N landscape

Worldwide, the emergence of rural-urban continuums (RUCs), a term coined by late American cultural anthropologist Robert Redfield (1897-1958) to mean a merging of town and country, has prompted people to rethink what it takes to build a better life for both rural and urban populations.

Rural-urban continuum

In a recent popular article about economic and social development along the rural-urban continuum, the World Bank noted: “Nowhere are the interlinkages between rural areas and urban centers more apparent than when dealing with the food system. Livelihoods of rural populations often depend on their connection to periurban and urban food spaces, while cities depend on surrounding periurban and rural areas for food and ecosystem services.”

That pretty much sums up the situation in Fangxia — an ancient Shanghai village reborn into a hub of food supply and ecosystem services at the doorstep of surrounding neighborhoods in both Qingpu and Songjiang districts.

“You’re now standing on Songjiang’s territory,” a 60-year-old man told me when we met by chance at the end of a vast rice field. “If you look east or south from here, all those residential communities you see belong to the ancient Sijing Town of Songjiang District.”

As we chatted about the benefit of a weekend country walk, I learned that he teaches finance at the Songjiang campus of a famous accounting college.

“I’m turning 60 and can retire this year,” he told me as we walked slowly through a thick forest connecting the rice field to the under-construction farmers’ fair.

“But you look very energetic and surely can work for some more years,” I assured him.

“Well, yes, I walk through the rural forest every weekend, covering a round trip of 8 kilometers each time,” he said, smiling back. “That may make me healthier.”

He gave a “wow” when he learned that I had walked about 8 kilometers — one way — from my suburban home near the Metro Line 17. I explained that I couldn’t drive a car, because I had been diagnosed with a herniated disc, though a slight one, which made it difficult for me to bend my back or walk fast.

He and his wife moved to a residential community near his college about three years ago. He told me that the forest was hardly accessible just one year before, and the village’s main road had no pedestrian space whatsoever at that time. I offered proof to what he said.

“My wife and I both like sports, but she prefers practicing yoga indoors while I like walking in nature,” he said.

“Well,” I said. “I saw two young ladies practicing yoga in the forest just now. Maybe next time you and your wife can come together.”

When we bade farewell outside the forest, it was 5pm and the sun was hanging low in the sky. We were both ready to go home.

“You’ve 4 kilometers to go, and I have 8,” I said. He waved back at me with a hearty laughter.

The next day I went to a village close by for a casual walk. It lies to the immediate north of my suburban home. Just a 10-minute walk took me to its hinterland, a part of which was being converted from once-polluting fish ponds to a vast watermelon field.

“Those fish ponds used to damage soil quality by hardening the bottom earth, so they’ve been dismantled,” said a middle-aged farmer from neighboring Anhui Province. He said he and his relatives and friends had contracted nearly 200 mu (about 13 hectares) of farmland in Fengbang Village to grow organic watermelons, alongside a vast tract of land reserved for afforestation.

As I walked further north into the village, where vast rice fields had been recently harvested and were now lying idle in a pristine state, I suddenly saw a helicopter seemingly suspended a few meters above the ground for a little while before lifting itself again and sliding up into the sky. Curious, I moved to squat in the middle of the field, hoping the helicopter would dive again. It did, several times.

Now it was clear: The pristine rural landscape had become an ideal background for commercial pilot training. I could see the aviation company’s name on the helicopter clearly, and I waved politely at the pilot and a woman trainee beside him. They waved back nicely.

Back home, I found the commercial aviation firm’s phone number and made a quick call. Before that, I had sent a picture I took of their helicopter to their WeChat account. While appreciating the quality of my picture, they said they had indeed been given a nod from local aviation authorities to fly over the beautiful village.

Both Fangxia and Fengbang show how a more beautiful and accessible rural landscape can benefit urban life and, for that matter, a city’s overall development, although the two villages do it differently.

Fangxia is surrounded by neighborhoods in nearby towns while Fengbang has fewer urban communities around it. However, urban life has filtered into both villages one way or another as Shanghai seeks to promote the common prosperity of rural and urban areas.

And it’s not just Shanghai. A central government document released earlier this month shows China is embarking on a Nation Beautiful movement that calls for concerted efforts across the country to create a symbiotic ruralurban landscape.

Compared with the City Beautiful movement that flourished in the United States between the 1890s and the 1920s with a view to make cities a better place, China’s campaign seeks to simultaneously improve rural and urban environments in the belief that town and country are inseparable parts of a continuum.