicating and finding ways to address them. So let us stretch the timeline and look forward to how the Hecheng Farmers’ Market develops!

V. Eating at Xishan Gorge

Let’s talk a little more about food! At Da Sao’s home, we briefly achieved loquat-and-lychee freedom. The loquats were riddled with tiny white worms, and Da Sao’s loquat tree attracted all manner of birds and insects too – perhaps because the fruit was simply too delicious, we had to compete with all sorts of creatures for every last one.

Not far from that popular tree stood another loquat that had grown beautifully, with fruit that was lovely to look at and evenly coloured, largely undisturbed by insects and birds. But these loquats were watery, bland, and unpleasant to eat. Two loquat trees growing in the very same patch of ground, yet the difference in variety produced entirely different outcomes.

While the lychees were still on the cusp of ripening, Da Sao invited us over to pick from her tree. It never seemed to bear much, and every time we picked, we were sure that must have been the last of it – but somehow, it weathered picking after picking. Lychee is a peculiar fruit: eat too few and you develop internal heat; eat plenty, and somehow you feel perfectly fine.

For most of our time there, we grew weary of foraging spider flower, Bidens and broom grass from the hilltop. So when it was my turn to cook, I would turn to Da Sao for help, asking her to send over some of the greens she herself had grown tired of. That way, we could have water spinach or Chinese chives on the table.

The Hundred-Herb Garden grew its own Chinese chives (not very many) and water spinach (just planted – still too young to pick), along with sweet potato leaves (a little tough, but edible). Yet spider flower remained the green we ate most. I had a feeling that if we carried on eating them much longer, the cold energy building in our bodies would be beyond anything.

VI. Learning: What Exactly Is Ecological Agriculture?

During this brief internship I learned a great deal more about the practical details of ecological agriculture, but I also gained some fresh uncertainties. The first is “going with nature.”

Sister Yan Ping often says: we do not need to carry out extra interventions – sometimes doing something actually makes things worse. If you are not sure whether a given action benefits the fruit trees, then don’t do it! Under this approach, the practical workability of ecological farming does improve.

My understanding of it centres on “the right crop for the right plot”: that is, growing the right crop under the right climate and on the right land. But everything that follows – the day-to-day field management – differs from one grower to the next, from one farm to another. At the Hundred-Herb Garden, all you do is plant, apply some compost, lay down a good vegetative cover, and water during dry spells – no more meddling with the plants’ growth than that. Yet I also worry: could this approach leave us with nothing at all to harvest?

Sister Yan Ping also likes to say, “The body attracts what it needs.” The way I read it, taking fruit trees as an example, is this: whatever nutrient a tree requires, it sends out some kind of signal that draws in the plants or animals capable of supplying it, and so the tree restores its own balance. It makes sense as a concept – but how do we know for certain that what has been attracted is what was actually needed?

And then there are the fleas. What could my body possibly need to receive from fleas? Am I meant to suffer through their bites, gritting my teeth, just because they are what I need? A person can at least walk away. But if a fruit tree attracts an animal that causes it distress, it cannot run – all it can do is secrete some substance, after the bites and pecks have already landed, that tells the attacker to stop. How pitiful! This, too, is something I cannot quite reconcile.

The second principle is to increase biodiversity, strengthening the ability to withstand threats from pests and disease.

With large-scale monoculture, the slightest disturbance or outbreak of pests and disease spells total devastation – a complete wipeout, every penny lost. We often say that ecological agriculture has resilience, and I believe that is inseparable from cultivating biodiversity – when the various organisms within a system reach a dynamic equilibrium, large-scale disasters become virtually impossible, short of a natural catastrophe.

The third is to maintain vegetative cover.

The most common plants in the Hundred-Herb Garden are Bidens, cogon grass, and huotanmu (Persicaria chinensis) – so aggressive that they can wrap themselves around an entire Wogan tree, reducing the canopy’s leaf area for photosynthesis to almost nothing, which shows just how severe the competitive exclusion can be between different species. Many ecological growers rightly emphasise the importance of leaving the grasses in place – and indeed, a vegetative cover on the soil anchors it and retains moisture – but to keep crops growing properly, one must get the “right measure” of vegetative cover.

The fourth is to do without chemical fertilisers, pesticides, and herbicides.

With chemical fertilisers, the “right dose” is so hard to gauge that conventional farming almost always applies more than crops can absorb. When the rain comes, the excess is washed into waterways, causing eutrophication; the organisms in the soil find themselves displaced from their habitat with no role left to play, and the soil compacts.

Pesticides and herbicides contaminate the soil; sustained damage can drive some species to extinction, and the chemical residues in these products build up in the human body over time. Little by little, as we age and our resistance declines, these accumulations may trigger various ailments.

We can never guarantee precise, controlled dosages when applying pesticides, fertilisers, and herbicides, so choosing biological control or physical pest control over chemical pest control is kinder to the environment and friendlier to people.

VII. Journey: New Skills Unlocked – Hitting the Road Again

Sister Yan Ping, the only female farm owner among the mentors on this internship programme, possesses qualities I deeply admire: courage, persistence, an easy grace, a clear sense of her own mind, and a wealth of ideas. Over the weeks we shared, I – a university graduate in agriculture – picked up no small amount of practical knowledge, and learned life and work skills I had never before tried: broadcast-transplanting rice seedlings, composting, picking fruit, going to market day, setting up an online shop, printing delivery slips, cooking over a wood fire, and stir-frying – not to mention meeting so many growers in Guangxi who are doing ecological agriculture… A journey well worth making.

As the internship drew to a close, I felt immensely fortunate to have taken part in Foodthink’s Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme, to have come to Happiness Fruit Hundred-Herb Garden to learn, and to have taken this first step into ecological agriculture.

During the internship, we also visited several ecological farms across Guangxi and Guangdong, and found that growing and management practices varied enormously from farm to farm. That speaks to the diversity of ecological agriculture as a practice in its own right, and it has made me all the more curious about it.

Along the way I met many inspiring senior figures in ecological farming – gaining not only knowledge but friendship too! A line keeps echoing in my mind: Everything is unfolding exactly as it should!

After these three months, I find myself eager to understand how people in different roles across every link of the ecological agriculture chain view this work. In the years ahead, I hope to keep digging deeper into this field in whatever form that takes!

Wishing you and me a future full of promise!

Foodthink author | Hezi

Bachelor’s degree in Agricultural Resources and Environment. Studying agriculture, fascinated by agriculture! Hoping one day to bridge theory and practice.

About the Ecological Farm Internship Programme

Unless otherwise noted, all images in this article were taken by the author.

Editor: Tianle