If No One Keeps Growing Them, They Will Vanish Forever
Foodthink says
*Disappearing Food* is a book that explores the global crisis of food diversity, serving as a vital call to action for the conservation of local germplasm resources and the preservation of cultural heritage.
On 9 July, Foodthink and Beiye Books jointly launched the *Disappearing Food* online reading group series, which centred on the theme of protecting food diversity and local varieties. Liu Yurong, a fellow farmer from Wangjinzhuang in Shexian County, Hebei Province, shared stories of traditional legume conservation and seed-saving practices in the village, emphasising the bond between people and their food and the importance of safeguarding local varieties. The discussion also touched on seed banks, local culture, and dietary habits.
Many thanks to the Panpaper Book Club for compiling the transcript. Follow Foodthink’s Video Account to watch the full replay of the reading group.
The ‘Ark of Taste’ Programme and the Slow Food Movement
The ‘Ark of Taste’ (Ark of Taste in English) is an independent initiative launched by the Slow Food website. On the site, entries can be filtered by country or by crop type. It currently lists 6,592 endangered crop varieties.
The ‘Ark of Taste’ traces its origins to the mid-1990s, emerging from the Slow Food movement founded by Italian journalist Carlo Petrini. A defining characteristic of the movement is its aim to combat the growing industrialisation and homogenisation of our food systems. In this sense, the term ‘slow food’ perfectly captures their philosophy: the food we eat should not merely be fast food, nor should it consist of white-feathered broiler chickens rushed to maturity in just over thirty days. Instead, we should turn our attention to the local cultural heritage of our plants.
In 2017, Foodthink travelled to Chengdu to cover a Slow Food conference held in China. Dan Saladino, author of *Disappearing Food*, also arrived in China with the movement that same year. The account of Chinese farmer Sun Wenxiang featured in the book stems directly from Saladino’s visit to Chengdu to interview him during that trip.
The most crucial step in protecting these endangered crops is documentation—identifying which crops are currently at risk. *Disappearing Food* highlights two such lists:
The first is the ‘Ark of Taste’, a list focused entirely on food and crops.
The second is the ‘IUCN Red List of Threatened Species’, formally known as the International Union for Conservation of Nature Red List. I recall that in the section on fisheries, the book discusses numerous wild species such as large catfish and crucian carp. You will find frequent references to the IUCN Red List, which documents endangered fish and marine animal populations.
This creates a stark contrast with Slow Food’s Ark of Taste programme: while the IUCN primarily documents wild animals, Slow Food approaches the issue entirely from the perspective of vanishing food diversity, recording endangered crops instead.
Starting with ‘Plant Blindness’
This reminds me of an article I recently read on WeChat Moments titled “Why Do We Always Overlook Plants?”. Based on a recent academic paper exploring common issues in plant science education, the article translates the concept of “plant blindness” for a general audience.
The article introduces a fascinating term: “plant blindness”. It gives an example stating that in the UK, an eight-year-old child can identify numerous types of pets but cannot name the common flowers and plants in their own garden. Furthermore, 41% of UK high school students can only recognise a single type of wildflower.
This phenomenon is not just a matter of public awareness; it is also reflected in conservation mechanisms. For instance, when the US Lacey Act was drafted in 1900, it protected only birds. It took 108 years before plants were included under its protection, and the funding allocated for plant conservation remains pitifully small.
If our concern for wild plants falls far short of our concern for wild animals, then our attention to the food we eat daily likely falls far short even of that. The crops we consume once boasted a rich variety of different cultivars, yet we know very little about them. In reality, much of this food diversity has already vanished.
Differing Logics in Animal and Crop Conservation
Animals and crops differ fundamentally in both the process of their decline and the methods used to protect them.
If you look at the chapter on wild sturgeon, you will find that the disappearance of many fish stocks is largely due to overfishing. Traditional fishing gear once yielded relatively little, but with the advent of destructive modern industrial fishing methods, some fish populations suffered precipitous declines. The book’s original English title is *Eating to Extinction*—literally translated, it means “eating these species to extinction.”
Yet when discussing agricultural biodiversity, there is a saying in the field: “If you want to save me, eat me.” This aptly describes the situation of many niche, endangered plants and crops featured in the book. If you do not eat them and weave them into local traditional food cultures, nobody may be left willing to cultivate them, and they could disappear from the Earth forever.
Vavilov and the Centre of Origin Theory for Crops
Let us now look at some concrete examples.
