Taiwanese persimmon farmer Lo Chih-neng stands on a ladder in his sprawling orchard using pruning sheers to cut the golden-yellow fruit still hanging from branches after enduring a tough season.
Persimmons are popular in Taiwan where people travel hours to buy bags and boxes of the sweet dried fruit to take home to their families or give away to friends.
But changing weather and an aging population are posing a threat to the century-old industry, forcing some farmers to look at alternative ways to maximize returns — or get out altogether.
Photo: AFP
Lo’s harvest was down by more than a third last year, the hottest year on record, after some of his trees failed to bloom and two typhoons in October stripped many of their leaves and fruit.
“The yield has dropped by quite a lot, at least a third or more,” Lo, 65, said on his farm where persimmon trees carpet a valley in Taichung’s Dongshih District (東勢區).
“The losses have been severe, and it’s mostly due to the typhoons,” said Lo, who expects to lose NT$1 million (US$30,000) from his takings on this year’s crop.
The Central Weather Administration said Tuesday that last year was the hottest year since records began 127 years ago, echoing unprecedented temperature highs felt around the world.
CLIMATE HARDSHIP
The annual persimmon harvest declined for the second year in a row in 2023 to around 59,000 tonnes.
It is expected to be more than 13 percent lower last year, figures from the Agriculture and Food Agency show.
The land area used for growing the fruit has shrunk to 4,700 hectares from more than 5,300 hectares a decade ago, and the number of persimmon farmers has also fallen, Su Tang-chao, director of the agency’s fruit and flower division, said.
“In recent years, we have observed changes in production areas and fluctuations in yield and quality due to broader environmental changes, such as climate change and global warming,” Su said.
Fresh persimmons are harvested from September to December, with most of the fruit sent to Hsinchu County to be dried.
Nearly all of the fruit harvested every year is consumed in Taiwan.
Lo’s harvest is put into plastic crates, loaded into the back of a truck and taken to Weiweijia persimmon orchard (味衛佳柿餅觀光農場), where Lu Li-chien’s family has been growing and drying the fruit for more than a century.
Tourists flock to Lu’s farm to pose for photos among outdoor circular racks of fruit that shrivel and darken as they dry in the sun and wind — a traditional method used by the Hakka community.
Normally, fresh persimmons arrive at Weiweijia farm every day, but Lu said this year’s harvest has been “extremely low” and deliveries have been every two days. “Compared to previous years, we only have about 20 percent of the usual supply,” Lu, 68, said.
“When I ask the farmers about the cause, they said the trees are not blooming properly, the flowers aren’t opening up as they should.”
Lu blames “climate abnormalities,” with the production problems worsened by aging growers whose children have no interest in taking over the family orchard.
“We’ve never encountered such a situation,” he said of the poor harvest.
To maximize earnings, Lu’s workers collect persimmon peels and turn them into dye. There are also plans afoot to make skincare products.
Lo, who has a teenage daughter, said he hopes to pass his farm to his nephew in the next few years — if he is up to the challenge.
“I told him, ‘If you’re afraid of hardship, you won’t be able to do this’,” Lo said. “It gets really hot sometimes, and other times, it’s very cold.”
April 14 to April 20 In March 1947, Sising Katadrepan urged the government to drop the “high mountain people” (高山族) designation for Indigenous Taiwanese and refer to them as “Taiwan people” (台灣族). He considered the term derogatory, arguing that it made them sound like animals. The Taiwan Provincial Government agreed to stop using the term, stating that Indigenous Taiwanese suffered all sorts of discrimination and oppression under the Japanese and were forced to live in the mountains as outsiders to society. Now, under the new regime, they would be seen as equals, thus they should be henceforth
Last week, the the National Immigration Agency (NIA) told the legislature that more than 10,000 naturalized Taiwanese citizens from the People’s Republic of China (PRC) risked having their citizenship revoked if they failed to provide proof that they had renounced their Chinese household registration within the next three months. Renunciation is required under the Act Governing Relations Between the People of the Taiwan Area and the Mainland Area (臺灣地區與大陸地區人民關係條例), as amended in 2004, though it was only a legal requirement after 2000. Prior to that, it had been only an administrative requirement since the Nationality Act (國籍法) was established in
Three big changes have transformed the landscape of Taiwan’s local patronage factions: Increasing Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) involvement, rising new factions and the Chinese Nationalist Party’s (KMT) significantly weakened control. GREEN FACTIONS It is said that “south of the Zhuoshui River (濁水溪), there is no blue-green divide,” meaning that from Yunlin County south there is no difference between KMT and DPP politicians. This is not always true, but there is more than a grain of truth to it. Traditionally, DPP factions are viewed as national entities, with their primary function to secure plum positions in the party and government. This is not unusual
US President Donald Trump’s bid to take back control of the Panama Canal has put his counterpart Jose Raul Mulino in a difficult position and revived fears in the Central American country that US military bases will return. After Trump vowed to reclaim the interoceanic waterway from Chinese influence, US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth signed an agreement with the Mulino administration last week for the US to deploy troops in areas adjacent to the canal. For more than two decades, after handing over control of the strategically vital waterway to Panama in 1999 and dismantling the bases that protected it, Washington has
RSS