Amy Field

As I boarded China Airlines, Flight #007, visions of pandas danced through my head. Temples and dim sum and bicycles. Smiles and meetings and greetings. I had done some background reading on China regarding custom and manners, transport details and how to read train timetables. I had been writing to my contacts over email for six months. I felt so prepared, and yet, so unprepared…

The soothing words of a past Avery fellow echoed to me, “The Chinese are some of the nicest, most generous, most wonderful people I’ve ever met.” My nerves twitched, my stomach soared, and flashes of what-it-might-be-like kaleidoscoped across my mind.

I still couldn’t believe it. Four months in China, exploring the wonders of nature and working with the dedicated environmental conservationists who preserve it, from the volcanic crater lake of Changbai Shan, to the dense bamboo forests of Sichuan.

I was excited. I was nervous. I was on my way to China!

BEIJING: CONSERVATION CHINA 101

Beijing was a time of information gathering, being open to the different ideas of different conservationists, and a time to get an overall umbrella view of what is going on right now in China with regard to environmental conservation. Did you know that there are 1800 nature reserves in China? That is 13% of the total country!

Despite my best efforts, inevitably some of my contacts were out of town at conferences and meetings in other provinces, but luckily, due to the large number of contacts I had been in touch with here, I had plenty of people to meet with, and plenty of information to digest.

Of the many people I met with, a few made a lasting impression, two of whom work for the WWF, World Wildlife Federation, which was the first international NGO (Non-Governmental Organization) invited to China back in the 1980s, originally to help with the conservation of the highly-endangered giant panda. Now the organization works on a wealth of innovative projects, and has expanded to 7 branch offices around the country with 60 employees (quite a small number for the influential work they do).

Mr. Wu Haohan is the Species Program Director for WWF, a soft-spoken young man, often seen sporting a WWF T-shirt. Ms. Wei Juan also works in Species Protection, a smiling well-spoken woman and scholar of English literature.

When I arrived at the building, I almost wasn’t sure I was in the right place. Without any placards in English and with no sign of the well-known panda insignia, I wandered into the first door where I saw a row of cubicles, and finally, some WWF literature. Alex Marston, who works in Environmental Education, greeted me, and showed me to Haohan’s desk. (This is one of the only offices I found that people prefer to be called by their first names right from the get-go, and workmates also address each other always by first name only.) I was struck by the modesty of the facility (always nice to see in a non-profit), with every staff member occupying an equally-sized low-walled cubical. As I met the staff, I continued to be struck by their modesty, later to find out that most are PhDs and previously highly-ranked governmental officials.

As I mentioned, the scope of projects at the WWF has expanded dramatically over the last many years, and the major focus is currently a holistic approach, rather than a departmental one (Species Dept., Forests Dept., Freshwater Dept., etc.). The most extensive current project involves the Yangtze River basin, and trying to preserve and reestablish its wetlands, by letting dykes come down naturally, and by offering alternatives to rice farming and agriculture. Although I had been reading about alternatives to farming for ages, I finally got to hear what some of those alternatives are, such as raising ducks or fish hatcheries, by using the water in the wetlands instead of impeding it. I wondered why rural farmers, who are so poor that their primary concern every day is for basic food, would be willing to participate in such programs. Haohan answered that many of these farmers are looking for alternatives, since many have lost entire year’s crops in flooding. These alternatives also provide a more stable, and therefore, potentially economically-beneficial living.

There were two other alternatives to farming projects that particularly interested me. One was where people picked wild mushrooms as they always had, but learned to do it in a sustainable way by cutting only the large ones, and leaving both the small mushrooms and the root systems untouched. Bee-keeping is another alternative, and WWF is partnering with corporations like Carefour French Supermarket to stock organic Chinese honey in their stores. Partnerships and creative alternatives seem to be the keys to this well-known, yet humble, organization’s success.

Another of my favorite visits was to the State Forestry Administration GEF (Global Environmental Facility) China Wetlands Project. My contact, Ms. Zhang Xiaoyun, was out on maternity leave, but she left instructions that I speak with her supervisor, Mr. Andrew Laurie, who has worked all over the world in both biological and conservation research. They are both currently working under the SFA on this GEF project to research, preserve and restore a representative sample of four different wetland areas in China. In philosophy, Andrew is a purist in the conservation sense: leave it as it is, restore it as it was. He was quite critical when I asked him about some of the new “more innovative” approaches being taken in China. He said that some of these “solutions” may actually cause additional disruption and long-term damage. Fish farming, a common alternative livelihood, can still deplete streams of important nutrients and biological balance. He also distinguished between people involved in animal welfare vs. those involved in conservation. Animal welfarists have a love and priority for animals that puts fauna first, and doesn’t necessarily promote a balanced ecology. Despite his often critical views, Andrew does believe that the diversity of conservation groups serves the important purpose of having an advocate to protect all species. The key, of course, is finding a way to work together.

Andrew’s approach involved lengthy research into issues such as: How much more water does this wetland need to function properly, in order for it to be negotiated and let out of dams? How many families would need to be moved to make this reserve work, and does it economically make sense?

His solution involves establishing a zoning system, so that core areas of nature reserves are untouched, while multi-use zones can allow for habitation and some areas of “sustainable” work. A circumstance more pressing than anywhere else in the world, China’s biggest challenge to environmental protection is simply the staggering numbers of its population. Everyone needs somewhere to live, so how much land can realistically be set aside, “unused,” as preserves? The problem currently is that to get anything done environmentally, an area needs to be named as a nature reserve. However, in this process, entire cities (in addition to industry) can be incorporated inside that reserve. And, of course, it is impossible to get anything done with a city in the middle of your reserve! Andrew’s answer seems simple: Cut it out. Only when policy-level changes on zoning are made, can the parties involved begin to talk about what damns to let water out of, what industry to move, which people to prioritize in the teaching environmental education.

