Why has the sweetness of childhood vanished?
Foodthink says
Amidst the rapid iteration of fruit varieties, why have these “White Rabbit” melons been excluded from the mainstream? Why, despite being so beloved by consumers, did they fail to endure?
As fruit cultivation has become increasingly scaled and commodified, and sales have shifted towards online platforms and long-distance logistics, competition in the mainstream market has evolved into an arms race where larger production hubs crowd out smaller ones, and dominant varieties swallow niche ones. A poor tolerance for chemical fertilisers, an inability to withstand long-distance transport, an appearance that isn’t “aesthetic” enough… varieties like these seem destined to lose such a race. While the iteration of varieties may benefit large-scale commercial cultivation and distribution, it is not necessarily the best outcome for the consumer. We hope and believe that as long as there is consumer demand, these heirloom varieties will eventually find their own way to survive.
On 26 April, International Seed Day, Foodthink takes this opportunity to urge readers to pay attention to heirloom varieties. They may be nameless in written records, but they live on through the hands and voices of farmers. For it is these diverse, rather than uniform, seeds that protect the very foundations of our entire food system.
This article is jointly supported by Foodthink’s “Joint Creation Plan” and the Farmer Seed Network.
An old farmer buys two plump melons from the market. This is an heirloom variety from the Guanzhong region called the “White Rabbit”. It is white in colour, with a front end slightly smaller than the back; from a distance, it looks like a crouching white rabbit, from which it derives its name.
“I just love White Rabbit melons,” the old farmer says with a smile.
In the Guanzhong region, villagers are accustomed to calling the White Rabbit a “pear melon” (li gua) rather than a “sweet melon” (tian gua), as the latter sounds more like the terminology used in the city. Although people often use the two terms interchangeably in daily life, another farmer who once grew the variety explains: “The ones we grow ourselves locally are ‘pear melons’; they are a bit longer than sweet melons, which are round.” The name “pear melon” carries a rustic charm, evoking warm memories of a bygone life.
I.Bai Tu Wa: Past and Present
An agricultural cooperative in the Gaoling District of Xi’an, while promoting its own Bai Tu Wa crops, specifically recalled the way people used to eat them back then:
‘…Back then, the way we ate pear melons was rather rustic. Perhaps because they were far smaller than watermelons, they didn’t receive the same treatment; there was no need for the formality of placing them on a chopping board to be carefully sliced into wedges. Those who were fastidious might rinse the melon with a scoop of water; those who weren’t would simply rub it on their palms. Regardless, the next step was to place the melon in one hand and raise the other high—the strong would chop it down with their palm, and the less strong would smash it with a fist. The melon would typically split into two irregular halves; one would take a piece, flick out the seeds, and start eating in great mouthfuls. The less fastidious would eat it skin and all, while the more refined would leave a thin layer of peel behind.’
In Lantian, Shaanxi, Bai Tu Wa is typically grown once a year. Sowing generally takes place around the Qingming Festival, with harvesting following approximately forty to fifty days later; some growers even intercrop Bai Tu Wa with watermelons. Once harvested, the land can be used to grow further crops such as wheat, radishes, or spinach.
For small-scale melon farmers, cultivating a little over a mu of Bai Tu Wa currently yields an income of around seven to eight thousand yuan. While overall profits are not exceptionally high, this return remains quite considerable compared to growing staple grains.
However, as new varieties and chemical fertilisers and pesticides were introduced en masse, more new varieties of fruit and melon—backed by mature market systems and higher profit margins—entered the market, dealing a heavy blow to the heirloom varieties. Bai Tu Wa gradually vanished from urban shelves, and traces of them can now only be spotted occasionally in rural markets.
Villagers in Yujiagou, Yehu Town, Lantian, say that twenty years ago, almost every household in the village grew melons. Now, however, fewer and fewer farmers do so; last year, the only household in the village still growing Bai Tu Wa decided to stop because it was no longer profitable.
“We have too many wild animals coming to eat the melons—wild boars and peccaries—so people are reluctant to plant them.”
Furthermore, many of the pear melon fields in the village were converted to White Pine. Later, these trees suffered heavy losses locally, and most farmers dug them up to plant crops instead, making the Bai Tu Wa even harder to track down.
