Three months of farming: My eco-farm dream hits pause
Letian Haiwan Farm (now renamed “Lexiangu Community Farm”) is an organic ecological farm operating on a Community-Supported Agriculture (CSA) model. It primarily provides members with shared vegetable plots and vegetable delivery services, while also hosting farming experiences, nature education, and team-building activities. The farm covers approximately 85 mu; nearly half of the land consists of woodlands and yellow peach orchards, with about 20 mu of active cultivated land. The farm’s current permanent workforce consists of the manager, Yuan Qinghua, two male long-term workers, and two female long-term workers. The more fluid labour force comprises interns who arrive each year through Foodthink’s “Ecological Agriculture Internship Programme”.
I. Hands are still the primary “labour tool”
Questions about whether one is “tired” were a constant theme in conversations between the mentors, the aunts, and us interns; “tiredness” is the prevailing feeling and impression most people have of agricultural production. In a daily routine of cultivation that relies heavily on the hands, I looked at the creases of my fingers—which had never cracked in 27 years—and they seemed to be silently protesting: farming civilisation has developed for thousands of years, so why has the physical toll of farming not decreased? Occupational diseases of office white-collar workers receive widespread attention, but what about those of farmers? Is mainstream agricultural technology policy too skewed towards supporting large-scale production systems? How much technology actually benefits small-scale agricultural producers?
Although Letian Haiwan Farm is not a “smallholder” in the traditional sense, the cultivation tasks for the roughly 20 mu of land are almost entirely supported by four long-term workers, all over the age of 70. These four mentors and aunts, all past retirement age, possess the core techniques for farming this land. If the moment comes when all this labour retires, how will those of us, currently unable to shoulder such responsibility, feed ourselves?
II. Sending out the joy of harvest
The vegetables and fruits growing from the land are simply wonderful; I truly wanted to hold an exhibition for them to tell everyone about their vitality. While packing the deliveries, I often couldn’t help but pick a few extra, wanting the recipient to also feel the joy of the harvest.
Only after preparing the veg boxes myself did I understand why post-harvest management and transport have become such important research directions. It is not just to ensure product quality; this process also embodies our hope to transfer the joy of labour directly to the consumer. Even the trimming of chives, which I hated most when I first arrived, became something I didn’t really resist later on—perhaps practice makes perfect.
III. Animals and Plants in the Farm
Farm chores may seem simple, but professional expertise and knowledge are hidden beneath the surface. In the fields, it looks as though we are simply pinching the tips of edamame seedlings, or pruning and thinning the corn, tomatoes, and peaches; but how does the plant react internally to each of our actions? Is it satisfied with our “help”? What would it look like if left to grow according to its own laws? In the beginning, I was clumsy and didn’t know how to handle the crops, and I was frequently looked down upon by Master Wang, our “foreman”.
The small animals on the farm have their own temperaments, and sometimes they succumb to illnesses we don’t recognise, facing life-threatening moments. In early March, as “novice human parents”, we tried to hatch ducklings in an incubator. After turning the eggs, we forgot to close the lid, causing the temperature to drop; of the twenty duck eggs we started with, only half ever hatched.
Later, for some unknown reason, the month-old ducklings began to lose their balance one by one, with increasing discharge from their eyes and noses. Lacking professional knowledge, the human parents scrambled for answers, and after scouring the internet, we tentatively diagnosed them with serositis. Although we rigorously administered doses of a few tenths of a gram of medicine based on each bird’s weight, only the three strongest survived. Then, on the 5th of July, before the duck parents could even enjoy their surviving children, they were all killed in a sudden attack by stray dogs.
The plants on the farm also change with the seasons, and weeding ceased to be a mere burden, becoming instead a way for me to gain first-hand observations.
When I first arrived at the farm in early April, there were many plants I had never seen in Guangdong: Euphorbia growing in regular geometric shapes, common knotgrass—thin stems that cling to other plants with tiny hooked bristles, white-flowered Philadelphia fleabane covering the hillsides as a symbol of spring, purple-flowered speedwell, and various prickly weeds.
