But there is another world that receives far, far less attention, not one above us.

It lies beneath our feet: the world of soil.

Vietnamese would traditionally say, "The soil has a soul."

But it is more than just a saying: The soil is a living system. Its life is simply so quiet that we rarely notice it.

A handful of fertile soil can contain billions of microorganisms like bacteria, fungi, actinomycetes, nematodes, and protozoa.

These tiny organisms work around the clock to break down leaves and straw, turn organic matter into nutrients, and produce compounds that help plants absorb minerals.

We never see them, but it can be safely said the entire ecosystem depends on them.

We often think we are feeding crops. In reality, we first need to feed the soil.

Healthy soil produces healthy crops; degraded soil produces weak ones.

A healthy human is not healthy because they take medicine every day, but because their body functions well from within.

Modern agriculture has achieved remarkable gains over the last several decades, but along the way, we sometimes became so focused on feeding plants that we forgot to nourish the soil.

When crops lack nutrients, we add more fertilizer.

When pests appear, we spray more chemicals.

When yields decline, we increase inputs.

This approach resembles treating constant fatigue with painkillers instead of addressing the underlying cause.

One question deserves attention: Why does using more fertilizers no longer produce proportionally higher yields?

Part of the answer lies in the soil itself.

As organic matter declines, microorganisms disappear and soil structure breaks down, and the ground becomes compacted. It holds less water and fewer nutrients.

Crops become increasingly dependent on external inputs. Farmers must apply more fertilizers simply to maintain the same harvest.

It is like withdrawing money from a bank account without making deposits. Eventually, the account runs dry.

Farmers prepare their field for planting rice in Soc Trang Province in the Mekong Delta, June 2024. Photo by VnExpress/Phung Tien

The consequences are already visible.

According to the Ministry of Agriculture and Environment, some 11.8 million hectares of land, or a third of the country's natural area, are degraded, 1.2 million hectares severely.

Nearly five million hectares have already deteriorated.

In nature, soil constantly renews itself: Leaves fall, branches decay, dead organisms decompose, everything returns to the ground.

Forests thrive without fertilizer factories because nature knows how to feed the soil.

But western farming systems work differently.

They remove grain, straw, and biomass from fields while returning less and less organic material to the land.

That is why the debate over rice straw is about much more than straw itself; it is about soil health.

When farmers return straw to their fields, they are not discarding waste, but are feeding the unseen community beneath the surface.

I once asked a soil scientist: "If the soil could speak, what would it say to farmers?"

He smiled and said: "It would probably say, ‘I'm hungry too.’"

The remark might sound lighthearted, but carries a vital message.

We readily accept that crops need nourishment, but few people think about feeding the soil.

Soil needs organic matter. It needs plant roots. It needs microorganisms. It needs time to recover. As one harvest follows another, it too needs rest.

Around the world, regenerative agriculture has become a popular topic.

The term may sound new, but the idea is rooted in nature's oldest principles.

Instead of asking only, "How much did we harvest this season?" people are beginning to ask, "Is the soil healthier than it was before?"

Instead of measuring only crop yields, they measure organic matter, water retention, biodiversity, and the vitality of the entire ecosystem.

No farming system can remain sustainable if the soil beneath is slowly losing life.

There is another paradox worth considering.

Farmers care for their crops every day, but the organisms that care for the soil rarely receive any attention.

No one watches bacteria at work.

No one hears fungi growing beneath the surface.

Most people cannot name the organisms living beneath their feet.

Yet these invisible workers keep fields productive year after year, generation after generation.

They are like the people in every community who never stand on stage but quietly keep everything running.

Perhaps the greatest lesson soil offers reaches beyond agriculture.

If you want to harvest, you must first nurture.

If you hope to receive, you must first give.

If you want a future, you must invest in things you cannot yet see.

Farmers plant seeds with faith that crops will grow.

Caring for soil requires the same kind of faith.

Not every worthwhile effort produces immediate results.

But every lasting result begins with quiet work that often goes unnoticed, just like the microorganisms beneath our feet, and just like the soil itself, sustaining life without asking for anything in return.