The book frequently mentions a Russian botanist and geneticist named Nikolai Vavilov. Vavilov recognised early on that cultivated crop varieties were disappearing. With remarkable foresight, he spent 25 years travelling across the globe, conducted over 180 expeditions, collected more than 150,000 seed samples, and established the world’s first seed bank in Russia.
Vavilov’s other major achievement was proposing the theory of “centres of crop origin”. When we interviewed Salardino, he also mentioned something that thrilled him greatly: one of the most pivotal stories in human history—how, over ten thousand years ago, we domesticated wild plants, shifting from a hunter-gatherer lifestyle to sustaining ourselves through crop cultivation.
This theory essentially explains that crops such as wheat, maize, and rice were first domesticated by local populations in specific regions before spreading from those places to the rest of the world. When he introduced this concept in 1935, he identified eight major centres of crop origin. East Asia is one of the most significant. Rice and millet (which encompasses several varieties, such as broomcorn millet and foxtail millet) both originated in northern China. Soybeans are another crucial crop that also traces its origins to China.
Ex situ conservation: seed banks worldwide
What is “ex situ conservation”? This conservation approach involves collecting crop samples and storing them securely in seed banks. In our field, it is referred to as ex situ conservation.
The book highlights several crucial seed banks:
The Vavilov Seed Bank: The seed samples collected by Vavilov over a century ago are now housed at the Vavilov Institute in Saint Petersburg, Russia.
The Millennium Seed Bank at Kew in the UK: Located in Sussex in southern England, it is one of the world’s largest seed banks, housing tens of millions of seed samples.
The Svalbard Seed Vault: Situated on the Svalbard archipelago in Norway, it is also known as the “Doomsday Seed Vault”.
China National Crop Germplasm Resources Bank: Located at the Chinese Academy of Agricultural Sciences in Beijing.
These vital seed banks store vast quantities of seed samples collected from across the globe. Their function is to serve as backup resources for crops; should certain varieties disappear from cultivation, we can apply to these official seed banks to retrieve the seeds and restore the relevant crops.
For instance, the book mentions farmers in Germany’s Swabian Jura who were keen to revive local broad bean cultivation. They sought out the relevant seeds at the Vavilov Institute in Russia and ultimately succeeded in reintroducing the crop to the region.
In the chapter on sweets, the book discusses a local Syrian delicacy called sweet cheese rolls, which relies on a specific indigenous wheat variety. Following years of conflict in Syria that destroyed local seed banks, they retrieved the variety from the Svalbard Seed Vault in Norway, enabling production to resume.
What does a seed bank look like inside? During our visit to Europe last year, we toured numerous local institutions and research institutes dedicated to seed conservation. This image shows the compact seed bank of VERN, a German seed conservation organisation, which houses several thousand varieties. Upon entering, you are met with an array of bottles and jars.
The most immediate impression is how cold it is, as seeds require low-temperature storage. At VERN, the seed vault is kept at roughly fridge-chill temperatures. In Norway, or at other major seed banks, however, temperatures can plummet to minus 98 degrees Celsius, or even drop below minus 200. At that stage, conventional cooling isn’t enough; liquid nitrogen must be used to preserve certain seed samples, effectively bringing their metabolic processes to a near standstill.
In situ conservation: dynamic and participatory stewardship
One aspect of the book I found particularly valuable is that, alongside ex situ conservation, it presents numerous examples of “in situ” practices.
Ex situ conservation is actually quite straightforward: seeds are gathered from their native habitats or seed farms and transferred to cold storage. It is essentially a static form of preservation. This work is typically carried out by public breeding programmes, or even private seed companies.
In situ conservation works like this: take a traditional local variety that villagers have been cultivating for generations. If I choose not to grow it this year, my neighbour might. Through this practice, the variety is passed down locally, year after year. At the same time, the crop remains in constant dialogue with its surrounding natural environment and farming ecosystems.
A further characteristic of in situ conservation is that it safeguards evolutionary and ecological processes. Unlike the static nature of seed banks, this approach is dynamic and participatory, relying on the active engagement of farmers and local communities rather than leaving it solely to scientists and public research bodies.
I recently attended a regional networking event in Hefei, Anhui, hosted by our partner organisation, the Farmers’ Seed Network. The programme included a seed exchange, which serves as an excellent example of in situ conservation. In neighbouring regions with similar climates and growing conditions, such as Anhui and Zhejiang, we can swap varieties. In this way, seeds are safeguarded not just on my own farm, but also across neighbouring provinces.
