How is Spring Tea Faring Amid Extreme Weather?
Foodthink Says
This spring tea season, Guizhou’s spring tea output fell noticeably due to climatic factors, while growers in Zhejiang’s Tianmu Mountain area endured a series of cold spells followed by sudden temperature spikes. The impact of spring droughts on tea cultivation is growing increasingly impossible to overlook. In 2023, the author visited the Xinyang Maojian region to document the toll drought took on local tea gardens.
Looking back to this time last year, I was based in Xinyang, Henan, planning and filming a series of short pieces on Xinyang tea for the TBB Community Architecture & Culture Season. However, successive droughts throughout winter and spring delayed the spring flush. In some gardens, seasonal workers had already climbed the hills, yet the bushes were not yet ready for picking. The growers’ anxiety was as palpable as the leaves themselves, which curled and browned in the parched soil. My own production schedule hinged on waiting for the official “start of harvest” call to cue the cameras, leaving me shoulder to shoulder with the growers in an experience of living at the mercy of the weather.
Among the three growers I documented, Zhang Chao from Deyi Tea Garden in Shihe District was the first to confidently confirm that it was time to begin harvesting.
I. In Search of a Barren Hillside
The origins of Xinyang tea can be traced back to the Eastern Zhou dynasty, when it stood as a representative of the historical ‘Huainan tea region’. Lu Yu’s *The Classic of Tea* records: ‘Among the teas of Huainan, Guangzhou ranks highest’ (referring to present-day Huangchuan County and surrounding areas in Xinyang). In 1915, Xinyang’s ‘Spring Maofeng’ won a gold medal at the Panama-Pacific International Exposition in San Francisco, propelling Xinyang tea into the ranks of China’s renowned modern tea varieties.
On 9 March 2023, I paid my first visit to Deyi Tea Garden in Dongjiahe Town, Shihe District, Xinyang.
We set off in the afternoon. My spring jacket felt somewhat too warm, and opening the window still let in a blast of hot air. Following days of clear, rainless skies, temperatures had climbed above 25°C for five consecutive days, reaching 28°C (some records note 29°C) that day – the peak for March that year.
The vehicle turned onto a narrow track leading into the hills, gradually ascending. Neatly planted tea fields covered the rolling slopes on either side, interspersed with occasional farmhouses and long, ribbon-like reservoirs.
The sat nav announced we were approaching our destination, only for the road to come to an abrupt end. After a brief, knowing glance between the driver and myself, I resignedly stepped out. Once I had found my bearings, I turned back, climbed up a leafy, tree-shaded path into the hills that I had just missed, and made my way through the entrance to the tea garden. The warm breeze gradually cooled, and a refreshing chill set in. Sensing the distinctly different microclimate of the mountain plot, I took a deep breath and exhaled, letting the heavy air of the lowlands escape.
Zhang Chao stepped out to meet me. His skin was deeply tanned, his hair cropped close to the scalp, almost bald, with the crown of his head catching a bright patch of sunlight.
I figured he must be keeping cool, and instead of exchanging pleasantries, I blurted out, “It’s absolutely blistering out here!” He chuckled, ushered me into the tea room, and invited me to have a drink and a chat. There’s nothing more refreshing and thirst-quenching than a cup of green tea at the right moment.
Spanning roughly 400 mu, with over 300 mu devoted to tea cultivation, Deyi Tea Garden occupies a relatively secluded valley. Before work began in 2013, it was little more than a barren hillside. To find this very patch of land, Zhang Chao and his early partners spent eight months searching back and forth.
A native of Xinyang, Zhang Chao had long made his home in Hainan for work. A decade ago, he made dozens of journeys between the hinterlands and the coast, driving repeatedly around the heartlands of Xinyang’s tea-growing regions. Eventually, through a fortuitous introduction by a friend, he found this fallow valley near Nanwan Lake—a landscape that had never been touched by industrial development.
At forty, Zhang Chao returned to his hometown with the aim of establishing a tea garden managed through natural farming. While working in IT in Haikou, he once ran a small family farm with friends. Inspired by A-Lang’s natural farming philosophy, he felt the call of his hometown in his forties.
As a child, his family had two galvanised steel drums made specifically to store tea. The fullness or emptiness of these tea drums became his measure of the passing years. From watching his father drink tea to becoming a parent himself, from Henan to Hainan, the taste of Xinyang Maojian always arrived with the seasons, year after year. This gradually sparked an idea: could he return home to produce Xinyang tea using natural farming? A return to nature, and a return home.
Zhang Chao sums up natural farming in one sentence: engaging in agricultural production in harmony with nature. It is also a continuation of traditional Chinese farming wisdom, built on five principles: no fertilisers, no pesticides, no weeding, continuous cropping on the same plot*, and saving one’s own seeds.