Today, although Bai Tu Wa is no longer common in cities, market demand still exists. In some areas around Xi’an, it is still cultivated by both individual farmers and professional agricultural cooperatives, becoming a local speciality product in places such as Yanliang and the Gaoling District.
II. Is the “Aerospace” Bai Tu Wa still the same old variety?
During the collectivisation era, the old Bai Tu Wa varieties relied on farmers saving their own seeds—collecting the seeds after the melon ripened, washing them, drying them, and keeping them for the following year. According to melon farmers in Yujiagou village, the seeds for today’s Bai Tu Wa all come from county seed companies or pre-packaged seeds sold in privately-run seed and fertiliser shops in towns and villages.
However, when I searched for Bai Tu Wa seeds at a local seed company, I found that the packaging was not labelled “Bai Tu Wa”, but instead bore the words “F1 Aerospace”. The manufacturer told me that these were not actually aerospace seeds; “F1 Aerospace” was likely just used to create a high-tech impression.
Furthermore, the place of origin listed on the packaging was not Shaanxi, but Gansu. Yet local farmers said that they usually don’t pay much attention to the packaging details when buying; as long as they are assured it is “Bai Tu Wa”, they still consider it to be the local heirloom variety.
So, what exactly constitutes an “old variety”?
By definition, an old variety refers to a cultivar that has been domesticated and preserved by farmers and has adapted to the local environment; the scientific term is a ‘landrace’. From the perspective of modern genetics, heirloom varieties usually possess higher genetic diversity than new varieties created through modern breeding, which determines the richness of traits within the species.
However, when ordinary people mention “old varieties”, they rarely understand them from a scientific perspective.
Many elderly people, when recalling the Bai Tu Wa, emphasise the taste in their memories. A seventy-year-old grandmother spoke highly of the texture: “This is our local melon; it’s crisp and sweet, and you can eat the skin.” Looking at the exquisitely packaged sweet melons her daughter had bought from a city market, the grandmother muttered that the Xinjiang melons sold in city markets nowadays are cloyingly sweet. “They’re not like the Bai Tu Wa; your throat doesn’t feel scratchy after eating them, and your mouth doesn’t feel uncomfortable.” If they come across Bai Tu Wa at a market, she and her husband will always buy a few to taste.
An old farmer from a village near Xi’an told me: “People here prefer the old varieties because the new ones are GMO. We’ve eaten Bai Tu Wa for a long time and are more used to this variety.”
In reality, including the Bai Tu Wa, the sweet melon varieties sold on the local market are not GMO. However, many farmers do not distinguish between different concepts of new breeding technologies and equate them all with “GMOs”, fearing them intensely—often accompanied by discussions about how GMOs might affect fertility.
Compared to decades ago, the composition of fertilisers has also changed. Although some growers still prefer using farmyard manure to ensure the taste of the Bai Tu Wa, some use chemical fertilisers in moderation. This stems not only from concerns about chemical fertilisers but also from a pursuit of the melon’s flavour.
A local from Jingyang, recalling the Bai Tu Wa, said: “It’s delicious, but you can’t use chemical fertilisers. Once you use them, it looks beautiful, but it tastes of nothing.”
A farmer growing Bai Tu Wa in Lantian County stated that he had used chemical fertilisers, but ultimately chose farmyard manure, such as chicken droppings. While chemical fertilisers can increase yield, the melons taste sweeter and better when grown with farmyard manure. Not just for melons, but as long as crops are primarily for home consumption and yield is not the priority, most villagers still prefer farmyard manure.
Additionally, the nature of farmyard manure itself has changed. Growers told me they now mostly use chicken manure. In the past, farmyard manure included not only pig, cattle, chicken, and sheep droppings, but also human waste, which was usually mixed with soil and a large amount of plant ash. Today, however, almost no one uses human waste or plant ash anymore.
III. Melons in the Age of Commercialisation
On one hand, the White Rabbit Melon is highly seasonal and cannot be supplied year-round; on the other, its cultivation has always been dominated by small-scale independent growers. Because their operations are small, they struggle to enter urban logistics chains that prioritise stable supply, leaving them with no choice but to sell at rural fairs in the Guanzhong region. Consequently, many independent growers have gradually abandoned the crop due to the high labour intensity and low financial returns.