Why are farmers willing to safeguard endangered varieties?
An interesting passage appears on page 324 of chapter seven. Although Saladino highlights the importance of formal seed banks throughout the book, he also recognises that static conservation is inherently incomplete. He argues that diversity must be preserved across the globe. Take certain cheese varieties, for example: they are far more than just food. Their production helps sustain a way of life and upholds a unique ecosystem.
The book highlights numerous examples of endangered crops being safeguarded spontaneously by frontline farmers, chefs, and artisans specialising in cheese or dried fish. I have attempted to summarise why these individuals, often working with very limited resources, remain committed to preserving these vulnerable varieties:
1. Taste and culinary culture. The most immediate motivation is simply flavour. Take Danyue, for instance, an ecological smallholder from Xiangshan in Zhejiang province. He cultivates a traditional landrace of Chinese leek on his farm. When asked why he saves his own seeds for these leeks, his answer is straightforward: commercial breeding companies have no interest in developing the variety. You are unlikely to find the seeds on the open market simply because they are not a commercial priority. Yet, because locals genuinely enjoy eating them, the variety naturally persists through community practice.
2. Climate resilience. As the result of millennia of in situ conservation, these traditional varieties have continuously adapted to and interacted with their local ecosystems, granting them greater resilience to climatic shifts and extreme weather. Consider the Turkish Khorasan wheat mentioned earlier: its exceptionally hard husk provides a natural defence against fusarium head blight and wheat rust.
3. Cultural identity and heritage. Certain varieties are deeply intertwined with local cultural identity and tradition. Examples include Syrian sweet cheese rolls and the ‘Kyich red cowpea’ mentioned in the book’s vegetables chapter. This particular bean was first brought to the Americas during the transatlantic slave trade by enslaved Africans. Over the past few decades, their descendants—members of African diaspora communities—have actively worked to save this nearly lost variety from extinction.
The book also highlights numerous other guardians of these varieties, including restaurants and chefs. There is a restaurant in the Faroe Islands, for example, that specialises in traditional Faroese fermented foods, thereby safeguarding a range of local fermentation practices. We also see Irish artisans dedicated to smoking salmon, and a master in Japan who preserves traditional mackerel fermentation techniques—he is reportedly the only practitioner left in the entire country still using this ancestral method.
A cheese shop in London currently maintains an extensive collection of regional cheese varieties. During our conversation, Saladino noted that the UK witnessed a significant revival of traditional cheeses during the 1970s. Numerous farmhouse varieties have been resurrected since then, bringing the total count to over a thousand today.
The Eastern Seed Network exchange I attended recently drew a large crowd, comprising not just farmers but also friends from varied backgrounds, including botanical gardens. All share a passion for seeds. The network provides a space for members to swap seeds and exchange techniques and personal insights on breeding and seed preservation.
It is clear that factors such as nutritional value, food security, and adaptability to local climates play a vital role in driving the conservation of agricultural and food biodiversity. That brings us to the end of my overview of the book. I am now delighted to welcome Liu Yurong, a fellow farmer I have known for many years, who works in Wangjin Village, Shexian County, Hebei.
For further reading on Wangjin Village, you can search for “Grow a Hundred Crops, Rely Not on the Weather” on Foodthink’s official WeChat account. The article focuses on the conservation of traditional crop varieties in the village and how this practice fosters local climate resilience.
Liu Yurong: Good day, everyone joining online. Today, I will be speaking on the in-situ conservation of crop biodiversity in Wangjin Village. To begin, I’d like to give a brief overview of the village’s location and natural environment. The following two images capture the scenery in Wangjin Village during spring and summer.
Wang Jin Zhuang lies within She County, Handan City, Hebei Province, on the eastern foothills of the Taihang Mountains where the borders of Henan, Hebei, and Shanxi provinces meet. Owing to the exceptional regularity and grand scale of its dryland terraces, the village forms the core protected zone of the She County dryland terrace system.
To the west of the village stands the Huanglong Temple, whose stone stele records that Wang Jin Zhuang was founded in 1230 during the Yuan dynasty – making it over 790 years old. Today, it operates as a substantial natural village encompassing five administrative communities. With a total resident population of over 4,600 and a permanent population of roughly 3,000, it remains a thriving and vibrant place.