*Note: Unlike the “crop rotation” we often hear of, “continuous cropping” refers to growing the same crop on a single plot year after year. Its advantage lies in enhancing the plant’s adaptability and affinity with the soil, nurturing the soil’s microbial environment, and allowing plants to thrive long-term in a familiar growing medium. Apart from the fruit, all other plant matter—such as twigs and fallen leaves—is cycled back into the soil.
II. Sowing a Cluster of Tea Seeds
The award-winning spring Maojian tea from that year originated at the “Hongji Tea Society” on Cheyun Mountain (later renamed “Cheyun Tea Society”). Cheyun Mountain itself is one of the “Five Clouds” within the “Five Clouds, Two Pools and One Fortress” core growing region of Xinyang Maojian.
The modern origins of Cheyun Mountain’s tea varieties trace back to two distinct periods. During the Guangxu reign of the Qing Dynasty, monks from Xinglong Temple carried tea seeds back from Lu’an in Anhui to plant. In later years, the Cheyun Tea Society travelled to Anhui, Zhejiang and Hubei to procure seeds. Historical records from the late Qing and early Republican periods also show that Xinyang’s “Eight Great Tea Societies” frequently acquired seeds from neighbouring provinces and hired master tea artisans.
The so-called “Xinyang Population Variety” comprises a mix of genetic traits, making it difficult to trace back to a single pure cultivar. Yet Zhang Chao is convinced that, having survived and evolved in the Xinyang region over generations, these plants have fully acclimatised to the local climate and soil, becoming truly indigenous.
The upland tea seeds brought back from Cheyun Mountain were direct-sown using the traditional “Yangmaowo” method: a small pit was dug in the overgrown mountain woodland, the seeds were dropped in, and the growers simply waited for them to germinate naturally.
This method of sexual reproduction through seeds honours the plant’s natural lifecycle—rooting before sprouting. The tea tree’s taproot anchors deeply, conferring tolerance to poor soil and drought, and enabling it to draw moisture and nutrients from deeper layers as it matures.
Tea seeds were sown in 2013. Five years later, harvesting and processing began, and a decade has now passed. The tea gardens are lush, the trees each bearing their own distinctive form, and the leaves vary in flavour. Yet Zhang Chao simply calls it ‘nature’s blend’.
III. Local Renewal: Xinyang No. 10
The estate’s older, drought-resistant tea bushes have never received artificial watering; they rely on the elements—rainfall and soil moisture. This equipment was added for the 50 mu of newly cleared land on the back slope, dedicated exclusively to growing “Xinyang No. 10”.
Prior to the 1970s, the “Xinyang Landrace” was the dominant tea variety in the region. However, landrace tea bushes tend to be botanically mixed, irregular in appearance, and late to bud. In the mid-1970s, Xinyang began introducing sexually propagated varieties from Fujian and other provinces. From the 1990s onwards, there was a strong push to adopt superior asexual cultivars from southern China. To satisfy the market demand for Xinyang Maojian, growers heavily favoured “early-maturing” and “high-pekoe” cultivars (such as “Fuding Dabaimao” and “Baimao Zao”). Even as southern teas made their way north, Xinyang remained committed to breeding its own local varieties.
Our conversation was interrupted by a phone call: the pump installer had arrived. It was the first time Deyi Tea Garden had set up irrigation equipment. The tea bushes in the estate have never received artificial watering; they rely on the elements—rainfall and soil moisture. This equipment was added for the 50 mu of newly cleared land on the back slope, dedicated exclusively to growing “Xinyang No. 10”. Prior to the 1970s, the Xinyang Landrace was the region’s primary tea cultivar. In the mid-1970s, sexually propagated varieties began to be introduced from Fujian and other provinces, followed by a strong push in the 1990s to adopt superior asexual cultivars from the south. At the same time, modern, standardised tea garden management practices were rolled out, emphasising land utilisation and tea yield. These were supported by a system of external inputs focused on soil fertility retention, weed control, and pest and disease management. “Xinyang No. 10”, meanwhile, is a superior asexual cultivar developed by the Xinyang Tea Research Station between 1976 and 1994, selected from the Xinyang Landrace. It is described as an “excellent, high-yielding, stress-resistant, and cold-hardy green tea variety suited to tea-growing regions north of the Yangtze”[3]. For many years, it has been a commercial variety actively promoted and subsidised by the Xinyang local government.
‘Xinyang No. 10’ is a clonal tea cultivar developed by the Xinyang Tea Research Station between 1976 and 1994, selected from the traditional ‘Xinyang landrace’. It is an early-maturing, high-quality, cold-hardy variety ideally suited to green tea production, and has long been a priority for promotion and subsidies by the local government.
In response to the government’s call, De Yi Tea Garden opened a new plot in 2022 to trial-grow Xinyang No. 10, employing natural farming methods to explore its adaptability.