There are many reasons wetlands in China are in such danger. Dams have been constructed for hydroelectricity, but more interestingly, the reason farmers favor reclaimed wetland for crop planting (mainly rice), is not just for its locational convenience. The soil that sits on the edge of a lake or wetland is actually much richer in nutrients, and promises a much higher yield. In the first three years of cultivation, no fertilizers are needed, thus making it choice land for farming.

One of the ironies of the nature reserves (or more broadly, the “Protected Areas” or “PAs”) is that they are dramatically underfunded, and in order to make up for the budget shortfalls, park managers exploit the very resources they have been hired to protect. For example, they will grow and sell rice to make up for nearly half their budget, but it is not only the land reclamation that is the problem. Pesticides used in farming are responsible for killing thousands of waterfowl each year.

Finally, reserves are overstaffed with administrators, but the workers at the ranger level are both understaffed and undereducated, often knowing nothing about the environment or conservation, and believing their primary jobs are to put out forest fires. This is where environmental education must step in.

Andrew believes one important solution is to look for permanent environmentally-educated people to work at these reserves as liaisons. He particularly favors U.N. volunteers from abroad, but also focuses on those from within China. These “volunteers,” paid only a nominal salary, stay for two- to three-year periods and work to establish communication and education throughout all levels.

Although I found Andrew’s ways very slow-going (talking, instead of the jump-in-and-do attitude of the WWF), he seemed to have a good sense of how to wade through Chinese bureaucracy.

I cannot possibly go into detail about all of the meetings I had in Beijing, but I had a wonderful time meeting with Ms. Gao Xiaolan of Travelogue on CCTV, Mr. Wen Bo involved with numerous conservation-based NGOs here in China, and Mr. Wu Lizhong, Section Chief of Nature Reserve Management who has worked for the SFA for over 20 years, all of whose insights helped paint a broader picture for me of environmental conservation issues in China.

MOVING ONTO ZHALONG CRANE RESERVE… OR NOT…

Interviewing contacts in Beijing was an exciting and inspiring experience, but it really only set the stage for getting out into the nature reserves. I was scheduled to leave in two days for the Zhalong Crane Reserve in Qiqihar, Heilongjiang, when I was watching CCTV in my room. I heard a story come on about, where else, but Qiqihar (which I was surprised about because it is really not a high-profile city). As it turns out, a few days previously, some residents discovered chemical weapons left over from the Japanese occupation, while digging in their yard. The area was now closed off, and the Chinese and Japanese government planned to spend at least the next 10 days clearing them. From the pictures, the piles of weapons would easily fill a football field.

Needless to say, I was disappointed that I was not able to go as planned. Instead I chose to go to my second destination, Changbai Shan, early. I decided to monitor the situation, and if I still felt that Qiqihar was unsafe, I would try to find an alternate site to visit. With the contacts I’ve been meeting with in the SFA and the Wetlands projects, I felt that this would not be a problem.

As I wrote to keep Oxy and Avery updated (reeling with the improbability of it all), I thought that I’m sure Avery has had grantees change their plans before, but I suspected it was rarely for this reason.

THE JOURNEY TO BAIHE AND THE PEOPLE ALONG THE WAY

The journey to tiny Baihe, the closest town to Changbai Shan Nature Reserve, was one of pinball. Certain only of my train connection from Beijing to Jilin, I thereafter bounced around, almost blindly, relying on the kindness and goodwill of Chinese travelers and station workers. For the first time since I arrived in China, I was completely at the mercy of my own ignorance of the language.

I used my phrasebook dutifully, pointing out cryptic one- or two-word phrases accompanied by frenzied hand-gestures. I was met sometimes with a smile, sometimes with frustration, but in the end, I persevered until I found a stranger who would help me.

On the train from Beijing to Jilin, a kind non-English-speaking businessman offered to walk me to the nearby bus station. My lungs nearly caught fire as we weaved through traffic amidst Jilin’s hundreds of dragon-breathing smokestacks, famous as an industrial center of the northeast. I did not stay long in town, but my allergies suffered for days. At the Jilin bus station, the businessman recruited two older women to help me connect to Baihe, who, in turn, located a young girl who worked at the station. Her very limited English was music to my ears, and as she sketched out a route that included three more bus connections before I reached Baihe, a crowd gathered to give its input. The discussion on “the best way” grew lively and to an overwhelming volume, as station passersby stopped to see what was happening surrounding the giant foreigner with her giant backpack. After five minutes of crescendo discussion, I finally had to tap the girl on the shoulder to ask for an update, whereupon she sketched a series of characters onto my notepad and assigned me to a different woman. Everyone seemed satisfied, and the crowd dispersed slowly, smiling at me and giving me what I took to be a few encouraging parting words.

The next woman to whom I was assigned was a dignified-looking middle-aged woman with a neatly-pinned hairdo and a commanding presence. I was shocked, yet pleasantly surprised, when, as the bus was boarding, she pulled a powder blue shirt out of her bag (Look! She’s Superman!), and accompanied me onto HER bus. She was the ticket-taker.