At the time, I marveled at the absence of the Hymenachne that is so rampant in Guangdong, only to discover in May that the temperature had simply been too low to wake them. The weeds and crops on the farm all follow the laws of time; once a window passes, you have to wait until next year to see them again. Perhaps it is this seasonality that adds a touch of regret and anticipation to the heart.
IV. The Ideals and Reality of an Eco-farm
The issue of fertiliser reveals the practical constraints that hinder the farm from achieving a self-sustaining cycle: planting area, human resources, funding, infrastructure, layout design, climatic conditions, and fertiliser quality. An agricultural system that could potentially be more self-sufficient seems trapped by these practicalities, as well as external factors such as land-use classifications and various regulatory approvals. In many respects, the farm is still a distance away from the ideal scenarios described in theories of ecology, organic farming, and permaculture; however, under current conditions, this may already be the optimal solution for keeping the farm operational.
There are also practical challenges regarding Community Supported Agriculture (CSA). In an ideal CSA model, members and producers share the risks of agricultural production. However, over three months of observation, I found that some members did not fully grasp the philosophy of CSA. One member complained to us that her crops were poorer than those around her this year. As service providers, it is our duty to ensure consumers receive high-quality produce, yet consumers generally tend to share the benefits while remaining unwilling to bear the losses caused by external factors.
Furthermore, the vision of shortening the food supply chain through an eco-farm directly connected to consumers was not fully realised. Geographically, the farm is located in the Fengxian District of Shanghai—a remote suburb so far out that even Shanghainese people hardly recognise it as part of the city. Many local residents already have their own land, so they have little need for an external “farm-to-table” service. Among the fifty-odd members who rent land, very few maintain regular deliveries, let alone make frequent trips to harvest. Much of the high-quality produce rotted in the ground before members could arrive, never making it to the table.
At times, I wondered: could “eating seasonally and locally” truly satisfy my dietary needs? By the end of July, the farm produced around 20 types of fruit and vegetables, whereas supermarkets offered over 30 organic options, and even more non-organic ones. Compared to a supermarket, the farm currently lacks mushrooms and essential condiments; the newly sown coriander fared poorly during the plum rain season, and once the high temperatures hit, there were few edible leafy greens left.
After spending half a month racking my brains to find new ways to cook the same few ingredients, I realised that while relying on a single farm’s output might sustain life, it is not enough to satisfy the emotional needs that food provides. I must admit that for consumers who love a variety of ingredients, being able to enjoy produce from all over the world is a genuine blessing. Looking at it from another perspective, this perhaps indirectly contributes to the preservation of local ingredients in various corners of the globe.
Finally, farms like Letian Bay, which primarily cater to urbanites seeking a leisure experience, must also meet the customers’ desire for visual appeal. To prevent the farm from looking too “wild”, we have to prune the lawns and the lush roadside vegetation before every event. Every time I see the bare earth exposed after a trim, I feel a sense of loss and regret, but personal preference must inevitably give way to the demands of the customers, who hold the greater say.
V. Memories Woven Together by Meals
Finally, using food as a medium for a conclusion, I want to say that the withdrawal symptoms of leaving are likely a longing for the grand visions “painted” by Boss Yuan, Xiao Ling’s hometown specialty mustard chicken, Xiao Lu’s waterfall bread, the stir-fried tomato and eggs made by Xiao Liu, the 25 crayfish Xiao Tong managed to catch over two nights, the white-cut chicken prepared by Master Wang (who only showed his skills after a bit of coaxing), the meat zongzi with pepperweed wrapped by member Auntie Gu, and Auntie Hua’s habit of adding a pinch of chilli powder to her vegetable dishes for a bit of a kick. I miss the seasonal farm specials: cucumber jelly, Di San Xian, strawberry jam, chilled watermelon, tomatoes with sugar… and the farm’s living “food waste processors”—the dogs, Princess Potato and the unexpectedly cute Xiaobao. I hope the next batch of interns looks after them well too.
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