Young Ladakhis Returning to the Land
Meeting a 21-Year-Old Shepherdess and a Farmer-Entrepreneur Reimagining Life in Their Villages
By Yumi Sato
©︎ NPO greenz - 1 May 2026
“There’s a view I want to show you, just a little further up!”
Tsering Ladol, a 21-year-old shepherdess — or more precisely, a Pashmina goat herder — says this as she moves lightly through the grand Himalayan landscape. We follow her, breathless, already having walked quite a distance.
After studying commerce at a university in Bangalore, Ladol returned to her village. We spent the day together, talking from early morning until evening. After driving a little farther up, we continued on foot. When we finally looked up, snow-covered mountains rose quietly before us.
The air was crisp. The world was silent.
We stood there for a while, absorbed in the stillness.
Then I checked the altitude: 4,780 meters. “Sometimes I walk all the way here from home along the river to graze the goats,” Ladol said with a smile, looking out at the landscape she sees every day with such affection. In that moment, I understood clearly:
Everything in this landscape has shaped who she is.
That day, I felt the profound cycle of life here with my whole being.
Looking back, the river glowed pink with the evening sky. The snow from those mountains and the glacial meltwater become this river, nourishing the earth and growing the plants. The goats eat the grass and return nutrients to the soil. Humans care for the goats and receive their wool and milk. Both animals and humans are part of this great cycle.
Yet the number of people living this way is decreasing every year, and the balance of nature is beginning to shift. Climate change and extreme weather directly affect those living in these high-altitude lands, and the mountain environment is increasingly under threat.
Ladol returned to her village not from a sense of duty to protect Ladakh’s nature or preserve the shepherding tradition, but from the deep love for animals she discovered within herself. Following that feeling honestly, she chose to live her life on this land.
Finding Herself in the Mirror of 130 Goats
In September 2025, at the Planet Local Summit in Ladakh, Ladol spoke on a plenary session titled “Young Ladakhis Returning to the Land.” I was immediately drawn to her pure, fresh, yet deeply philosophical way of speaking. When I told her, “I want to see the world you see,” we connected at once, and a few days later I found myself traveling to her home high in the mountains.
The way she came to speak at the Summit is interesting, too. Stanzin Gya, a Ladakhi filmmaker known for the documentary 'The Shepherdess of the Glaciers', heard about her and visited. He posted an interview with her in Ladakhi on Instagram, which went viral instantly — Ladol became everyone’s “Nomo” (little sister) in Ladakh. Soon after, Local Futures invited her to speak at the Summit.
Ladol:
“Until that video was posted, really nobody knew who I was! Of course, I knew Acho Stanzin and was following him on social media, but that day was the first time we actually met. He’s such an amazing person — he supported me and gave me so much advice. So many people commented on the post, and their words really encouraged me.
And from that point, the things I wished for have started to become reality. My New Year’s resolution was to have a safe shelter for my goats, and now it’s starting to happen. People are also helping. What I believe is, if you genuinely do something from the heart, the universe will help you. It’s like magic for me.”
Ladol was unfamiliar with Helena Norberg-Hodge — the founder of Local Futures, who has worked in Ladakh for over 50 years and introduced the idea of “localization” to the world through this region — and she had never read Helena’s book Ancient Futures.
Even so, Ladol’s life is deeply rooted in the land and in Ladakh’s traditional pastoral culture. Her choices are instinctive. She does things in her own way, simply because she enjoys them and wants to try. With a youthful lightness, she chose the life of a shepherdess.
Ladol:
“My parents started keeping goats in 2020. My mother was already familiar with it because her family had goats back home. Around that time, schools were closed because of the pandemic, so I returned home and spent a year with the goats. That’s when a strong connection began to grow between us."
Ladol:
“We humans tend to think that goats don’t have emotions. But I realized they’re just like us. In spring, they eat fresh grass and jump around with joy. If a baby dies, the mother feels deep sorrow. She cries all day and can even fall into depression. The bond between mother and child is so strong that even after five years, they still stay close together. They go through so many experiences and truly enjoy their lives.
And we humans have the ability to support them. That’s what made me want to become a shepherd.”
After that intense year, Ladol received a scholarship to attend university in Bangalore, where she spent the next three years in one of India’s largest cities.