A typical deep-mountain settlement, Wang Jin Zhuang endures a persistently arid climate with an average annual rainfall of just 500 millimetres. Spring is particularly parched, and precipitation is heavily concentrated in the July and August rainy season. This climate makes the area vulnerable to natural disasters, giving rise to the local adage: “nine years of drought, and one of flood”. Isolated by its rugged terrain, the village has maintained traditional farming practices to this day, with donkeys remaining the primary draught animals for both agriculture and transport. Many of the older dwellings are still built from stone, retaining the architectural character of the Ming and Qing dynasties. A tunnel linking the village to the outside world was not completed until 1976, and it was only after roads were established that meaningful contact with the wider region became possible. This prolonged isolation has, as a result, allowed both the traditional culture and agrarian practices of Wang Jin Zhuang to survive in remarkable condition.
In 2012, Wang Jin Zhuang was designated as a Traditional Chinese Village. Two years later, the She County dryland terrace system, with Wang Jin Zhuang as its core, was recognised as an Important Agricultural Heritage System (China). In 2021, the village’s efforts in biodiversity conservation and utilisation were highlighted when it was named one of the “Biodiversity 100+” global model sites. Then, in May 2022, our She County dryland terrace system achieved the status of a Globally Important Agricultural Heritage System (GIAHS).
Biodiversity characteristics of Wang Jin Zhuang
One of Wang Jin Zhuang’s most striking features is its exceptionally rich biodiversity. Yet, the landscape is defined by high peaks and steep slopes, with arable land severely limited and water resources extremely scarce. Under these combined constraints, villagers have long needed to cultivate a diverse array of crops across the mountainsides to sustain themselves.
Along the edges of the stone retaining walls, villagers traditionally cultivate drought- and cold-resistant Sichuan pepper trees as their primary cash crop. Prior to 2000, the sale of peppercorns alone covered school fees, housing construction, and daily living expenses. These trees also play a crucial structural role, anchoring the stone walls and preventing soil erosion. The terrace beds themselves are devoted to high-yielding, drought-tolerant staples such as beans, maize, and millet. At the base of the retaining walls, climbers like ridge gourds and pumpkins are grown, with the gourds often intercropped alongside maize. Black date and persimmon trees are also rooted into the wall foundations. Together, these layers create a mixed, three-dimensional polyculture system that maximises every inch of the terraced landscape.
A comprehensive survey conducted in 2020 revealed that Wang Jin Zhuang preserves seeds from 171 traditional cultivars. The surrounding mountains host more than 400 species of wild medicinal plants, over 200 of which are routinely incorporated into traditional Chinese medicine prescriptions. Collectively, these findings underscore the village’s remarkably rich agricultural biodiversity.
Establishment of the Farmer Seed Bank and my personal journey
To this day, villagers continue to grow these traditional cultivars annually, with nearly every household maintaining 20 to 30 different heirloom varieties. The custom of saving seeds remains deeply ingrained: each year, before the harvest, farmers climb the terraces to select the finest seeds, storing them separately in preparation for the following planting season. This cycle repeats year after year.
To safeguard the terraces and enhance their value, the She County Dryland Terrace Conservation and Utilisation Association was founded in Wang Jin Zhuang in 2017. In 2019, guided by China Agricultural University, the Farmer Seed Network, and the She County Agriculture and Rural Affairs Bureau, and with support from Hong Kong Oxfam, the association mobilised its members to visit more than 1,000 households across the village to collect traditional cultivars. Large collections of millet, maize, beans, sorghum, and ridge gourds were gathered. Meticulous records were drawn up detailing each variety’s growth characteristics, optimal planting windows, and the cultural narratives woven into their cultivation.
In November 2019, the Farmer Seed Bank was officially established in Wang Jin Zhuang. That December, the seventh annual conference of the Farmer Seed Network was hosted in the village. I had not yet joined the association, but with the event taking place right next door and the atmosphere so lively, I decided to attend as an observer. I was particularly captivated by a presentation on millet genetics by Professor Bai Keyu from the Chinese Academy of Agricultural Sciences, as well as a session on video production for Douyin. These talks sparked a deep interest in me.
I resolved then to join the association. Having grown up in a low-income family, I had passed the entrance examination for senior high school but was unable to continue my education after junior high. Reconnecting with experts and academics to learn new knowledge felt like a chance to make up for past regrets and to motivate myself. I formally joined the association in 2020.