When the bus started, she took a survey and located my next protector, a woman sitting in front of me with wild purple hair and lipstick to match who had a home in Baihe. I would spend the next entire day with her, following her from connection to connection, eating noodle soup in the station, and speaking cryptically from my phrasebook. Her mild manner was a departure from her wild appearance, and I enjoyed having a person to travel with; I began to appreciate, more and more frequently, seeking out women and the unspoken stick-together sisterhood.

When we arrived in Baihe, she invited me to eat in her restaurant, then put me in a taxi, and sent me on my way to my hotel, as I stumbled to express my undying degree of gratitude. (How could I have done it without her? I don’t know that I could have.) She seemed unphased by the depth to which she had helped me, and with a simple smile, she waved goodbye.

I spent the next day seeking out the perfect guide, and after countless decimated attempts, I began to realize that despite my nearest proximity to Changbai Shan, there were almost no local guides in sight! Most trips are booked through agencies in big cities and come roaring in on tour buses, blasting through and yet hardly noticing the tiny town at the periphery of the park.

After reflecting on my bad luck in Qiqihar, on my nearly inane plan of coming here expecting to just find a guide (my contact in Beijing had been out of town and not come through), and on my inexplicable determination. I tried one more time… and struck gold.

Zheng Chang Ling was a friend of one of the workers at my hotel and had lived all his life in Baihe. He now worked for the Protection Department of Changbai Mountain in web design and marketing, and together with his brother, Zheng Ze Ling, ran a small tourist business for those who were crazy (or smart) enough to seek a guide in Baihe. They have had their business for about four years.

Zheng Chang Ling’s face was bright and open, and although his English, I thought, was quite good, he preferred to communicate in writing. So we wrote messages back and forth, staring at a large wall map of the park. He said if I liked, I could join two students from Changchun University (the provincial capital) who later, as it turned out, were pleased and eager to become my translators and my friends. On a final side note, Zheng Chang Ling mentioned that his wife, whose English name was Anna, was an English teacher at the local primary school, and if I needed to ask anything, I could call her on her cell phone. Grateful to have met such a warm man, to have a driver and guide, to know I’d be in the park tomorrow, I enthusiastically said goodbye.

Two hours later, the phone rang. It was Anna. And that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

CHANGBAI SHAN AND THE LITTER ABATEMENT PROJECT

From the previously mentioned hundreds of dragon-breathing smokestacks in Jilin to the logging failures exhibited as piles of cut birch trees just across the dirt road from the Changbai Shan preserve, environmental issues smack you in the face here in Dongbei (the northeast). Bee boxes dot the muddy roads far from any town, while their caretakers in face-nets tend to the honey, living in plastic-covered lean-tos. Alternatives-to-farming live hand-in-hand with evidence of ignoring the 6-year-old logging ban. Deeply forested slopes share mountainsides with eroded sliding hills, as previously logged areas have begun to sprout with June’s fresh grass.

As for the project motivation for coming here, I am happy (and yet disappointed?) to report that Changbai Shan is virtually litter free! What a shock (after all I’d read about litter-hurling Chinese tour groups) to see not only garbage cans every few meters, but park staff with brooms, bags and gloves whose job it was to pick up the park! At even the most touristed sites, the trash barely hit the ground when there was someone behind the litterbug to pick it up. The bigger and more popular the site was, the more barrels and trash collectors there were. At some of the smaller sites (and on those way off the beaten path), there were papers and cigarette butts, chip bags and plastic bottle tops, and so I did get to do some of the abatement I set out to do, despite there not being the magnitude expected. I even got my student translators, Jin Guang Xue and Zheng Yan Lin, to pitch in and help. Actually, they loved it. They kept saying things like, “You’re so nice” that I would be conscientious enough to pick up someone else’s trash, even when I explained that was really the intended purpose of my visit.

But as we picked it up, Zheng Ze Ling, my driver/guide, continued to fling his cigarette butts into the most pristine parts of the trail. I talked with him about it a little, but how do I not come off being preachy and culturally insensitive? After all, HE is the nature guide. He and his brother made their living because of this park, and despite his knowledge and appreciation of every corner of it, I was shocked at his continual stream of litter, even as he saw the students and I picking it up.

As for the official employees of Changbai Shan Nature Reserve, there was a mixture of (many) administrators, who checked tickets and gave you a bad time if you had a student pass (like my translators did) at the front gate. There were hoards of them. But once you got inside the park, most of the workers were just a few trash collectors, and yet hoards of official photographers. It seems to me funds could be spent in a different way. Trails were VERY well-maintained, from raised wooden boardwalks above the forest floor (very low impact and good work for many locals), to cement walkways, to small meandering dirt trails. The park, really, was surprisingly clean, and I may choose to visit somewhere even bigger, perhaps like Jiuzhai Gou, to further explore this notion of littered parks.

Most of the trash collectors in Changbai Shan said they had been working in that capacity for less than a year, so it seems there was recently a change in assigning priority to the litter abatement issue. This doesn’t change the fact, however, that litter-throwing has not been addressed. My guide is a prime example. Yes, we’re cleaning it up, but how do we keep people from making the mess in the first place? This is a complex cultural question, which clearly, I am not equipped to answer.

ANNA, THE LITTLE EMPEROR AND I

As I spent the next few weeks learning and loving Changbai Shan, I explored the more well-known sites of Tian Chi (Heavenly Lake) and Changbai Waterfall, as well as smaller sites without names, dreamlands scattered in yellow and purple wildflowers laying in soft beds of green. Rolling hills surrounded by jagged peaks of reflective ice patches (Yes! Ice in June—Changbai actually means “always white”), sheltered fields of dandelions in bloom, an entire fairyland of wishes waiting to be wished. Bridges of fallen birch trees laid over gurgling streams, as I spent hours learning about the park, its history, its beauty, and most of all, learning about my new friends.