Toward an “Animal Sanctuary”: Where Humans and Animals Live Together
At university in Bangalore, Ladol chose to study commerce, wanting to explore unfamiliar fields and try something new. Life in the big city, and meeting friends from many different places, was deeply stimulating for her.
Ladol:
“In the village, everyone knows me, so I always felt like people were judging me. But in Bangalore, I could just be myself. For the first time, I didn’t have to care about what people thought, and I was able to focus on knowing who I really am. That time was a really important process in my life.
I always intended to return to Ladakh after graduation, but honestly, I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. So I took a one-year gap to explore and find the answer. By spending time with the goats again, I finally came to this point. I realized, ‘This is it! This is what I want to do!’”
Ladol says it lightly, but the life of a shepherd is anything but easy. To raise Pashmina goats, which live only at altitudes above 4,000 meters, she walks nearly 10 kilometers up and down the mountains each day to graze them. There is also the health of 130 goats to manage, protection from predators like snow leopards, and endless maintenance of shelters and tools.
Alongside that comes the work of a nearly self-sufficient life and the village’s religious traditions. What was once carried by large families, relatives, and neighbors is now supported by only a few people. Continuing this way of life requires tremendous commitment.
Despite the challenges, she remains bright and forward-looking, and takes great pride in being a shepherd.
Ladol:
“To be honest, until now, the only reason I chose this life was for the goats. Truly, just for them. I never once thought about protecting culture or tradition. But I believe that, in the end, it naturally leads to that. In Ladakh, people sometimes look down on shepherds. But I want them to remember that it’s because of the shepherds and the animals that the mountains stay healthy and we have beautiful water. They deserve much more respect.
What I’m planning now is to register this place as an ‘Animal Sanctuary.’ I want to open it as a place where we don’t impose human power, but where everything is ethical and animal well-being is the top priority — a place where humans and animals can truly cooperate with one another.”
Through her life as a shepherd, Ladol began to question something deeply. Humans treat goats as livestock, eventually sending them to the slaughterhouse. But she believes they, too, deserve the right to live a peaceful and happy life — just as we do.
At the same time, she faced another reality: fewer and fewer people remained in the village to do this work. As most young people move to the cities for jobs, the village is aging, and it grows harder for her parents to sustain the year-round demands of shepherding. Yet, she knows it is unrealistic to expect everyone in modern society to return to the traditional lifestyle of the past.
So she began imagining another possibility: a system where anyone — whether they are local youth, people from outside the village, or even foreigners — who thinks, “I want to try being a shepherd!” can participate for a period of their choice.
Ladol:
“Living with animals brings peace of mind to humans, too. When I lived in the city, I sometimes felt very exhausted. I was always worried about what others thought of me, feeling like I had to be perfect or act in a way to be liked. But with the goats, I can just be myself. They are so pure, genuine. That’s what I love about them.
If your heart is tired, you should come here, stay as long as you like, and find yourself again. You can even help with the shepherding — you are more than welcome! I learned unconditional love from these goats. They give us love, and we give it back. We walk together. They give us pashmina, and we share our ideas. They are my friends, and my business partners!
And to sustain our farm, I want to do something with this pashmina, so we can generate our own income. Eventually, I want to bring the yaks back to this valley.”
The young shepherdess’s dreams keep expanding.
Her older brother, studying to become a veterinarian, has been moved by her passion and plans to return to the village in a few years.
At home, Ladol feels constantly rushed. She treasures the 1–2 hours spent grazing her goats after walking about 5 km up the valley. While keeping watch for predators, she reads books or writes in her journal; these quiet moments for herself are essential.
Although raised with Tibetan Buddhism, Ladol once questioned the rituals: "What is this for?" or "Do I have to do this just to go to heaven?" During her university years, she even distanced herself from Buddhism for a time.
But after returning to her village and facing the realities of daily life, she felt herself becoming part of the harsh cycles of nature, and everything clicked. She realized that prayer and ritual are actually very practical. They are ways to remind herself to be grateful for the "here and now."
This is why she feels so strongly drawn to the ancestors who were truly present in their lives.
Ladol:
“I love listening to my grandmother’s stories. She remembers the past so clearly, as if it happened yesterday. I think it’s because her generation truly lived in the moment — that’s why their memories remain so vivid.
Today, we are always feeling rushed. Even when we have time, our minds are somewhere else. But if we slow down, we can regain our calm and feel that sense of peace again.