In April 2020, I took part in comprehensive surveys covering the terraces, local crops, and village culture, which deepened my understanding of our community. That June, I was deeply honoured to meet Professor Sun Qingzhong from China Agricultural University and Dr Song Yiqing from the Farmer Seed Network when they visited Wang Jin Zhuang. I was utterly delighted when Professor Sun recognised and addressed me by name upon first seeing me. Attending their lectures rekindled my passion for learning and convinced me that I, too, could contribute to my hometown. Inspired by this experience, I enrolled in a distance-learning programme to study Chinese language and literature, hoping to hone my writing and public speaking skills so I might express myself more effectively in the future.
Over this period, my fascination with biodiversity and traditional cultivars grew steadily. I began actively seeking out information on endangered heirloom varieties within the village, tracking them down and documenting their various growth stages through detailed photography.
Wang Jin Zhuang’s rich diversity of bean cultivars
These are just a few photographs I took of bean varieties in Wangjinzhuang, representing only a tiny fraction of the whole. The village cultivates an exceptionally rich assortment of beans, including soybeans, adzuki beans, red beans, common beans and cowpeas, totalling more than forty distinct varieties. I selected a handful with particularly vivid colours to photograph.
For instance, the soybean group comprises yellow, green and black varieties. Each colour is further subdivided by seed size into large, medium and small types—such as large, medium and small yellow soybeans, and large, medium and small green soybeans. This classification stems from the fact that soybeans designated as ‘large’ or ‘medium’ characteristically exhibit an upright, highly branched growth habit.
Small yellow, black, and green beans tend to grow as vines. While their yields fall short of large yellow and green beans, they make up for it with superior flavour. Wangjinzhuang’s small beans are particularly varied in colour, featuring white, red, green, black, and speckled types, each with its own medicinal benefits. The common bean family is equally diverse, boasting varieties like green-flowered runner beans, purple beans, red Mei-si beans, black Mei-si beans, and small white beans. Cowpeas are no exception, with types such as white-flowered green cowpeas, purple-flowered green cowpeas, purple-blossom cowpeas, purple cowpeas, and white cowpeas, the last of which is valued for its medicinal properties.
In 2023, I began keeping a growing journal for traditional heritage bean varieties. I planted several collected types together in one field to compare their growth cycles, flowering times, maturation periods, and overall plant structure. For example, the small yellow soybean grows upright with multiple branches, while the small white bean (a common bean variety) climbs by twining.
The records show that these heritage varieties in Wangjinzhuang typically grow quite tall, displaying a rich variety of flower colours, leaf shapes, and seed coat hues. The accompanying photographs do justice to their vibrant appearance.
The yields of Wangjinzhuang’s heritage beans are generally modest. Small beans, for example, average around 80 *jin* (40 kg) per *mu*, dropping to under 60 *jin* (30 kg) in lean years. Other soybean varieties perform slightly better, yielding approximately 200 *jin* (100 kg) per *mu*.
The remarkable diversity of bean varieties in Wangjinzhuang is largely due to its setting in the deep Taihang Mountains, where elevations range from 678 to 1,030 metres. The distinctive mountain microclimate means that rainfall and weather conditions vary considerably from valley to valley.
Wangjinzhuang sits in a valley flanked by two mountains. The low-lying basin at its base holds relatively fertile soil, classifying it as first-grade land. Above that lie the mid-slopes and the transitional zone from the basin upwards; these areas benefit from better air circulation but have poorer soil, placing them in the second grade. Further up are the ridge fields, which are comparatively barren, alongside some uncultivable patches, both falling into the third grade.
Soybeans, for instance, demand plenty of moisture and rich soil, which is why most are grown in the basin valleys. Small beans like red and green varieties are more resilient in poor soil, making them ideal for mid-slopes or ridge fields. Common beans and cowpeas require support, so they are usually intercropped with maize or planted along stone walls where they can climb, allowing them to grow properly.
Timing the Seasons and Farming Wisdom
Wangjinzhuang’s climate is dry and rain-sparse, making precise timing essential. If soil moisture turns out poor after we’ve sown maize or millet, waiting to sow again would miss the window, so we switch to soybeans. Soybeans serve as an excellent fallback crop. They are shade-tolerant and can thrive even under the canopy of maize plants.
The growing cycles of these heritage beans vary considerably. Cowpeas, for instance, have a longer season and need sowing by April each year. Soybeans go in during May, while small beans are more flexible and can be planted in either May or June.
