Where Did Childhood’s Sweetness Go?
Foodthink says
Amid the rapid turnover of fruit and melon varieties, why has the ‘White Rabbit Child’ been left out of the mainstream? Why has it, so beloved by consumers, failed to endure?
As fruit cultivation has grown increasingly scaled and commercialised, and sales have shifted online and across longer distances, competition in the mainstream market has evolved into an arms race where large producing regions outcompete smaller ones, and dominant varieties squeeze out niche ones. Poor tolerance for chemical fertilisers, fragility during storage and transport, and a lack of “market-ready” appearance… Varieties like this seem predestined to lose out. While the constant turnover of varieties may benefit large-scale commercial cultivation and distribution, it is far from the best outcome for consumers. We hope and believe that, driven by genuine consumer demand, such heritage varieties will ultimately find their own path to survival.
On International Seeds Day (26 April), Foodthink seizes this opportunity to urge readers to pay attention to heritage varieties. They may remain unnamed in printed texts, but they live on, passed down through farmers’ words and hands. It is precisely this diversity of seeds, rather than uniform monocultures, that safeguards the very foundations of our food system.
This article is jointly supported by Foodthink’s Lianhe Creative Project and the Farmers Seed Network.
An elderly farmer returns from the market with two plump melons. These are of an old variety native to the Guanzhong plain, known as *baituwa* (white rabbit). Pale in colour, with a tapering front slightly narrower than the rear, it resembles a white rabbit resting on its belly when viewed from afar—hence the name.
“I’ve always had a soft spot for the *baituwa*,” the farmer remarks with a smile.
Around Guanzhong, rural folk refer to the melon as a *ligua* (pear melon), rather than a *tengua* (sweet melon)—a term that sounds more at home in the city. While the two names are often used interchangeably in everyday conversation, another farmer who used to cultivate the variety clarifies: “What we grow here are all *ligua*. They’re a touch longer than the round sweet melons.” There’s an earthy simplicity to the name *ligua*, one that stirs up fond, nostalgic memories of life the way it used to be.
I.“White Rabbit”: Past and Present
When promoting their locally grown ‘White Rabbit’ melons, an agricultural cooperative in Gaoling District, Xi’an, took a special moment to recall how the fruit was eaten back then:
“… Back then, eating pear melons was a rather unceremonious affair. Perhaps because they were much smaller than watermelons, they didn’t warrant the same treatment. There was no need to formally place them on a cutting board and slice them into neat wedges with a knife. For the more particular, a ladleful of water was used to rinse the skin; for the less particular, it was simply rubbed clean against the palm. Regardless of how fastidious one was, the next step remained the same: rest the melon on the palm of one hand, raise the other high, and either split it with an open palm strike if you had the strength, or crack it with a fist if you didn’t. The fruit would typically fracture into two highly irregular halves. Grasping one half in each hand, you’d give it a shake to dislodge the seeds, then dig in with large bites. The less particular would eat right through to the rind, while the more particular would scoop out the flesh, leaving behind only a thin layer of skin.”
In Lantian, Shaanxi, the Baituwa melon is typically grown as a single annual crop. Sowing usually takes place around the Qingming festival, with harvest following some forty to fifty days later. Some growers even intercrop it with watermelons. Once the melons are harvested, farmers can rotate the land with wheat, radishes, or chard.
For small-scale melon growers, cultivating just over a mu of Baituwa melons currently yields roughly seven to eight thousand yuan. While the overall profit margin is modest, the return remains quite substantial compared to growing staple grains.
However, with the mass introduction of new varieties, pesticides, and fertilisers, an increasing number of newer melon cultivars—backed by mature market operations and higher profit margins—have flooded the market, dealing a severe blow to traditional varieties. The Baituwa melon has gradually faded from city supermarket shelves, now only occasionally glimpsed in fleeting stalls at rural markets.
Villagers in Yujiagou, Yehu Town, Lantian, recall that over twenty years ago, almost every household in the village would grow melons. Today, however, fewer and fewer farmers are left. Last year, the village’s sole Baituwa grower abandoned the crop due to poor returns.
“Wild animals keep eating the melons here—wild boar, pig muntjacs, and others—so people just don’t want to grow them anymore.”
Meanwhile, many of the village’s former melon plots were converted to whitebark pine plantations. When these trees later proved highly unprofitable locally, most farmers dug them up to return the land to crops, and the traces of the “Baituwa” became all but impossible to track down.
Though the Baituwa melon is no longer a common sight in cities, demand still persists. Around the outskirts of Xi’an, it continues to be cultivated by both independent growers and specialised agricultural cooperatives, and has even become a signature regional produce in areas such as Yanliang and Xi’an’s Gaoling District.