Sometimes Anna came with me to the park when she could get away. I went to her school to have interviews in English with her kids, ranging in age from grade 2 to grade 5. But mostly, when we were together, we took walks in town and spent time at her house, playing with her son and sitting on the kang, a raised wooden platform constructed over a heating pipe, a place of family gathering and honor in Northern Chinese homes. At her “family home” (her parents’ home, where she went on the weekends), she, her mom and her sister-and-law taught me how to make dumplings, a specialty of the northeast. We laughed as we started sentences with “In China…” and “In America…” She loved learning about the differences (so many of which she already knew), like why American babies wear diapers, but Chinese babies simply have a little slit in their pants and squat whenever (and wherever—like little sprinklers) they need to. She wondered if American babies were shy. We talked about the concept of “one child only,” and how much Chinese parents seem to love their children. Her son is 19 months old and is a pistol! The kid cannot sit still, squirms and wiggles and runs, and is into everything. I think he must be very smart.

Anna is perhaps one of the kindest, most open, warmest people I have ever met. Maybe it’s that I was ready for a friend (it is tough being alone—and thinking about being alone—for so long). Maybe it’s that she never imposed anything on me, but invited me… We had so much fun the first night at the park when she taught me about the legend of the Beauty Pine, a kind of tree which grows only in the Changbai Shan area (see story below) and at the dinner we had at her uncle’s restaurant where she ordered me a vegetarian feast! She is inquisitive but tactful, and she laughs a lot. I know that to have been invited not only to her house, but to her “family home,” is a great honor.

Her mom is a crack-up. She rolls huge cigarettes, barely stuck together, shreds of leaves just hanging out, and smokes like a chimney while she’s cooking. Her dad, a leathery-faced 63-year old man, thought I was crack-up and invited me back to his home, again and again, which I thought was very sweet. He constantly smelled of hard alcohol and laughed at everything, taking perhaps the most pleasure in his grandson, who is, dare I say, just like him.

Speaking frankly, I realized that I could not really do anything to gross out anyone here. Offend, of course would be possible, but gross out, no way. As I delicately spit out my fish bones and placed them on the side of my little saucer, Anna’s mom spit it all (scales, bones and tendons) right out from her mouth directly onto the table. I felt so self-conscious about having a nasty cold, but her parents thought it was stranger for me to leave the table to blow my nose, than to hack it all up right there, over which they didn’t even seem to blink.

I’ve really been overwhelmed at Anna’s kindness and that of her husband and family. I have met giving people in the past, but in this case, there really was no pressured expectation to reciprocate. No self-invites to America. No underlying wants of money or business. No religious reasons to be good for karma or points-from-beyond because I know this family is not religious. These are just good—very good—people. I will carry it with me… as a gift… as something to share with others and keep for myself and remember when other people in the world get me down. These are good good people. And I am really going to miss them.

Months later, we continue to communicate over email, and now that I am home, I am preparing a package for her now with a few photos we took together and some children’s books in English. I may not have found much trash in Changbai Shan, but I found much beauty… in the park, in the reflection of the great lake, on the quiet trails where not a sound was to be heard, and in the friendships, with Jin Guang Xue and Zheng Yan Lin (the student translators), with Zheng Chang Ling and Zheng Ze Ling (the brothers), but especially with Anna, someone I really feel like I could consider a lifelong friend and someone I am sad to know lives so far away. But as the old Chinese poem says, When we are friends, we are always in the same neighborhood.

THE STORY OF THE BEAUTY PINE

There was once a flower fairy who fell in love with a dragon.
They were very happy together until
one day, a black-winged monster came to their village,
and began killing people.
The flower fairy and the dragon went to The Man in The East Sea to help,
and The Man in The East Sea gave the fairy a magic seed to eat.
He told her that if she ate the seed,
she would turn into a tree,
and she would let off a smell that smelled very good
but it was really a poisonous gas that would kill the black-winged monster.
But,
if she ate the seed,
she would stay a tree forever,
and could not turn back into a fairy.
In order to help the people of her village,
the fairy ate the seed,
and turned into the Beauty Pine,
which you can see all over Baihe and Changbai Shan today.

MOVING ON FROM CHANGBAI SHAN

In Changbai Shan, I learned not only about issues involving litter abatement, but about issues of sustainable forestry. In 1998, China imposed a logging ban that put a dramatic slowing to the deforestation of the country, but with Chinese people consuming over 130 million cubic meters of timber annually, it also contributed to the steady rise of the need for timber imports (both legal and illegal). With a deficit of 75 million cubic meters in 2003 alone, China is forced to meet its domestic needs from Russia and Far East.

To address this deficit, WWF introduced a Forest Certification Program as a means to establish a sustainable forest industry, and it chose two regions, which are still being logged, as focus areas: Changbai Mountains in Jilin, and the Xing An Mountains in Inner Mongolia.

Since I had been extremely interested in doing a project in Inner Mongolia, but was unable to connect with one from the U.S., I was thrilled at the opportunity to add a project in this region (an opening that presented itself when my project in Zhalong Crane Reserve had to be canceled due to the uncovering of chemical weapons in Qiqihar).

