Whatever happened to those two young teachers who quit their jobs to go home and farm?
I.Leaving it all behind for the farm
Life at the school was the kind where you could see the end from the very beginning, and we both yearned to find a new way of living. While we hadn’t entirely decided where we would go after leaving, the one thing we were certain of was that we both wanted a creative space for our lives, and that we both loved nature and the countryside.
So, in January 2024, we “quit cold turkey”. It happened to be the Spring Festival, and An Tian and I were spending the holiday in our respective hometowns. While searching online for information on ecological communities, I came across a recruitment post from Foodthink for their “Ecological Farm Internship Programme”, and I sent the article to An Tian. I told him with excitement that this might be our next step. Visions are just ideas in the mind; only by living in the countryside with our feet on the ground could we determine which path to take.
Three months later, we arrived at the Yinlin Ecological Farm in Conghua, Guangzhou, just as we had hoped. During our six-month internship, we worked in the fields learning from the farm’s aunties and the planting group, planned farm activities, improved the interior decor of the guesthouse, and occasionally helped with picking and packing produce. We tried our hand at most of the operational roles to better understand the work required to keep a farm running, preparing ourselves for the day we would open our own.
Of all these tasks, the most important and difficult was the planting technique. Ecological farming differs from conventional farming; it uses no pesticides or chemical fertilisers and places high demands on the soil, for only healthy soil can produce healthy food. Yinlin Ecological Farm uses compost made from Traditional Chinese Medicine residues to improve the soil. We, in turn, learned how to grow crops like cucumbers and tomatoes in this improved soil.
II. Surrounded by Pesticides
In May, if you look down from the slopes of Zhaixia Village, you will see a striking sight: scattered patches of lush green amidst a landscape of withered yellow. This is because the villagers grow tobacco every spring, followed by rice and peanuts. During the tobacco season, they spray vast amounts of herbicide to clear the weeds; once the tobacco leaves are harvested, the terraced fields on the slopes turn yellow. As for those surrounded patches of green—those were the thriving weeds in our fields.
This is the land where An Tian grew up, but if not for our attempt at ecological farming, we would hardly have realised that in just a few decades, the villagers’ reliance on chemicals had become so deeply ingrained. They spray herbicide when crops change seasons, and they spray it whenever the grass on the field ridges grows too high.
When we first started growing passion fruit, whenever a villager was nearby, they would inevitably say, “You’ve got to get rid of those weeds; you can’t have that much grass in the field.” An Tian would explain to them in the Hakka dialect: “Don’t pull the weeds. Once they grow, we just cut them down and they become fertiliser.”
This conversation was repeated many times. Each time, An Tian explained patiently, hoping that if they understood the principle, they might change their farming methods. Eventually, when others made similar comments, nearby villagers would help explain: “They’re just the ones who don’t weed.” Though not fully understood, the villagers began to recognise our approach.
As deeply rooted as the habit of using herbicides is, so is the people’s hatred for weeds. Here is a conversation between An Tian and a local villager:
An Tian: “Why are you spraying herbicide by the fish pond?”
Villager: “Because the grass is growing!”
An Tian: “Herbicides are toxic. If they flow into the pond, won’t the fish die?”
Villager: “I know it’s toxic, but if there’s grass, it has to be removed.”
Conversations like this are both infuriating and absurd, leaving behind a profound sense of helplessness. It is not that people are unaware that herbicides are toxic, but rather that an overgrowth of weeds seems to be the far more intolerable offence.
The elders in the family held the same view. Whenever the family wanted to spray pesticides on vegetables meant for their own table because of pests, An Tian would always say that pesticides are toxic and bad for the body—since it was for their own consumption, it didn’t matter if the yield was slightly lower, as eating healthily was what mattered most. Eventually, the use of pesticides at home did decrease, but the use of herbicides remained unavoidable.
The people in the village now farm remembering only pesticides and chemical fertilisers. They are truly smallholders, yet they seem so far removed from traditional agriculture. The accumulation of experience takes generations, but forgetting takes only a few decades.
Actually, the villagers know that produce grown without pesticides and chemical fertilisers tastes better, but under the pressure of earning a living, they prioritise yield and economic efficiency, and chemical inputs are the way to achieve that.
To put it optimistically, our situation is one of ‘minding our own business’; more pessimistically, it is as if we are ‘surrounded on all sides’ and ‘ambushed from every angle’.
In this context, having a relatively isolated piece of land is vital for us. Yet that is precisely the problem: we farm on terraces. When the land was originally divided to ensure fairness, each family received small, scattered plots—a bit here, a bit there.
Even though we avoid pesticides, we can hardly escape them; whenever the neighbouring fields are sprayed, some of the chemicals inevitably drift over. I wonder if this is a shared struggle for many new ecological farmers?