As for runner beans, villagers follow the traditional rhythm of “sowing melons and beans around Qingming” in April. A second sowing in June or July allows for two harvests within the year. By July, green beans are being picked; August brings purple beans to the table; and September yields heritage varieties such as red and black Mei-si beans. Even into October, harvests of red Mei-si beans and early-maturing cowpeas continue.
Varieties are chosen to suit specific locations and conditions. As a local Wangjinzhuang saying goes, “Sow a hundred types and you needn’t pray to the heavens,” meaning that no matter how the weather turns out, planting a wide range of crops guarantees at least some harvest. This embodies the village’s wisdom in safeguarding biodiversity and food security: through preserving heritage seeds, farmers continuously refine their knowledge through practical experience.
Reviving the Small White Bean
On a personal note, my fondness for heritage varieties drives me to cultivate them year after year, constantly scouting for and testing more distinctive seeds. During a village survey in 2019, I discovered that some locals were still growing the small white bean from years past. This particular bean is creamy white; initially, we misclassified it as a soybean. I tried cultivating it in 2020 and 2021, but failed to get it to thrive. In 2022, while popping over to a neighbour’s, my eye was immediately drawn to a batch of small white beans sitting on his windowsill, stored from eight or nine years earlier. I asked if I could buy some. I initially offered two yuan, but he politely refused; after a quick exchange, he accepted one yuan and handed me the seeds.
On 13 April, I began the trial planting. Because it had been so long since I last worked with these seeds, I initially started them in paper cups, but it still failed. On 17 May, I planted a few more in a field behind my house. In the end, only three seedlings emerged, and they were pecked by birds, gradually withering and dying.
Just as I was feeling disheartened, around 18 June, an official from our county’s Agriculture and Rural Affairs Bureau suggested I give it another try, this time sowing directly into the ground. I checked the weather forecast in advance, took water with me, and sowed the seeds straight into the field. To my great delight, over forty seedlings sprouted. To protect these tender shoots from birds, I cut empty Sprite and Coke bottles in half and pushed them into the soil around the plants. When sparrows and other birds tried to feed on them, the sharp plastic edges would sometimes nick their bellies, scaring them off. This effectively safeguarded the small white beans.
From then on, I would visit every few days to check on them and take photos. Initially, we assumed they were soybeans, but as they grew, they didn’t look right. I posted pictures on my social feed joking that my soybeans had “grown oddly”. A lecturer from Yunnan Agricultural University replied that soybeans can indeed exhibit climbing characteristics, but it wasn’t until they produced white, butterfly-shaped common bean flowers that I was certain they were absolutely not soybeans. When they finally set pods, I realised this was a dry bean variety of the common bean. The seeds are edible, but the pods are not.
Documenting this process anew also allowed me to correct our previous misrecordings. Once confirmed as a common bean, I updated the records accordingly. Each time I help restore these endangered varieties, I feel immense joy and pride. I feel I am giving these heritage varieties a second life, which makes the work deeply meaningful. The more I do, the more I want to keep going. I hope to contribute even more to biodiversity conservation in the future.
Bean Culture and Traditional Customs
Spurred by a passion for seeds, and noting that very few villagers were still growing Bai Mei (white eyebrow) beans in 2023, I made discreet inquiries and took on the task of continuing their cultivation and restoration. Certain heritage millet varieties, such as ‘Pi Ma Qing’, have a deeper colour and a high anthocyanin content, making millet porridge especially beneficial for those with liver concerns.
Wangjinzhuang was once a secluded village, reminiscent of the legendary Peach Blossom Spring. The locals lived in widespread poverty, and daily life was arduous. There were no proper roads, and the village’s only lifeline to the outside world was a local camel caravan that could bring in supplies. Yet food remained critically short. To stave off starvation, villagers had to travel as far as Anyang in Henan province to purchase millet husks, known as oil bran. Survival meant relying on a predominantly vegetarian diet; meat was an annual rarity, reserved almost exclusively for the Lunar New Year. Deprived of meat, villagers turned to a wide variety of legumes to meet their body’s need for essential proteins and amino acids. They also incorporated medicinally valued crops into their daily diet to maintain their health. Crops were sown according to the specific ailments of the household: mung bean soup to clear ‘internal heat’, black beans to nourish the kidneys and address hair loss, and red adzuki bean broth to reduce swelling. Their planting and diet were carefully calibrated to these needs.