When I contacted WWF to learn more about their High Conservation Value Forest (HCVF) project in Inner Mongolia, I was disappointed to learn that although the project will run from 2002-2005, there was not much activity happening right now. However, my contact recommended that if I was interested in a project in Inner Mongolia, I get in touch with the Inner Mongolia Grassland Ecosystem Research Station, sponsored by the Chinese Academy of Sciences and a number of other prestigious universities. The station, located in Xilinhot, Inner Mongolia, was founded in 1979, and is the longest-running research base for grasslands in China. The station is very active during the summer (the windy/rainy season) in May through October, and may have projects that I could get involved with. And THAT is how I ended up in Inner Mongolia, watching the grass grow…

WATCHING THE GRASS GROW: THE EFFECTS OF OVERGRAZING ON THE GRASSLANDS OF INNER MONGOLIA

The dustbowls of Inner Mongolia are infamous. Each year, the overgrazing of the grasslands on the Mongolian steppe (both Inner and Outer) lead to the land’s exposure to erosion, as the wind blows in supernatural gusts, carrying away topsoil from the steppe into the unsuspecting, cough-ridden, mask-wearing city of Beijing. This issue is often named as one of the foremost environmental problems in China, and I was lucky enough to come to Xilinhot, Inner Mongolia, to the Inner Mongolian Grassland Ecosystem Research Station, to work with some of the leading conservationists, who are finding solutions to this devastating problem.

The Research Station is currently working on nine different projects that work in collaboration with one another to research the effects of overgrazing on the grasslands of the Xilin River Catchment Watershed, located about 50 kilometers outside Xilinhot. This area is in the middle of Inner Mongolia, and has a climate and grazing management practices which are typical for semi-arid grasslands (and thus, whose results may later be applied to similar grassland areas in Gansu, Ningxia, Qinghai, and Hebei provinces). In addition, this area is located in northern China, one of the sources of the well-known dust storms.

I worked primarily with nine Chinese Ph.D. and Masters students, helping to take soil samples and set up and observe (to the best of my lay-botanist ability) results of experiments in the field. The students, each working on their own projects, are looking at the effects of grazing intensity on yield performance, persistence of grassland ecosystems, impact of feed quality and animal productivity, and dynamics of wind erosion. Their home universities include the Chinese Academy of Sciences, the Institute of Atmospheric Physics, the Institute of Botany, and the Center for Agricultural Environmental Research. In addition to gathering experimental results and eventually publishing their findings, this group of bright young student scientists are also committed to finding socioeconomically feasible solutions to the problems of overgrazing, a phase which will come during the second half of the six-year project (begun April 2004).

I was so surprised to find such a wide variety of grasslands. Near the Station, the grass is smooth and flat by the river, surrounded by hilly dunes with tall yellowing sprigs. When I went to stay with Bohu’s family (read more about this in the next section), the land was large and flat, spreading out its green carpet as far as the eye could see. I was also surprised to arrive and find the grasslands to be green! This is the rainy season (June and July) as I quickly learned as I watched storms blow through, raining about 7-8 hours a day (mostly in the late afternoon and at night).

Although a bit isolated and although way over my head in so many ways, it was fun to live with the students in the dorms, and get to know them and their coordinator, Ms. Zhu Yuandi, at a relaxed time of year when the professors were not here in the field. The students worked VERY hard, physically and mentally straining for long hours, and I did my best to keep up and learn. Although “watching the grass grow” is not my particular cup of tea, it was fun to be out in the hinterlands of Inner Mongolia (such an interesting mix of Chinese and Mongolian cultures), spending time with bright young people in an environment that couldn’t be more beautiful (albeit, there were days when the wind LITERALLY blew me over with its uneven gusts). It was also fun to go into the local village of mostly mud and brick houses, (Xilinhot is a big mining town for coal and clay, thus, the plethora of brick houses), where people were unaccustomed to seeing Westerners. Although the Research Station sees its fair share of international intellectuals, few ever walk the 2 kilometers to the nearby village, filled with people with rich smiles and friendly waves. The Xilinhot Station was a wonderful place to meet very friendly people, to get to know about the conservation work being done in the grasslands, and to get away—really out into the green—from the busyness associated with Eastern China. I am very glad I made the decision to come.

In addition to the work the students at the Research Base are doing to answer scientific questions about specific effects of overgrazing, there also exist a number of Inner Mongolian families who already practice “sustainable grazing.” I was thrilled when Lue Yongfu, one of the Ph.D. students, suggested I spend a week with one of these families that he knew well, sleeping in a traditional Mongolian yurt and participating at their horse-milking farm with their small herds of animals, in order to see what the Station hopes will, one day, be the environmentally-healthy norm with herding families here on the steppe.

LIFE IN A YURT: LIVING WITH ONE SUSTAINABLE GRAZING FAMILY

For me, it is almost paradise to wake up on a windy sunny morning, puffy clouds racing across the sky, in a traditional Mongolian yurt, put on ALL of the clothes I own—all at the same time (yes, it can get really cold here), and meet Bohu and his family for a breakfast of toasted milletseed and homemade horse-milk yogurt. Yes, I know I’m a little strange. But one must know thyself, right? I loved spending the days learning about the traditional semi-nomadic way of life in Inner Mongolia, an anomaly here in the 21st century.

