If I were to describe my internship at the UN Environment Programme-International Ecosystem Management Partnership (UNEP-IEMP), in one word, it would be “unfolding”. Concepts, contemplation, believes, conjectures, or almost everything about sustainable agriculture quietly unfolded, diverging from the past and reframes towards something more nuanced and grounded, far beyond what I had imagined.
UNEP-IEMP brought me an evocative journey that shaped my introduction to the concept of sustainable development. During the internship, I was given the opportunity to travel to Hefei, a trip that made my notions empirical and transformed theoretical knowledge into firsthand experience—an unforgettable experience that I believe will last a long time. During my trip, I wasn’t alone, traveling alongside Professor Xu as well as his students and interns. Their expertise and erudite field experience enriched my understanding of regenerative agriculture beyond any classroom session.
Just like any other trip, the journey to Hefei was tranquil at the start. I first headed towards the train station. Boarding on the train, I found myself wondering how this journey might turn out, maybe I’ll meet Yao Ming on the way, or maybe win the lottery; who knows? Revisiting my memories now, thinking about my mischievous thoughts, none of my them were fulfilled. The trip was honestly just as calm and tranquil as it started, nothing came unexpected, and it was perhaps boring. However, in retrospect, maybe it is the taste of mundane and the greatness in obscurity of whom imitate the spark of life, it is the peacefulness that drives us out step by step and therefore I would like to share my ordinary story.
As we left Beijing and headed south, I watched the transformation of Beijing’s dense skyline to Hefei’s unobstructed horizon, the change from a boisterous city to a serene one, and the shift from metropolitan to a balance with nature. The urban textures gradually faded, until the green area of Hefei (Image 1) filled our eyes.
Image 1
Arriving at the destination, nothing metropolitan was among the City Hefei. In fact, that was the part I enjoy about it. Contrasting with cities that loudly brand themselves, hoping to be remembered for their ornate buildings and lavish greenery, Hefei felt modest. The weather was slightly humid, the sky was a muted light blue, and the street balanced between a touch of history and modernity. Before the upcoming toil, we took time to walk, observe, and eat. It was a form of silent orientation.
The core of the visit was a sustainable aquaculture-agriculture project that lies on the peripheral of the city Hefei. The site, not driven by machinery, resembles a farm of indigenous people thousands of years ago. Following the rules of nature, the site does not rely on advanced technology or academic theory, but on the basics of nature: interdependence. It was, in essence, a cohabitation of species, rice and Chinese softshell turtles (Pelodiscus sinensis), thriving together in a controlled but natural environment.
As I first arrived, all I could behold were golden boxes, neatly divided into square sections (Image 2). From a distance, I was astonished. I paused and wondered: where is the aquaculture? The question quickly faded as I walked closer, and small estuary between plots came into view. These estuaries were not simple irrigation channels, but channels of life. Beneath each stream of water were tens and hundreds of living creatures—distinct shapes of softshell turtles, gliding subtlety, almost unnoticed unless you knew where to look.
Image 2: The symbiotic agricultural landscape of rice-Chinese softshell turtles
The soft-shell turtles live in shallow water under the cool canopy of the rice. Meanwhile, as the turtle consumes wild insects and small river organism, their excrement, rich in nitrogen and nutrients, provides natural fertilizer for the golden rice above, which shades them from direct sunlight, minimizing evaporation and maintaining a stable microclimate. In fact, the site was a model of nutrient cycling.
What struck me most was not the absence of machinery or esteemed scientists, but the immensity of wild bird flocks. In contrast to most farms, the site is not only home to golden rice and soft-shell turtle, but also shelter to hundreds of birds and wild animals. Like the ancient Indian people, the farm does not cage animals; it attracts them. Instead of obliterating the traces of nature and building cold metal cages, the farm restores nature and build an ecosystem that, in turn, attracts wild animals.
The air, smelling of life and growth, is free of chemicals. The hovering birds above the field and the chirping insects are the best evidence of this. The whole system of the farm is sophisticated but not complicated. The golden rice field is connected by countless estuaries. Hundreds of different species of birds and wildlife inhabited the farm, Yes, the site is complex, but it is organic, not chaotic.
While observing the fields, I found something unexpected, not in the water or on the crops, but in the orchard bordering the site. Rows of pear trees rose ahead of me, separating themselves from the turtle and rice field. Their purple and green canopies shone bright in the sunlight, fruiting pears. As I was still observing them, a worker quickly handed me a freshly picked pear, still cool and fresh. It was this moment, standing next to rows of pear tree and holding a fruit the just taken from an aquaculture-agriculture system, that became the highlight of my day. In an ordinary yet unexpected way, it grounded the entire experience. Those fruits were not main features of the site, but they embodied the same principles: ecological balance, patience, and trust in nature’s processes.
As an untalented student, I sometime find myself lost among frameworks and metrics. At schools, we talk about sustainability, resilience, biodiversity, and ecological footprint. Yet a single day at the farm spoke actuality, not counterfactual, but empirical evidence. The system did not operate like the ones in school. A spreadsheet cannot capture the countless species and lives of a farm, nor can it explain the success of coexistence between plants and turtles. It was in how it felt, looked, and worked. Farmers work long hours, not in a classroom, but the under the cruel sun.
I watched Professor Xu’s students at work—recording water samples, mapping field layout via drone imaging, discussing biodiversity metrics. The focuses of the students prove technical evaluation vital. However, being present, walking the land, noticing the shimmer of pears—those moments were data, too, though not the kind found in reports.
As we prepared to part, I took one last glance at this golden rice field, or rather, a field of life. Under the shimmering sunlight and cool July breeze, young turtles, hatchlings, and adults broke the water’s surface occasionally before vanishing again.
The journey back to Beijing felt different, perhaps even idiosyncratic. The three-hours ride back to Beijing was quiet for me, not because I had no words, but because I had an abundance of words to speak. The pear seeds were germinating in my stomach, birds were flying in my mind, and turtles were swimming there too. Finally, I thought about the many models I had seen throughout my student career that treated nature as something to be controlled. What I had witnessed in Hefei suggested something else entirely: the possibility of co-adaptation, where human activity does not replace nature, but participates in it.
In academic terms, or as a student, we call this “agroecological integration.” In simpler, more understandable terms, it is about interdependent, or just respect—respect for cycles, for limits, and for the intelligence that ecosystems already possess.
In retrospect, I realize that this short internship handed me something unexpected. Not just a spreadsheet on the resume of a set of technical skills. It brought me a chance to see sustainability and coexistence, not as an insuperable future aspiration, but as a ubiquitous practice. And on some days, maybe if you are lucky like I was, it leaves you with pears in your pocket and pear seeds in your stomach, unexpected, unforgettable, and yet to germinate.