Unlike the native dry-field tea in the estate, which is sown directly from seed and propagated sexually, “Xinyang No. 10” is an asexual cultivar, primarily propagated through cuttings. Its superior characteristics are inherited across generations—or, more accurately, precisely “replicated”. The resulting plants produce uniform shoots and leaves with consistent internal quality, making both estate management and harvesting highly suited to standardisation and mechanisation.
In contrast to the prominent “taproot” of the sexually propagated native dry-field tea, the cuttings of asexually propagated “Xinyang No. 10” lack a distinct central root. Instead, they develop lateral roots (also known as fibrous or adventitious roots). This root system is relatively shallow, spreading efficiently across the surface but with limited downward penetration. Under conditions that rely heavily on external irrigation and fertiliser, the roots have little incentive to delve deeper, tending instead to remain superficial in the topsoil.
Owing to the cultivar’s low resilience during its seedling stage, high water requirements, and the estate’s initially limited infrastructure, compounded by the severe drought of 2022, planting was repeatedly put on hold. Against the backdrop of the naturally hardy, native dry-field tea already thriving in the fields, “Xinyang No. 10” feels rather like a pampered city child visiting their grandmother’s country home. The estate was consequently forced to “upgrade” its infrastructure to accommodate the new variety’s needs.
Once the water pump was installed, Zhang Chao dragged out a long hose to test the flow and pressure. He directed it towards a nearby tea plot, which conveniently helped cool the dry-field tea that had been enduring days of intense heat. It marked the first instance of artificial irrigation at Dayi Tea Garden in ten years.
IV. Traditional dry-hill tea withstands both drought and frost
Local farmers rely primarily on surface water. The mountain forests were originally capable of retaining water, but this natural function has been lost due to extensive tea plantation development and agricultural pollution. With surface water sources now depleted, just two consecutive months without rain leaves the wells dry. “We are right beside Nanwan Lake, yet we have no water to drink.”
To cope with the drought, larger tea enterprises can afford to build water towers and install irrigation systems. Smallholder farmers, however, bear the financial strain of purchasing water pumps to irrigate their plots. Compounding the issue, water resources are already scarce, and without resolving years of soil compaction, the soil’s absorption capacity remains severely limited. In the worst cases, walking through the tea gardens feels like walking on a concrete road. Farmers fret over withering during dry spells and erosion during heavy downpours. The adage that tea trees prefer a light, gentle drizzle is merely a testament to how tender they have been coddled by human cultivation.
The last truly severe drought was in 2019, when farmers at the foot of the mountain faced similar struggles for daily drinking water.
Local farmers depend mainly on surface water. Although the mountain forests were once capable of conserving water, this natural reservoir function has been eroded by widespread tea plantation expansion and agricultural runoff. Surface water is now scarce; two months without rain leaves the wells bone dry. “We guard the shores of Nanwan Lake, yet find ourselves without a drop to drink.”
Driven by the drought, many conventional tea farmers have taken on financial strain to buy water pumps and irrigate their fields. Yet without addressing chronic soil compaction, the earth simply cannot absorb much. Walking through the plantations often feels like stepping on compacted concrete.
As climate change becomes increasingly apparent, dry spells risk scorching the tea bushes while torrential rains wash away the topsoil. The notion that tea trees only thrive under a light, steady drizzle is simply a reflection of how fragile they have been made by intensive cultivation.
Zhang Chao, however, views the recent droughts as both a trial and a valuable observational window for the De Yi Tea Garden. The mountain’s internal geological structure, normally invisible to the naked eye, is revealed through the way the tea plants respond to the dry conditions.
Some of the drought-tolerant tea bushes within the estate show signs of stress, likely because the soil layer is too thin over bedrock, preventing the roots from penetrating deeply. A neighbouring cluster, by contrast, remains vigorous, indicating a sufficiently deep soil profile resting on weathered rock. Recent road maintenance works in the area, where an excavator cut into the hillside, confirmed his hypothesis. He was particularly thrilled to discover tea taproots measuring between 1.5 and 1.6 metres in length.
As for this mountain’s native old drought-tolerant tea, it has undergone generations of domestication and adaptation. Cold hardiness is a survival imperative, woven into its very DNA. By contrast, southern tea cultivars introduced further north still face varying degrees of frost damage each year.
● A small section at the plantation’s edge once grew under conventional methods; Zhang Chao deliberately left it untouched. Side by side, the contrast in planting density between the ecological and conventional approaches is stark. Under ecological management, each tea tree is afforded greater access to resources.
Although the climate is warming overall, violent temperature swings, increasingly concentrated rainfall, and frequent extreme weather events pose unavoidable risks of reduced yields and trigger a cascade of secondary disasters.