As a bit of background, in the 1950s and 60s, many local stock farmers were forced to give up their nomadic ways of life and settle in small villages, hamlets or individual farms. Together with a moderate increase in the number of livestock, this has led to an increased grazing pressure around these newly-established settlements. Obviously, the bigger the population, the bigger the pressure. A new economic policy was established in the 1980s to allow individuals to profit directly from increased meat or wool production, and this further intensified land use and overgrazing. This led to a decrease in steppe primary productivity, accompanied by severe loss of soil and depletion of nutrients. In short, because of overgrazing, the grasslands now hold less nutrients (upsetting the balance of carbon and nitrogen) which means the animals must eat MORE in order to get the nutrients they need. The more they eat, the more nutrients are removed due to the removal of the plants themselves and due to wind erosion of the topsoil (which often ends up in Beijing via dust storms). A downward spiral, I’m afraid…

There are, however, alternative solutions including reduced stocking rate, mobile systems where animals are rotated over many different grazing areas, and supervised trans-humance systems. Bohu and his family are fortunate because they have a lot of land. Thus, by reducing their herd, they are able to rotate their animals’ grazing over many areas and become certified as a family who practices “sustainable grazing.” From what I noticed (most of my experiences here were through observation, as Bohu struggled to speak what English he knew, and I struggled with my phrasebook, which was not in Mongolian), the sheep herd was only about 20 animals, there were about 10 cows, and most of the family’s energies were concentrated in their horses, about 25 mares with an equal number of colts. I was lucky enough to be here during birthing season, and the day I arrived, I got to spend time with a one-day old foal! I learned about life on the steppe away from a village, and how the family got their water, electricity, and made their living.

Bohu, who is 19, and his older brother, Daeg, are responsible for the care of the farm. Their uncle, Chamen and his family, are in charge of the horses: their daily milking and then turning the milk into the somewhat-profitable horse milk wine. Tomber, an imposing woman with deep wrinkles and a big laugh, is Bohu’s great aunt who does most of the cooking—and who I loved spending time with and who taught me how to make horse milk cheese. His parents live in Xilinhot, about 20 km away. Some days, Bohu would saddle up the two riding horses (who were not producing milk), and we would go on long rides (ouch! that wooden Mongolian saddle is a tough one to get used to), across the grasslands. It was a beautiful and peaceful and somewhat dirt-filled time that gave me a balanced view of what the Station was trying to accomplish. It is only when the academics can come together with the local herders that progress can be made. And it CAN be made. Of that, I am sure…

GO WEST, MY YOUNG FRIEND…

Windblown and happy, I returned to Beijing feeling far from those rolling hills, those flat plains, from the people who live their life under big blue skies of fast moving thunderclouds. But coming back to Beijing felt like coming back to a home-base of sorts, and that comfort (including a warm shower with running water) helped ease the sadness of leaving all those wonderful people in the grasslands.

After a day or two of rest and recovery, I decided it was time to travel west. The journey to Chengdu was such a long one that I decided to break it up, and stop about half way in Xi’an for a day or two. I am glad I did, because by that time my cough (that I developed in Changbai Shan and that was surely aggravated by Xilinhot’s cold weather) had gotten much worse. I went to the Red Cross Hospital there, and although the hospital was surely the last place I wanted to be, I had yet another wonderful experience with yet another Chinese person who went completely out of her way to make sure I got what I needed. Nurse Amy, who had lived in Xi’an all her life until she was chosen by her hospital to work in Singapore, had learned to speak wonderful English. She guided me confidently, as we weaved our way through the hospital’s endless bureaucracies and pay-stops, and I kept thinking to myself how grateful I was, and that I could never have done this on my own. She took me to see the internal medicine doctor, who took a chest X-ray on a state-of-the-art machine (where the technicians laughed and worried, Amy later told me, that I was too big to fit). They took a blood test where they poked my fourth finger and squeezed out a vile, and then gave me an I.V. of antibiotics. After the six-hour ordeal during which Amy stayed with me and told me stories about the history of the ancient capital of China, the doctor told me to rest for a few days and to take these antibiotics; I had bronchitis but it wasn’t serious, and I was going to be OK. Don’t worry…

I decided to mention my experiences in the hospital because, although they were clearly an unplanned part of my project, they were part of my experience nevertheless. And although I would have liked to have met Nurse Amy under more pleasant circumstances, she was one of the kindest people I met during my time in China. Although our relationship was short, I will always remember some of the things she said to me. As I tried to thank her over and over for helping me, she said simply, “You are sick. This is your time to have help.” Or, “I am happy that I can help you.” And she really seemed like she was. Such simple words implying that of course she would help me, and that that is what people do when others are sick. It felt like living in the land of the Golden Rule, and it really made me more aware of being there to help others who might need it when I walk around in this world.

After a few days of rest at a hotel that Nurse Amy helped me find and even called ahead for me to negotiate a price, all the tour agencies in town said that train tickets to Chengdu were sold out for weeks, both hard and soft sleeper, and even the day trains with regular seats. They recommended that I go to Lanzhou first and then take the train from there, since Xi’an was a big tourist city and fewer people visited Lanzhou. With my adventurous spirit renewed by the miracle antibiotic I.V., and with the realization, Uggg! This is the beginning of the tourist season!, I took what I could get, and was on my way to Lanzhou. When I arrived, I was disappointed to discover there STILL weren’t any train tickets available to Chengdu, and tickets would not become available for 20 days. Certainly I could not just hang around somewhere that wasn’t even on my itinerary for that long, so I hopped a plane (not my first choice, but really my only one, which turned out not to be so much more expensive than the train) that very afternoon, and kissed the ground pandas walk on when I landed in the very welcoming city of Chengdu.

A PLETHORA OF PANDAS: WELCOME TO CHENGDU!

After finding a hotel where I could rest my weary yet enthusiastic self, I took off for the Chengdu Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding to meet Ms. Luo Lan of the Environmental Education program at the center.