The sheer diversity of crops cultivated in Wangjinzhuang not only adapted to the local topography and fostered a unique micro-ecosystem, but also became inextricably woven into the fabric of daily life. Bean culture, for instance, features prominently in local wedding traditions. When a bride arrives at her new home—whether stepping down from a sedan chair or a car—someone is stationed at the gate holding a traditional measuring vessel called a *shengzi*. In this village, it is a square wooden container calibrated to the historical standard where ten *sheng* make one *dou*. Filled with ‘five grains’—millet, broomcorn millet, legumes, hemp seeds, and wheat—the mixture is gently tossed over the bride’s head and shoulders. This ritual symbolises a prosperous future, with the expectation that her days will rise steadily and her marriage will be fulfilling.
Funerary customs are equally rooted in this agricultural heritage. Before the deceased is laid to rest, a bed of millet stalks is spread on the ground, followed by a scattering of the five grains—a gesture of gratitude to both parents and the earth for their lifelong sustenance. On the day of burial, an ever-burning lamp is placed beside the coffin. As the coffin is sealed and the earth is returned, soil is first laid in crosswise layers, then lengthwise. Once the mound has taken its final rounded shape, the five grains are scattered over it one last time, a ritual known as ‘the filial child scattering prosperity’.
I have felt the weight of this tradition personally. When my aunt passed away in April this year, the person in charge of the funeral arrangements designated me, as her eldest niece, to perform the scattering of the five grains over her grave. As I carried it out, I silently prayed for rain, hoping the seeds would take root and flourish upon the mound. I wished for her lineage to remain well-fed and prosperous, and for her descendants to thrive. I also hoped that whatever sprouted there would shield her resting place from the harsh sun, providing her with shelter from the wind and rain.
Another local tradition concerns the splitting of the household. In Wangjinzhuang, it is customary for a newly married couple to establish an independent home separate from the groom’s parents. At the time of this separation, the bride’s parents will visit with a bundle of thriving mung bean sprouts alongside a portion of grain. This gift symbolises the hope that she will flourish in her new home, putting down deep roots and prospering like the sprouts, with each passing year bringing greater abundance.
In Wangjinzhuang, the Laba Festival is traditionally observed as the sparrow’s birthday. Villagers prepare a hearty stewed rice dish using a mix of small beans and millet. With the majority of the community practising Daoism, the first bowl of this millet and bean dish is always offered to the deities. Once the offering is made, another bowl is placed on the roof for the sparrows. This custom stems from local legend, which holds that millet was once absent from the village until sparrows carried its seeds back from distant lands. It is a vivid testament to the villagers’ reverence for nature and their enduring commitment to living in harmony with it.
Challenges Faced
Today, while Wangjiazhuang continues to cultivate many heritage varieties, its biodiversity faces considerable challenges.
First, a defining feature of Wangjiazhuang’s traditional varieties is their long growing season and comparatively low yields. Take the heritage ‘Golden Queen’ corn, for example: it yields just 500 jin per mu, whereas on the plains yields can exceed 1,000 jin. Traditional adzuki beans also produce modest harvests. Black and red adzuki beans yield around 100 jin per mu, and some varieties of red adzuki manage only 60 to 80 jin—an exceptionally low output.
Second, seed diversity is being eroded. Modern cultivars are heavily promoted due to their higher yields, commercial viability, and economic returns. Consequently, the acreage devoted to many traditional varieties has shrunk, pushing some to the brink of extinction.
Third, as a mountainous region, we still rely on traditional farming methods. Wangjiazhuang’s steep terrain precludes the use of heavy machinery, making labour exceptionally intensive. Villagers, for instance, still plough with donkeys, managing at most one to one-and-a-half mu per day. Once millet and maize seedlings emerge, they must be manually transplanted to fill gaps and weeded by hand three times over. As an old local saying goes: “Only millet weeded three times yields porridge with a richer taste and deeper flavour.” This meticulous approach demands tremendous effort, driving labour costs extremely high.
Fourth, vast tracts of terrace land have been left fallow. As urbanisation accelerates, younger farmers are moving to the cities in search of work. Drawn by better educational opportunities for their children and improved healthcare, many have purchased urban homes, draining the village of its youthful workforce. Consequently, numerous terraces lie abandoned, especially given the meagre returns terrace farming generates. With the passing of the older generation, traditional agricultural knowledge risks being lost, as the arduous nature of the work also deters younger people from taking it up.