We always think about a perfect life. We will never get there. It's like a rainbow. How much ever we go close, it will run away. So we have to accept everything in life — the good and the bad.”
“Hey, Ladol. You’re 21 and you already know all this!?”
She laughed at my surprise and hopped across the river rocks like a goat. Waving from the other side, she called back with a playful smile, “Come this way!”
“I came back because I missed my land and people.”
The Frontier She Chose
Many young people I met at the Planet Local Summit had, like Ladol, studied outside Ladakh only to return home. By looking at their homeland from the outside, they rediscovered the unique beauty of the land, the flavor of vegetables nourished by glacial water, and the profound cultural roots of Tibetan Buddhism. Through their own encounters and the growing global appreciation for Ladakh, they are finding their own path back to village life.
I was also moved by the empowerment between generations. Mentors like Stanzin Gya encourage the youth directly, passing on a relay of wisdom. Having these mentors close, like older brothers and sisters, gives young people the confidence to take on new challenges.
At the summit, another woman left a powerful impression on me: Sonam Angmo. After earning her master's degree in agriculture in South India, she returned home to become a farmer and entrepreneur, launching a mushroom business still rare in Ladakh. Now in her mid-30s, she is a mentor for the younger generation and is often featured in local media.
When the facilitator invited her to speak first, Angmo began to speak with a quiet intelligence, wearing a traditional Ladakhi dress. Then she shared why she had returned to her village. Her answer was so simple and honest that the contrast completely won me over.
Angmo:
“After I finished graduate school, I just really…, I missed my land and my people. So I came back to be with my family.”
On the fourth day of the summit, I joined a field trip to the villages and visited Likir, where Angmo lives. There, everything she had missed so dearly appeared before my eyes. The "connection" she spoke of became a reality right in front of me.
Golden barley fields glowing just before harvest. Her family home standing beyond them. Trees heavy with ripe apricots. Her family and relatives welcomed us with beaming smiles, followed by the village leader and a procession of multitalented locals. Every person there watched Angmo with such pride and joy.
Angmo:
“But when I said I wanted to come back to the village to be a farmer, my family and the villagers were all against it at first. They asked, ‘Why be a farmer after finishing graduate school? Why not apply for jobs?’ and ‘A woman coming back to the village alone instead of getting married?!’ Honestly, it was very hard to convince them and make my way back.”
Now 34, Angmo went to school outside the village from age five, and to a boarding school from ten. After high school, she left Ladakh to study agricultural science, biotechnology, and more. For her parents' generation, giving their children an education that led to a government job was the greatest gift. Farming was simply daily life, while a "job" meant working in the city.
In 2018, after finishing graduate school, Angmo returned to Ladakh. What she found there was the vast gap between the agriculture rooted in Ladakh's soil and the modern agriculture she had studied outside. She realized how she had been disconnected from her home soil and had lost her roots. So began her days of looking at village life with fresh eyes and following her curiosity wherever it led.
Regenerative, Agroecology — Found in Ancestral Practices
To learn about Ladakhi agriculture objectively, Angmo began working at the NGO Ladakh Ecological Development Group (LEDeG) in Leh. There, she came across Helena’s book, 'Ancient Futures', which opened her eyes.
Angmo:
“After returning to Ladakh, I was very confused — worrying about what to do, how to start, and what my parents would think. But after reading the book and looking at Ladakh intentionally, everything clicked: ‘I see, this was actually important!’ and ‘Without that village system, the society would separate!’ The book solved so many of my questions. I felt that since these customs still remain in my village, I had to go back right now.”
Once she made the decision, things moved quickly. She left LEDeG after just three months and returned to her village to learn traditional farming from the elders. One of these is "Churpon," the traditional water-management system for channeling glacial meltwater efficiently to the fields.
Angmo:
“Every spring, one member from every house gathers to head to the main streams together to clean and maintain the water channels. Before, I looked at it from the outside and thought, ‘What a tiring and boring task...’ but after participating, my feelings changed completely. The image that ‘farming is very hardworking’ is just a feeling you get when you do it individually. But when we do it at a community level and everyone works together, kilometers of channels are cleaned in no time! I was truly amazed. I experienced firsthand how indigenous knowledge is alive within these farming activities.”
She was also deeply moved by a mutual-aid system called "Phaspun," a social unit even smaller than the village. Several households, not related by blood, form a group to support one another through major life events, including death, marriage, and childbirth.