2. Is the “Aerospace” Baituwa still the original old variety?
During the collectivisation period, seeds for the traditional Baituwa were saved entirely by the farmers themselves: once the fruit matured, the seeds were collected, washed, sun-dried, and set aside for the following season. Yet according to melon growers in Yujiagou Village, today’s Baituwa seeds are sourced exclusively from the county seed company, or bought pre-packaged from private seed and fertiliser shops in towns and villages.
However, when I visited a local seed company in search of ‘Bai Tu Wa’ seeds, I found that the packaging made no mention of the traditional name. Instead, it bore the label ‘F1 Aerospace’. The manufacturer explained that these are not actually space-bred seeds; the ‘F1 Aerospace’ tag is likely just a marketing tactic designed to evoke an impression of cutting-edge technology.
Moreover, the place of origin listed on the packaging is Gansu, not Shaanxi. Yet, as local growers noted, farmers rarely scrutinise the packaging when making a purchase. Provided they are assured it is ‘Bai Tu Wa’, they continue to regard it as their familiar local heritage variety.
So, what precisely qualifies as an “old variety”?
By definition, an old variety refers to a crop that farmers have domesticated and maintained over time, fully adapted to its local environment; in scientific terms, these are known as landraces. From a modern genetic standpoint, these traditional varieties typically possess greater genetic diversity than their modern, commercially bred counterparts, which in turn accounts for a wider range of traits within the species.
Yet when everyday people speak of “old varieties”, they seldom frame their understanding in scientific terms.
When older generations reminisce about the White Rabbit melon, they invariably zero in on its remembered taste. One woman in her seventies praises it warmly: “It’s our local variety—crisp, sweet, and the skin is perfectly edible.” Watching the finely packaged melons her daughter brought from the city market, she commented on how cloyingly sweet the Xinjiang melons in urban shops have become. “They’re nothing like the White Rabbit melon. You don’t get that scratchy throat or uncomfortable mouthfeel afterwards.” If they come across the White Rabbit melon at the market, she and her husband always buy a few to savour.
A veteran farmer from a village on the outskirts of Xi’an shared his perspective: “Folk round here prefer the older varieties because the new ones are genetically modified. We’ve been eating the White Rabbit melon for so long that we’re simply used to it.”
In reality, none of the melon varieties sold in local markets, including the White Rabbit melon, are genetically modified. Nevertheless, many farmers struggle to distinguish modern breeding techniques from genetic modification, lumping them all under the “GMO” label. The mere mention of it tends to provoke alarm, often sparking conversations about the supposed links between GMOs and fertility issues.
Compared with a few decades ago, fertiliser use has also shifted. While some growers still favour farmyard manure to safeguard the White Rabbit melon’s flavour, others apply chemical fertilisers sparingly. This continued preference for traditional methods is driven not just by reservations about synthetic inputs, but also by a steadfast pursuit of superior taste.
A local grower from Jingyang recalled: “It tastes wonderful, but you can’t use chemical fertilisers on it. The moment you apply synthetic stuff, the fruit might look showy, but it loses all its flavour.”
A White Rabbit melon grower in Lantian county noted that he had experimented with chemical fertilisers in the past but ultimately settled on farmyard manure, such as chicken droppings. While synthetic fertilisers do boost yields, melons nourished with organic matter simply taste sweeter and richer. In fact, this principle extends beyond melons: for any crop grown primarily for household consumption rather than commercial yield, most villagers still gravitate towards traditional organic fertilisers.
Moreover, the composition of farmyard manure has evolved in its own right. Growers pointed out that chicken manure is now the standard. In the past, however, organic fertiliser was a far broader mix, encompassing pig, cattle, poultry, and sheep droppings, alongside human excrement and urine. This blend was typically composted with soil and heavily mixed with wood ash. Today, though, night soil and wood ash have virtually disappeared from modern farming practices.
III. Melons in the Age of Commercialisation
On the one hand, Baituwaba is highly seasonal and cannot be supplied year-round. On the other hand, cultivation has traditionally been dominated by scattered, small-scale independent farmers. Due to their limited scale, these growers struggle to integrate into urban market logistics networks, which prioritise consistent supply, leaving them reliant on rural village fairs in the Guanzhong region. Consequently, many independent farmers have gradually abandoned growing Baituwaba, citing its labour-intensive nature and modest returns.
Meanwhile, specialised cooperatives focusing on local specialties have become the main force behind cultivating traditional melon varieties, though their market positioning and distribution channels differ markedly from those of smallholder farmers. Among these, Yanliang’s marketing model for Baituwaba stands out as particularly successful. By leveraging e-commerce platforms and live-streaming sales, it has achieved leading sales volumes and generated substantial economic benefits for the local area.