Against the combined blows of climate change, the marginal advantage of an earlier harvest is hardly worth celebrating.
Those rolling tea hills may not be as idyllic as they seem; they could well be little more than verdant sand dunes. Stripped of healthy soil structure and native biodiversity, and heavily reliant on external fossil fuels, such plantations resemble patients kept alive by medication and life-support machines—their natural resilience and capacity for recovery long since depleted.
Zhang Chao, however, feels none of that apprehension. Firstly, mindful of the plantation’s ecological carrying capacity and committed to minimising waste, he has relied on local pickers for years. Secondly, the resilient microclimate nurtured through years of natural farming has shielded his tea bushes from the worst of the drought; bud emergence remains strong, and the harvest is just around the corner.
V. Spring Tea Harvest Begins; Wild Greens Are at Their Freshest
The tea bushes are in excellent condition, but one’s attention is more easily drawn to the surrounding flora. Zhang Chao points out each familiar plant along the path: honeysuckle here, wild grapevines there. The Chinese wild cherry blossoms have already faded, while apricot and peach flowers are just about to peak. After the next rain, the ‘baby fists’ (fiddleheads) in the tea plots will all poke through the soil.
There are countless unnamed trees and shrubs. Some wild fruit trees in the hills have been regrafted, yielding more produce each year than anyone could eat. Along with a few small patches of personal garden land, vegetables and fruit are more than enough to sustain them. A dense, slightly crooked stand of Eucommia trees also remains, a living memory of the old collective farming era when people worked to “collect work points”.
Down in the lower part of the grove lie a few acres of rice paddies. They were indeed used for rice cultivation for a few years, but after the elderly farmer retired and no one took over, they were left filled with water and temporarily fallow. Idle though they may be, they are hardly quiet: whether paddy or pond, these waters act as local wetlands, helping to shape the area’s microclimate. Remarkably, shade-loving azaleas have even managed to bloom in a small cluster on the sunlit tea slope right beside them.
Heading up the mountain with a hoe is all about digging for bamboo shoots. The bamboo thickets in the hills are left largely untouched. “If we can avoid disturbing them, we leave them be.” Still, some shoots inevitably creep into the tea plots. Left alone, they’d stunt the tea bushes. So, “we keep them in check by eating them!”
A single walk through the hills covers the day’s provisions. The bamboo shoots, fish mint, tender fiddleheads, wild root greens, and Chinese toon shoots that make up lunch are all gifts from the forest.
On 29 March, the garden officially opened for picking, just one day later than last year. By 5 a.m., while dawn was still breaking, tea pickers were already making their way up the mountain on electric scooters. The two-month spring tea season was underway.
Zhang Chao also entered his busiest period of the year. Mornings are spent patrolling the slopes, midday for grading the fresh pick, and afternoons for pan-firing and overseeing production. This routine cycles for two months. On some days he sleeps just four hours, but he considers it the time of year when his mind is sharpest.
Once the tea season ends, a relentless schedule of hosting visitors, research trips, and exchange programmes takes over. After another two months pass, the exhaustion truly sets in. “Working with nature is actually the easiest part,” he says.
Zhang Chao reflects that through years of practising natural farming, he has come to understand not just nature, but society too. An “ecological chain” is inherently interlinked, co-evolving in tandem; a shift in one link can ripple through, disrupting or even transforming the entire system.
We settled back at the tea table, tracing four seasons in a single cup, sipping a decade of the mountain’s story, and discussing how a “tiny tea bud” can stir the waters of the “vast tea industry”. But that is a tale for another day; we’ll continue it in the next instalment.
[2] Xinyang Historical and Cultural Series: Tea Volume
[3] Journal of Tea 1994, 20(3): 8–11. Huang Daopei, Lü Lizhe, Wei Hui (Xinyang Regional Tea Experiment Station, Henan Province, 464100). Research Report on the Breeding of the New Tea Cultivar Xinyang No. 10
[4] Analysis of Changes in Xinyang’s Climatic Resources and Their Impact on the Yield of Xinyang Maojian Tea, Lu Yiyan, Xinyang City Tea Meteorology Key Laboratory, Xinyang Meteorological Bureau, Xinyang, Henan 464000, China Tea, January 2024, Vol. 46, No. 1
[5] Characteristics of Disastrous Climate Affecting Tea Production in Shihe District, Xinyang City, and Countermeasures, Wang Qingzhi, Zhai Shumei, Kong Qian, China Agricultural Technology Extension 2020, Vol. 36. No. 1
Acknowledgements
De Yi Tea Garden, Zhang Chao
Working Group, First TBB Community Architecture & Culture Festival
Zhao Min, Wang Hao, Yan Fangfang, Li Guanqi
Aerial Photography
Xiaoshu, Zhang Xin
Unless otherwise noted, all other images are by the author
Editor: Zeyn