We did consider renting a single, contiguous plot to solve this, but it proved difficult. There is a long tradition of tobacco farming in the village; as soon as the New Year passes, the villagers plant tobacco. Even those who don’t farm it for themselves will do so for their relatives. Tobacco provides a stable income for the villagers here; there is no worry about sales, as anything grown can be sold. Moreover, the tobacco company provides a comprehensive support package: how to plant, which fertilisers to use, and which pesticides to apply are all predetermined; the villagers simply have to follow the instructions. Consequently, there is no fallow land, and finding a single large plot to rent is nearly impossible. Fortunately, the site we chose for our passion fruit is relatively isolated, with ditches and bamboo groves acting as natural buffer zones, which minimises the impact.
III. There is No Fixed Method for Natural Farming
The primary issue was the soil. The foundation of Natural Farming is fertile soil, but our passion fruit field was newly turned land. It had previously consisted of over a dozen small terraced fields; to make management easier, we used an excavator to rezone them into five larger terraces. As a result, the soil lacked humus—meaning it lacked nutrients.
To solve this, one option was to trade time for fertility: plant legumes first and wait for them to die and decompose, gradually nourishing the land. Given enough time, the organic matter in the soil would slowly increase, but this method would take at least three to five years. The alternative was to add organic fertiliser to provide the crops with immediate nutrients, though this required an expenditure of both labour and money. This is manageable on a small scale, but for a large area, it represents a significant cost.
Was there another way to manage this transition? Given our livelihood concerns in the village, we had no choice but to use organic fertiliser to ensure a harvest in the first year. Yet, we remained conflicted: once the basal fertiliser was applied, should we continue to fertilise?
This dilemma drew scepticism from the villagers, who were convinced that nothing would grow without fertiliser. “Just watch and see!” was how our conversations often ended.
Faced with such doubt, we had no answer and could only persist in silence. Although we believed in Natural Farming, we could not hide the uncertainty in our hearts.
It was then we realised that our understanding of Natural Farming had been limited to the idea of it being a production method that follows natural laws and minimises human intervention—a core philosophy of respecting ecological balance to achieve a sustainable agricultural system. But when faced with practical problems, how were we to put this philosophy into practice?
Around that time, we saw that Teacher Jia Bo, who had first introduced us to Natural Farming at Yinlin Farm, was holding a class at the Doudoule Farm in Chengdu. An Tian and I signed up immediately. Through this further study, we gained a deeper understanding of the practice.
Natural Farming does not imply a total absence of human intervention; rather, it requires necessary intervention based on a thorough understanding and respect for how crops grow. The skill for such intervention must be accumulated through day-to-day practice and observation.
For example, Natural Farming emphasises the principle that grass itself is a source of nutrition, but in practice, managing grass requires a great deal of nuance. For fruit trees, most low-growing grasses are harmless; they do not block the sunlight and rarely affect the trees. However, climbing vines cannot be left alone; once a vine wraps around a tree, it hinders growth and can even kill the tree. When a crop first begins to grow, the surrounding grass must be pulled to allow the roots to establish themselves better. Once the crop is robust, weeding is no longer necessary, although the grass should be mown if it begins to outgrow the crop.
Firstly, one must consider what is suited to the local geography and climate. This is the most critical factor; if the land is unsuitable, extensive artificial intervention—such as greenhouses—is required. We hoped to reduce our investment and minimise initial financial pressure to make ecological agriculture a sustainable venture. Therefore, vegetables that could only be grown in greenhouses were not an option.
Secondly, one must consider the ease of transport. Ecological produce is difficult to sell locally because the higher production costs lead to higher prices, which are often unacceptable to locals. For the local community, affordability is what matters most. Consequently, our products must be sold externally via courier, which significantly limits the varieties we can grow.
Thirdly, we considered whether ecological produce differs significantly from conventionally grown crops. This is a sales consideration; if an ecological product tastes the same as a conventional one, the target audience remains limited. Few people seek out ecological products unless they can clearly perceive a difference in taste and flavour, which increases the likelihood of purchase.
Based on these three factors, and by observing what the local villagers were planting, we chose passion fruit and peanuts as our staple crops, as they are suited to the local environment and easy to transport.
Currently, we are experimenting with tomatoes. Although they are difficult to transport, the difference in taste compared to conventional tomatoes is the most pronounced. However, because we planted too late in the first half of the year and encountered a period of high temperature and humidity, the crop was a total loss.
It is foreseeable that as we increase the variety of crops, we will require more time and energy, and the technical demands will grow. We must find a balance between the number of varieties and our own capacity. In this sense, the path of ecological planting seems endless, with one challenge following another. Yet, we are proud to have reached this point one step at a time and will continue forward. Recently, we registered our own family farm, opened a micro-shop, and have been slowly building a WeChat group to share our daily planting and management routines. Everything is moving forward in an orderly fashion. The road is long and arduous, but I shall continue my quest.
Images provided by the author
Editor: Yu Yang