by Sarah Mock on
TIJERAS BEEKEEPER Amy Rogers withdraws the wooden taster from the jar, the tip coated in amber. She twirls it before handing it to me, the thimbleful of honey at the end glittering like blown glass. “These spring honeys,” Rogers says, “it’s almost like eating a bouquet sometimes.”
She isn’t wrong. The distinctive honey scent gives way to a floral perfume and a delicately sweet flavor reminiscent of fresh strawberries. While the silky goo is still dissolving on my tongue, Rogers hands me a second sample. This one is much darker, with a reddish hue—fall honey from hives near Isleta Pueblo. “It almost tastes like caramel,” she says.
The contrast between these honeys is no fluke; each reflects where and when it was made. Spring honeys taste of the first blooms of yuccas, prickly pears, and globe mallows fed by rainwater and winter runoff. By fall, bees forage among late-blooming wildflowers like purple aster, rabbitbrush, and goldenrod, which put out a final burst of thick, mineral-dense nectar that is concentrated by months of heat and little water. Summer honeys run the gamut, shaped by the hives’ location and what is blooming nearby.
But the annual rhythms that shape New Mexico’s remarkable honey are changing. Climate disruptions alter the length of the seasons, precipitation patterns, and other pollinator lifelines, making it harder for honeybees—and the beekeepers who care for them—to thrive. As rising temperatures and prolonged drought reshape the landscape, beekeepers are evolving in order to keep colonies healthy—and preserve the flavors that make the state’s honey taste unlike any other.
Just beyond Rogers’s tasting table, the bees responsible for those flavors buzz inside Desert Hives’ apiary. More than simply selling honey, Rogers and her cofounder and collaborator, Matt Vaive, have spent most of the last 11 years raising healthy bees and helping others do the same. They teach classes, host hive tours, and consult with beekeepers across the region, enriching the community with the knowledge they’ve gained through participation in cutting-edge bee health research around the state and country.
“Bees need water,” Vaive explains as Rogers pries open a hive, one of about a dozen inside the bear-fenced apiary paddock. “They need water to drink, but flowers also won’t push up any nectar until there’s enough rain.” During the current drought-stricken season, the rain shortage has put a strain on many bee colonies, requiring beekeepers to provide water for hydration and cooling as well as for supplemental food to replace the nectar bees aren’t finding in the wild.
With incense-like bee-calming smoke filtering through our protective veils, Rogers holds up a writhing, bee-covered sheet of honeycomb. “Can you spot the queen?” she asks. I can. She’s about twice as big as the rest, with a blue dot crowning her abdomen.
This queen is mother to tens of thousands—almost all of which will eventually become flower-seeking foragers, connected to the hive and one another by the queen’s genes and pheromones. The connection runs so deep that when a bee finds a patch of blossoms, she can communicate its location through an elaborate “waggle dance,” sending thousands of sisters to harvest the same blooms. That’s how a single flowering event can define the flavor, color, and texture of an entire honey harvest.
Across New Mexico, those differences are reflected in every jar.
In the cozy, wood- and plant-filled interior of the Bee Chama Honey shop, in Polvadera, beekeeper Shay Kelley practices honey alchemy, creating mushroom-, cocoa-, and even green chile–infused
honeys, alongside an extensive line of honey-based skin-care products. She guides customers through a tasting of dozens of raw honeys, each collected during distinct blooms. The rainbow of jars ranges from the creamy white cat’s-claw honey gathered in southern New Mexico to the deep chestnut of desert wildflower honey, made from a mix of salt cedar, mesquite, and cactus flowers. Somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, a very rare northern New Mexico variety appears only under extraordinary conditions.
“Mountain gambel oak honey can only be harvested about once a decade,” Kelley explains. “During extreme droughts, bees will collect the honeydew left by aphids on gambel oak leaves, even though it’s not flower nectar.” This act of desperation by hungry bees produces a mellow, reddish honey with a complex, almost savory flavor.
Such adaptations are increasingly common as honeybees, alongside hundreds of other native pollinators, face mounting pressure from rising temperatures, lingering drought, and habitat loss. When flowers fail to bloom or produce little nectar, malnourished colonies become vulnerable to diseases. In the worst cases, entire hives—containing upwards of 60,000 bees—can die off in a matter of days.
“In 2024, we lost 85 percent of our hives,” says Jim Lyssy, a Fort Sumner beekeeper and owner of Happy Bees LLC. His hives have since recovered, and today he has nearly 500 that he uses both for honey and for pollinating crops such as watermelon, chile, and alfalfa. Lyssy, who grew up farming and ranching, says being able to support New Mexico’s agrarians is why he keeps going: “We do it for the passion and to do the best that we can to take care of God’s land.”
For Rogers, the desire to help “save the bees” is what inspired her to get into beekeeping in the first place. But after more than a decade of witnessing their intelligence and resilience firsthand—and even getting stung a time or two—she now says she had it backward.
“I’ve learned that bees don’t need us,” Rogers says. “It’s us who need bees.”
Before I leave Desert Hives, Rogers offers a final insight. “One bee makes one-twelfth of a teaspoon of honey in her entire life,” she says, pointing to the tiny glob of gold at the end of my tasting stick. A life’s work in a single drop. Savoring it, I’m sure I can taste the delicate work of the craftsbee and the thousands of New Mexico flowers she visited, distilled into one lingering note of sweetness.
Sarah Mock recommends spreading local raw honey on toast for some seasonal allergy relief.
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