Specialist farming cooperatives, focusing on local characteristics, have now become the primary cultivators of these heirloom melon varieties. However, their market positioning and sales channels differ significantly from those of independent growers. The marketing model in Yanliang has been particularly successful; by leveraging e-commerce platforms and live-stream commerce, they have led the market in sales and brought significant economic benefits to the local area.
These professional operators are also developing newer, premium melon varieties. At the 2024 Agricultural High-tech Achievements Expo in Yangling, Shaanxi, a new variety of Yanliang melon was exhibited. Unlike the White Rabbit Melons grown by independent farmers, which are narrow at the top and wide at the base, this variety is a symmetrical oval, boasting a consistent and appealing white hue with a subtle glimmer of green. These melons are also exquisitely packaged. Staff described them as “Crispy Pears”, with a price point and target market far more upscale than that of the independent growers’ White Rabbit Melons.
IV. Heirloom Varieties: Why do you stir such emotion?
After decades of change, while the physical traits of the White Rabbit Melon remain largely consistent with the heirloom variety people remember, the cultivation techniques and business models have changed fundamentally. At the same time, the socio-economic underpinnings that supported the development of this old variety have undergone a radical transformation.
Technology historian Francisca Bray argues that technology is itself a form of culture—a product of a synthesis of social conditions and requirements provided to people within a specific context. Therefore, once a variety has been divorced from the social environment of its origin, it may be difficult to assert that it remains the White Rabbit Melon of our memories.
Yet, regardless of whether the White Rabbit Melon has changed, these heirloom varieties, which transcend time and space, provide an emotional bond that new varieties simply cannot match. For those who know the White Rabbit Melon, speaking of it feels as though their thoughts are being pulled back to a distant place.
It is local and nostalgic, embodying rural culture and collective memory. In the essay *Melons and the Youth*, the author writes from the perspective of the White Rabbit Melon, recalling a scene from the era of collectivisation where a family sat together eating fruit: “Under the starry moonlit night, I arrived at the dinner table with a verdant shimmer, allowing the youth’s family to savour my clear sweetness and crispness; even my fragrant pulp was held in the mother’s hand, for the greedy boy to lick clean.”
Perhaps the charm of heirloom varieties lies in their ability to remind us of past ways of life and the profound connection between humans, labour, and the land. Back then, labour was an intrinsic part of life, and the plants sprouting from the earth were the mediums through which the grower perceived emotion and nature. Long periods of guardianship and meticulous care finally yielded that intricately sweet juice on the palate—a reward that felt all the more precious in an era of material scarcity.
Today, when we crave a melon, the market offers an overwhelming array of commercial choices; we can easily select and pay for one in a matter of minutes. Compared to the fruits of one’s own labour, this timeline feels fragile, and the resulting memories are far more fleeting.
Philosopher of technology Wang Xiaowei suggests that technologies such as food delivery and smartphones, while integrating into our daily lives, are gradually eroding our everyday experiences. Under the logic of modern technology, food seems to become merely an object for satiety and nutrition, and the relationship between humans and food becomes insignificant.
Thus, when people reminisce about and consume heirloom varieties, the variety itself may no longer be the most important thing. What we are truly trying to recover is a vital human need to be connected with the earth and plants—a longing to once again perceive the weather, the soil, the vitality of green life, and a sense of harmony where one’s labour is woven into their life.
As the world changes and eras pass, the White Rabbit Melon may eventually fade away amidst a sea of modern hybrids. Yet, when people hear the name “White Rabbit Melon”, they will still be able to summon that rabbit-like form and that crisp, sweet taste.
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: Into the Depths of the Everyday, Returning to a Harmonious Relationship between Humans and Technology, https://new.qq.com/rain/a/20240202A0673V00
About the Lianhe Creative Initiative
Following multiple rounds of interviews by six judges, 18 projects were ultimately selected for support under the Foodthink Lianhe Creative Initiative, six of which have been published:
“Cleaner A-Mei Just Wants a Proper Meal | The Worker’s Table”
“In Malaysia, Chinese Traders Only Want Grade A Durians”
“’Fake Meat’ Displacing Real Meat: Herders, Dining Tables, and the Amazon”
“Sweetness for the Watermelon, Bitterness for the Farmer”
“From the Guoshan Yao to ‘Chosen Mushroom Pickers’: The Termite Mushroom Craze”
Thanks to Yi Dao for assistance with the section on the ecology of heirloom varieties
Edited by: Wang Hao