Traditional Farmers Unconvinced, Consumers Treat It as Spectacle: The Dilemma of an Ecological Farm
Foodthink Says
I. Veteran growers of organic vegetables are sceptical of organic farming
Yet the workers who actually tended the organic crops on the farm – the local uncles and aunties – seemed unconcerned. They showed little enthusiasm for the techniques and methods behind “organic ecology”. Whenever a pest or disease outbreak occurred, the workers would invariably offer a familiar refrain, half complaint, half advice: “Without pesticides, the pests will eat everything.”
From leafy greens to yellow peaches and sweetcorn, this scenario played out repeatedly over my eight-month internship. In private conversations, despite watching the plants grow day after day, they remained firmly unconvinced by this approach to cultivation.
This left me both curious and puzzled. Letian operates as a subscription-based farm, renting out plots of 32 to 64 square metres for between 3,000 and 5,000 yuan a year. Members keep the entire year’s harvest from their plot, while the farm takes care of all the work aside from harvesting. When members visit the farm, they typically leave with baskets full of produce, and many share the organic philosophy. Rarely does one hear complaints about the quality of the vegetables from them. This stands in stark contrast to the views of the farm’s workers.
Armed with a bit of linguistic knowledge, I gradually found myself understanding more and more of their conversations amid the heavy local dialect. It was also through the simple pleasure of being invited to share meals that I got to see the vegetables they grew at home, which naturally led to discussions about farming. Due to land lease transfers, each household has relatively little land left under their own management, and they certainly lack the energy to tend extra plots after a day’s work. As a result, their crop yields are modest, grown mostly on a self-sufficiency basis for their own families. The difference is stark: the crops in the farmers’ own fields are visibly sturdier and fuller, a marked contrast to those on the farm.
Some crops inevitably require pesticide treatment, such as autumn maize. Maize is harvested twice a year in the region. Pest infestations are severe in the autumn, so local farmers must spray to ensure they have a harvest to eat. It is simply a matter of practical necessity.
I am not familiar with the specific types of pesticides, nor could I understand the names of the chemicals she chose, but I am certain that Letian Farm would not adopt this approach to pest control. Unsurprisingly, Letian’s autumn maize looked rather grim. While those who subscribe to organic principles do not mind vegetables with bite marks, there was little maize left for us to actually eat.
By the time the maize ripened, some members were unable to visit the farm and asked us to harvest and courier it to them. One day, I scoured all the public maize fields across the farm and barely managed to find twenty ears that looked presentable enough to sell. Yet, without exception, each ear hid several pale yellow larvae inside. One of the aunties taught me a trick: submerge the maize in water, and it will drive all the bugs out. Through this process, I also overcame my own fear of insects.
I do not know whether other organic farms possess better production management techniques for growing healthy autumn maize. Of course, we could choose not to plant it at all, much like we skip leafy greens in the summer.
Witnessing pesticide-free maize succumb to pests year after year, it is no wonder local farmers remain sceptical of organic farming. Yet, in the mindset of some, this is simply the price of “organic”; letting “the insects eat half and we eat half” is considered an integral part of the philosophy.
II. A Farm Not Dependent on Selling Vegetables
Situated in Fengxian on the outskirts of Shanghai and just over an hour’s drive from the city centre, Letian attracts three broad categories of members: urban consumers seeking organic food safety and quality, adults longing for a connection to the land, and families keen for their children to experience nature. Accordingly, the farm provides arable plots, organic produce, weekend recreational spaces for children, and platforms for adults to socialise or unwind. Of all the roles the farm fulfils, actual farming and crop sales account for only a fraction of what it delivers.
In fact, while the farm does sell vegetables at 15 yuan per jin, this is rarely the choice of most visitors. Nor does the farm intend to rely on vegetable sales as its principal source of income. Quite often, it is more than willing to hand out several jin of produce as parting gifts to every guest attending an event.
Given that the farm neither will nor can sustain itself through the sale of organic vegetables, and given its need to provide a wide array of services to visitors, figuring out how to allocate labour in a manner distinct from conventional farming has become a complicated matter. As a past intern noted in a piece about working at the farm, “A carpenter who cannot farm is no good electrician”, aptly illustrating some of the challenges the site must navigate.
Returning to the question of crop cultivation, Letian’s answer is clear: the farm does not aim to produce high-yield, visually appealing commodities. More often, the agricultural produce is meant to form part of the farm’s landscaping—acting as an attractive feature and a display piece that fits the organic label. Together with the wooden fencing around the vegetable plots, the unused enzyme compost barrels, the worm compost towers filled with plastic waste by members, and the children’s play areas, these elements combine with regular nature education activities to create a multifunctional “ecological agriculture theme park”. This is perhaps a compromise the farm has made with the market, a change the countryside has had to make for the city, and ultimately a resigned acceptance of limited manpower.
III. If Not Vegetables, What Does the Farm Sell?
Towards the end of my internship, as someone who had not grown up in a rural setting and had only pieced together agricultural knowledge from practical experience and word of mouth—making me something of an “outsider”—I was often able to answer members’ “agricultural questions” with ease. They were, after all, usually just straightforward basics like “How has the weather been?”, “What pests or diseases have you come across?”, “When will the vegetables be ready to pick?”, or “How should I cook them once I bring them home?”. This held true for brand-new plot-holders, as well as those who had been renting for a year or two.
Members might continuously enjoy the “novelty” of different crops coming out of the ground across the seasons, but over a longer period, will they develop a deeper engagement with the land and farming itself? If they do not, and as the novelty of produce from their “own plot” gradually wears off, will they still choose to rent a piece of land an hour’s drive from the city centre after a year or two? I do not know.
Of course, Letian Haiwan Farm will not stand still. The farm has constantly sought to keep things feeling “fresh” for its members. Steadily updated facilities and a rolling programme of activities are all designed to send a clear message: the farm is vibrant, and there is always something new to discover on each visit. For most of my time there, I was responsible for this side of things, which involved, among other duties, repairing facilities, laying out event spaces, drafting WeChat Official Account articles, teaching children’s classes, and so on.
IV. Until We Meet Again
Unless otherwise stated, all images are provided by the author.
Editor: Tianle