Angmo:
“When someone passes away, the family is in such distress and sadness that they can’t do everything. That’s when the Phaspun members arrive first. They arrange everything — from transporting and cleaning the body to coming into our kitchen to work as if it were their own home. Sometimes they stay with the family through the night, taking turns to be there.
When I lost my grandparents, I saw how timely and selflessly they moved, and it truly saved us. Now, it feels natural for me to help other families as a member of the Phaspun.”
By looking closely at what was right in front of her, her worldview shifted profoundly. She realized that the village’s agricultural systems and daily routines were overflowing with precious things that must never be lost.
Angmo:
“My ancestors and great-grandfathers, they were already doing the farming in older times — organic, regenerative, and agroecological — whatever terms we use nowadays. There might be stable income in the city, but I wanted to choose a deep connection with this land and everything that surrounds me. That’s why, even though people were against it, I came back!”
Living in the village. To embrace this choice more positively, Angmo envisioned a new business on this land. It was a challenge no one had ever thought of: “mushroom cultivation” in the dry, high-altitude environment of Ladakh.
Making Agriculture a Creative Choice: Nurturing the Seeds of the Future with Mushrooms
When we think of mushrooms, we usually imagine damp forests and moisture. So why grow them in such a dry place?
Angmo:
“There are only grandparents and mothers in the villages. All the youth are moving toward tourism to make money quickly. The abandoned fields are dry, the soil is losing its health, and no one thinks farming can be profitable anymore. So, I wanted to start something new and attractive for the youth — something sustainable and beneficial for the village community.”
Just as she was searching for ideas, a hint from her brother, studying in Delhi and more exposed to urban culture, gave her the spark. “Recently, people here are crazy about mushrooms and eat so many different varieties. But in Ladakh, we only see button mushrooms, and nobody is growing them.”
Angmo:
“I realized I had done this during my studies. I knew how to grow them — I just had to re-study a bit and I could do this! The main challenge was that mushrooms need moisture, which is less here. So I began my trial and error.”
In 2021, having finally earned her parents’ trust, she built her cultivation unit in the village. The family who once asked "Why become a farmer?" became her strongest supporters, and now the whole village stands behind her. With the recent rise in health consciousness, her startup “Ladakh Mushrooms” is drawing attention from inside and outside Ladakh. As an agropreneur, she continues to inspire the youth following in her footsteps.
Angmo:
“During the summer break, students who study outside return to Ladakh. I want to hold workshops for anyone who is interested in agriculture. Many young people tell me they are interested, but ‘scared’ to take that first step. But now, through social media, we can find so many like-minded people from our generation. We can motivate each other and move forward together.
And when I get married and have children, I want to raise them here in this village. I don’t want to send them away to distant schools like I was. I want us to stay together, and I want them to grow up here, surrounded by these connections.”
Ladol and Angmo both chose to return home after studying outside Ladakh. Though their approaches and perspectives differ, they share a deep root: the powerful solidarity of the Ladakhi people who have survived together in a harsh environment.
The future of Ladakh faces many challenges. Climate change is melting glaciers, and traditional culture is at risk as populations shrink. Yet seeing these women embrace the "now" gives me hope. Their resilience inspires even those from the outside, creating new ways to pass on ancient wisdom.
Supported by the elder generation, these young Ladakhis continue their journey. Step by step, they are cultivating the "soil" where the next generation can return with pride. Just as the seeds sown long ago have blossomed into the people they are today, the seeds they sow now will surely lead to a powerful awakening for the future of Ladakh.
This article was originally published in Japanese language on Greenz.jp.
Read also Yumi Sato's first article on Ladakh: 'It's Not Too Late for Ancient Futures'.
Credits:
Writing & Photography: Yumi Sato
©︎ NPO greenz
About the author
Yumi Sato is a writer, storyteller, photographer, and communication designer whose work explores cultural storytelling through encounters with indigenous wisdom and local communities. She is the author of 'ROOTS to the Future' for greenz.jp, sharing stories of people rooted in their lands and cultures. For over 25 years, Yumi has performed as a Chindonya, a traditional Japanese street performer, reviving communal celebration through music and rhythm. She is also a Bon Odori dancer, carrying on a traditional circle dance. Across her work, she weaves together ancient wisdom and the way we live today, bringing diverse voices into conversation and opening space for social imagination and transformation.