These professional agricultural enterprises are also developing newer, premium melon varieties. At the 2024 Agricultural High-Tech Achievements Exposition in Yangling, Shaanxi, a new breed of Yanliang melon was also showcased. Unlike the smallholder-grown Baituwaba, which typically tapers to a narrow tip and widens at the base, this variety features a symmetrical oval shape. Its skin displays a uniformly attractive white hue, subtly tinged with green. The packaging is equally refined. According to the exhibition staff, this variety is marketed as ‘Cui Li’ (Crisp Pear), positioned at a higher price point and targeting a more premium consumer demographic compared to the traditional Baituwaba sold by smallholders.
IV. Old Varieties: Why Do You Stir My Heart So Deeply?
After decades of evolution, the characteristics of the White Rabbit Baby remain largely true to the old variety held in collective memory. Yet cultivation methods and management structures have shifted dramatically. Likewise, the socio-economic foundations that once sustained this heritage variety have been utterly transformed.
Historian of technology Francisca Bray argues that technology is itself a form of culture—a product of the specific social conditions and needs that shape its use within a given context.Consequently, now that this variety has long since outgrown the social milieu from which it sprang, it may well be impossible to claim it remains the White Rabbit Baby of our memories.
Yet whether the White Rabbit Baby has changed or not, this heritage variety, crossing time and space, offers an emotional resonance that modern cultivars simply cannot match. For those who know it, merely mentioning its name seems to draw the mind back to distant days.
Local and nostalgic, it carries within it the weight of rural life and collective memory. In the essay *Melons and the Youth*, the writer channels the voice of the White Rabbit Baby to recall a collectivised-era scene of a family gathered round to share the fruit: “Under the starlit moon, I arrive at the table glowing with a fresh, green hue, inviting the young household to savour my clear sweetness and crisp texture. Even my richly scented flesh is cradled by my mother, so that the greedy child may lick every last drop clean.”
Perhaps the true charm of heritage varieties lies in their power to evoke bygone ways of living, and the profound bond between people, labour, and the earth. Back then, work was woven into the fabric of daily life, and the plants that sprouted from the soil served as vessels through which growers sensed both their own emotions and the rhythms of nature. Through long vigilance and tender care, they were rewarded with a delicately layered sweetness that lingered perfectly on the palate—a taste made all the more precious in an era of material scarcity.
Today, however, when we crave a melon, the shelves are brimming with choices, and a selection can be made and paid for in mere minutes. Compared to the fruits of one’s own labour, this modern timeline feels hollow, and the memories it leaves behind are fleeting.
As philosopher of technology Wang Xiaowei observes, innovations such as food delivery apps and smartphones have woven themselves into our routines while gradually eroding our direct, everyday experiences. Within the logic of modern technology, food is reduced to mere sustenance—a commodity for filling the stomach and meeting nutritional needs. The intimate relationship between people and what they eat has become almost incidental.
Consequently, when people seek out and savour heritage varieties, the crops themselves may well be secondary.What we are truly trying to reclaim is a fundamental human need: a reconnection with the land and its plants. It is a longing to feel the weather and the soil once more, to sense that vibrant green vitality, and to rediscover the harmony that comes from weaving one’s labour seamlessly into the rhythm of life.
Through shifting landscapes and changing times, the White Rabbit Baby may one day fade into the background, overshadowed by a proliferation of modern cultivars. Yet whenever its name is spoken, it will still call forth the image of a pale rabbit and the memory of its crisp, sweet flesh.
2.https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/xO0ES33CeX3IVDcYXWsKsQ
3.https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/t2hiYt3ktEbUnoZuk8xGSw
4. Institute of Folk Culture, Beijing Normal University: Francisca Bray: Technology as a Culture, https://zhuanlan.zhihu.com/p/687162223
5. Wang Xiaowei: The Depths of the Everyday: Restoring Harmony Between Humanity and Technology, https://new.qq.com/rain/a/20240202A0673V00
About the Lianhe Creative Initiative
Following multiple rounds of interviews with a six-person judging panel, 18 projects were selected to receive support from the initiative. Six articles have been published to date:
“Ah Mei the Cleaner, Who Just Wants a Proper Meal | The Worker’s Table”
“In Malaysia, Chinese Buyers Only Want Grade-A Durians”
“‘Fake Meat’ Ousts the Real Thing: Herders, Dining Tables, and the Amazon”
“Watermelons Kept Sweet, While Growing Them Remains Bitter”
“From the Gaoshan Yao to ‘Chosen Mushroom Foragers’: One Termite Mushroom Sparks a Foraging Frenzy”
Thanks to Yidao for their assistance with the section on the ecology of heritage varieties.
Editor: Wang Hao