Upon entering the Research Base, I was overwhelmed with how truly peaceful it was. Although only 7 kilometers outside of the city limits, it seemed like a different world from the urban sprawl. Bamboo overhung the narrow walking paths, and cicadas sang in deafening chorus. The humidity hung in the air like a heavy raincoat, and I felt like this must be very much like the wild place where the wild pandas lived before this area of the country was developed.

After asking a volunteer for directions, I was quickly guided to the main building and museum where I found the office of Ms. Luo Lan. She was a young woman, bashful with a new mouth of braces, but someone who commanded much respect from her fellow office workers. She greeted me with a closed-mouth smile, and explained that now she had to look a bit serious to cover up her braces. As someone who has been there (believe me!), I identified with her and smiled. She seemed happy to see the end result of those metal monsters.

I spent the week learning about the different programs the Environmental Education office ran here at the Chengdu Research Base of Giant Panda Breeding in conjunction with the Chendgu Zoo. One of the more prominent programs, and also one of the oldest, is the Young Zoologists Program, whereby students from the local universities who are interested in biology and other life sciences become involved in working the pandas. As I made my way around the facility, I saw them frequently: students with a staff T-shirt and a clipboard, busily writing and checking boxes as they observed every move of the animals. There was one student assigned to each panda, and every time the panda ate, or vocalized, or walked inside, or walked outside, or slept, or interacted with another panda, and so on, the student would record the behavior. For students, it gave them a chance to work inside the facility, get to know the scientists and keepers, learn more about scientific research, and perhaps, best of all, get to spend lots of time watching those amazing animals.

Another EE project that the center was starting up is a Summer Kid’s Camp project that Luo Lan invited me to help develop. This camp was originally designed for ages 14-16, but Sarah Bexell (who was not in Chengdu during my time there, but who had helped me make contact with Luo Lan) is another coordinator for the program and suggested that we include younger children as well. Sarah works for the Atlanta Zoo, an organization which has closely partnered with the Chengdu Breeding Center and their Environmental Education programs.

There was still much to do for the camp, which was set to launch in October for school’s seven-day holiday. It seemed like quite a short length of time for the program, but Luo Lan assured me that as they developed it and if it became successful, the length of the camp would be extended. The program was quite innovative, since most Chinese who encourage their children to attend summer camps usually enroll them in some sort of advanced academic program. This camp is to be very different. This camp is to be FUN! Of course, we’ll emphasize learning, and teach the kids about conservation and why animals are so important to us. But the kids will learn hands-on at the Breeding Center and Zoo, and, best of all, get time not just in the classroom, but actually with the pandas!

Finally, another prominent program that is just being developed in the Environmental Education office, is one that will train middle school science teachers to include teaching about giant pandas in their curriculum. The Breeding Center will train the teachers with some ideas and projects, and when the children are done learning about the pandas in school, they will get to take a trip to the Breeding Center or Zoo to see them. The goal, of course, is to foster love and learning about the pandas in our very youngest leaders-to-be.

The EE office is one of enthusiasm, and it was interesting to learn about what kind of people it attracts. For example, Ling We Zhoug has been a volunteer here for almost a year and a half now. She left her well-paying job in Shanghai to start a new life in Chengdu, determined to dedicate her time to helping the pandas. Ling We Zhoug volunteers full-time here at the center, and does everything from helping out with the EE programs, to feeding the pandas bamboo shoots at feeding time, to working in the nursery. She knew that with no experience, her passion was not enough to get her a job here. She would have to volunteer her time, and maybe someday a position would come open for her. For now, she seemed to truly enjoy every day, and she talked about the pandas in the nursery as her “babies.” Her limited English only punctuated her love for the pandas, as she enhanced her stories with pantomimes of hugs and kisses. Ling We Zhoug is such an enthusiastic person, and is just one of the many hundreds of volunteers who give their time to the Center. She may be one of the most committed, and certainly, she is one of the most appreciative (not to mention animated).

I also really enjoyed spending time with Duan Dong Qiong, a university student who volunteers at the Center during the summer. She works mostly as Ms. Luo Lan’s assistant in the Environmental Education office, and was the one who usually was assigned to leading me around the grounds. I find it so amazing that everyone who works here is always smiling. I guess it is hard not to when surrounded not only by such enthusiastic coworkers, but also by such adorable animals. Duan Dong Qiong studies biology in school, and hopes to get a job working as a scientist at the Center when she graduates. As you might imagine, competition is fierce with so few slots available for paid positions, but volunteering at the Center allows people to get to know scientists and researchers, as well as being sure this is a place they’d like to work. I remember when I first asked Duan Dong Qiong how long she’d volunteered here, she said, “only four months.” That is when I first started to realize that once you’ve come here, it is hard to ever leave…

A DREAM COME TRUE…

Spending that first week at the Chengdu Panda Breeding Center was really like a dream come true. To meet all of these very happy, very dedicated people who have given their time (whether paid or unpaid) and creative energies to helping the survival and propagation of species of these amazing animals, was truly inspiring. That experience was only enhanced by the time I spent with the animals themselves.