Fifth, extreme weather has amplified agricultural risks. Wangjiazhuang experiences drought roughly nine years out of ten. In recent years, severe dryness coupled with below-average temperatures has suppressed seedling emergence and caused significant yield losses. In 2019, a severe drought wiped out nearly 70 per cent of the crop; 2021 brought devastating floods; and 2022 saw a prolonged cold spell, with late spring frosts and unseasonably cool summers. As a result, legumes either failed to flower entirely or produced stunted, shrivelled pods. This year, another severe drought has struck. At this time last year, millet would have been heading, but this season farmers are only just transplanting seedlings, with some still waiting for germination. Extreme weather has now become one of the greatest destabilising factors in food production.
Yet we are also presented with opportunities. The first is growing market demand. Increasing numbers of consumers are prioritising wellness and seeking out healthy, sustainably grown produce, with a marked preference for heritage varieties. Wangjiazhuang’s rich biodiversity and extensive collection of traditional crops have opened up new markets. Customers now travel specifically to inquire about and purchase the varieties they seek, giving local growers reliable outlets for their harvests.
Second, Wangjiazhuang has been recognised as a Globally Important Agricultural Heritage System. A farmer-led seed bank has been established alongside exhibition spaces and the Handan City Seed Museum, ensuring that seed culture continues to be celebrated and shared. Major outlets such as CCTV and Xinhua News Agency have visited multiple times to document the village. Meanwhile, local enterprises are developing their brands. Farmers are empowered to cultivate the land independently; by keeping the fields in use, they actively preserve the biodiversity of these heritage seeds.
Wangjiazhuang has now deposited sixty heritage seed varieties with the Hebei Provincial Seed Resource Bank. Some of these crops, such as millet from Laiwu County, have even been sent into orbit for space-based breeding programmes, further advancing the cause of biodiversity conservation.
Third, following comprehensive surveys of the region’s geography, flora and fauna, and rural culture, we published three monographs under the editorship of Professor Sun Qingzhong of China Agricultural University. The volumes—Historical Landscapes: Place Names and Culture in the Shexian Dry-Farming Terrace System, Natural Harvests: Crop Culture in the Shexian Dry-Farming Terrace System, and Stone Alleys and Neighbours: Village Culture in the Shexian Dry-Farming Terrace System—document Wangjiazhuang’s terraces, crops, and community heritage. The Historical Landscapes volume was a collaborative effort by twenty members of the Terrace Association. Together, these publications have introduced wider audiences to the rich crop, village, and terrace traditions of Wangjiazhuang.
We also run an annual summer camp for local children. In my role as a camp leader, I introduce the young participants to these heritage varieties and the cultural traditions surrounding them. By fostering a deep, early connection to their home village, I hope the children of Wangjiazhuang will grow to appreciate and safeguard their local heritage. When they reach adulthood, they will be better equipped to play a vital role in preserving the village’s biodiversity.
I recently finished reading Vanishing Foods. The book struck a deeply personal chord. On page 64, for instance, the author describes how farmers were instructed to eradicate certain plants—specimens that may have thrived in the region for millennia, only to vanish in the blink of an eye. We have reached a critical juncture: the faster biodiversity erodes, the greater the risks we face. I feel this urgency profoundly. Wangjiazhuang is home to numerous exceptional heritage varieties. If no one continues to cultivate and pass them down through generations, they will cease to live and vanish from the earth forever. It is time for more of us to step up, protect these crops, and race against time.
On page 86, I came across a passage that also greatly interested me: “Cultivated across countless generations, crops develop into local landraces. For hundreds, even thousands of years, species such as rice, maize and other cultivated grains have continuously evolved in various regions, adapting to local conditions and becoming closely intertwined with ecosystems, populations and cultures.” This passage fits Wangjinzhuang perfectly. Since the Yuan Dynasty, the village has grown from a population of just 500 to over 4,600 today. Biodiversity has fuelled this growth, sustaining a larger community. The village’s distinctive practices—from the cultivation methods for Sichuan pepper, millet and maize to the broader farming traditions surrounding legumes and other crops—are deeply entwined with the local ecosystem and the rhythms of everyday life. These realities have left a profound impression on me. Culturally, Wangjinzhuang observes specific dietary customs across different seasons and festivals: beans simmered with rice during the Laba Festival, dumplings at the Winter Solstice, and steamed wheat buns prepared for ancestral rites. Such crops are seamlessly woven into the fabric of daily life and cultural tradition.