When we weren’t in the EE office, Duan Dong Qiong walked with me for about an hour every day, showing me all the different habitats where the pandas lived. They had indoor cages where they were fed, and then they were free to go outside as they wished to their very spacious homes filled with bamboo, trees, and logs to play and sleep on. Of course, by 10am, everyone was exhausted from eating, and they were all asleep! I loved watching them hold the bamboo shoots with their fingers and faux-thumb. And I couldn’t believe how CLOSE I could get to the animals. So close I could see them breathing. So close their little eyes looked back at me with mild interest, second to the sleep slowly creeping into their heavy lids. I couldn’t get over how amazing they are. They just don’t look real. They look like someone dressed up in a panda costume, doing all these funny things. Falling out of trees… bumbling around… climbing and playing with each other. But why they are so cute? Is it the shape of the markings on their eyes, slanted ellipses pointing outward, that look a little sad, but also full of innocence and wonder? Is it their round little bodies that look like a giant puffball, as they roll and play and fall all over the place? Is it that they’re so clumsy? So much like teddy bears? So calm and gentle? Whatever it is, they have cast their spell over me and over millions of others all over the world. If you are in love with them by seeing their pictures, imagine that love enhanced 100-fold by seeing them in person, just mere feet away! After the first few days when I could finally take my eyes off of them, it was also fun to watch the visitors watch the animals. The laughter and surprise. And especially the kids. I can’t wait to hear about how the Summer Camp goes.

There are currently 42 pandas at the Chengdu Breeding Center; during its history, there have been 77 born here, of 52 litters, of which 40 have survived. It’s hard to imagine that that tiny four-ounce pink worm that scares its mother to death during her first delivery, can grow up to be such an adorable creature. It’s fortunate that the giant pandas have won the hearts of conservationists, because they really don’t have much of a chance on their own. It is estimated that about 1000 giant pandas remain in the wild, but this statistic varies dramatically depending on who you ask. What we know for certain, is that the habitat of the panda has been overdeveloped with encroaching cities and villages into areas where the animals survive only on a very few species of bamboo. In recent years, the most promising development in helping the plight of the pandas, aside from captive breeding, has been the establishment of “corridors.” There are about half a dozen panda reserves throughout the Qinling Mountains, primarily in Sichuan province, but because each of these reserves is isolated, pandas run the risk of inbreeding and thus future generations not being as healthy. In recent years, scientists have realized that it is only when these separate reserves are linked that pandas can move freely, not only for mating, but also in search of food, as particular areas of bamboo forests flower and die. These links, or “corridors,” have been a very important way to help the plight of the pandas, and land is currently being purchased to establish these links.

But of all the memorable times I had at the Breeding Center, I’ll never forget the day Duan Dong Qiong asked me, “Do you want to hold one?” My eyes grew as round as saucers, and I think I must have started shaking. “Really?” I asked. So we went into the nursery, and we talked to Chen Bo, one of the young keepers there (Does he have the best job in the world, or what?). Before I knew it, he had me dressed up in a hospital gown and plastic gloves, and he told me to sit down on the bench. The next thing that happened, I will remember for the rest of my life. Chen Bo walked out carrying Qing Zhai, an 11-month old, 35-kilo baby panda. Qing Zhai, held only under the arms, wiggled like a worm, trying to get down, until the moment when they put him in my lap. Chen Bo gave him an apple, and he seemed perfectly content, but it was I who was in absolute amazement. A dream come true. Holding a baby panda. On my lap. Hugging its little softness. Duan Dong Qiong took photos, but I didn’t have to see them to know that the look on my face was one of wonder. One of the-opportunity-of-a-lifetime. “Little” Qing Zhai sat so calmly there, I just hugged him and hugged him. I nuzzled my face into his puffy head. I played with his big feet, touching the pads and fingering the long claws. His little warmness, breathing right there with me, made me decide then and there, that I will not be having babies—I will have pandas. (Do you think genetics will be able to do that for me in the next few years?). Truly, I cannot remember the last time I was this happy. Amazed with the wonders of life. And I thought, maybe they let all the new staff do this to hypnotize them, and that is why everyone who works here is so happy. But all I knew at that moment was that I was hugging a baby panda, and I felt like I could have stayed there forever. By the time Chen Bo reached down for Qing Zhai, he had nearly finished his apple, and he immediately returned to wiggle-worm mode, squirming all around, and making it nearly impossible for the tall lanky keeper to wrangle his arms under Qing Zhai’s. He carried him off like that, Qing Zhai’s legs loose, kicking all around, and it made me think he had been happy there in my lap. It made me smile, since him sitting there was something that will make me happy every time I think about it for the rest of my life.

ON MY WAY HOME

I am sad to say that my respiratory illness only got worse. By the end of my time in Chengdu, coughing fits kept me up all night, wreching, until finally I pulled a muscle in my ribcage that made it extremely difficult to make even the smallest movement. I remember looking at my face in the mirror on those last few mornings, thinking that the dark circles under my eyes made me look just like the animals I had enjoyed there so much.

When I told Luo Lan that I was too sick to continue, she wished me all the best with my health, and invited me back any time. It made me happy to think I’d always have a little bit of a home there. And sadly, finally giving way to my common sense and no longer fighting with my stubbornness to complete my project, I flew home, knowing it was the only reasonable thing to do.

Despite the early termination of my project, I am absolutely elated that I was able to complete four of the five components of my project, filling me with memories that will last a lifetime. I have met people, whether for a month or for a moment, that have, out of the pure goodness of their hearts, helped me find my way, and enriched my experience in ways I cannot even hope to describe. Whether it is remembering Anna in Baihe asking questions about if babies in the U.S. are more embarrassed and that is why they don’t wear the pants with the little slit in them, or if it is remembering Bohu and his family and the horse-milking farm in the middle of the grasslands, or if it is remembering little Qing Zhai’s soft fur and warm weight, the little creature who has mesmerized Luo Lan into dedicating her life to saving them and educating the youth of China, these are memories which I will hold forever. And for that, to Avery and Occidental and to all the people who helped make this happen for me, I am extremely grateful. Thank you.

Gratefully always,

Amy Field
Occidental College, 1996