The pint jar of unfiltered honey that Dionycio Padilla proffers looks like an especially rich specimen of amber. Suspended in the toffee-colored liquid are flecks of honeycomb, sable clumps of pollen, traces of propolis.

"There could be some bees' legs and a wing," Padilla says, smiling at the jar — and, from the delighted tone of his voice, it appears that this would be a good thing.

I dip my finger into the mélange, put it in my mouth and suddenly once-metaphoric parts of the Bible seem to make literal sense: "land of milk and honey," or how the apostle John wandered in the desert living on locusts and wild honey. Of course a person could be sustained on honey like this; it's not a condiment, but a whole food. I chew.

The overwhelming majority of the honey that is commercially available to consumers has been through some form of processing. Even raw honey has been minimally filtered to remove the sort of visible "debris" that thickens Padilla's product. The filtering makes for honey that is easier to pour, to cook with. Few people savor the idea of bits of comb and clumps of pollen floating to the top of their cup of tea. But some do, believing there are health properties in honey that contains pollen, royal jelly (the food processed by worker bees to feed their queen) and propolis (the waxy substance made by bees to enclose the comb). And some people prefer honey like this simply for aesthetic reasons.

Terroir is the concept that the flavor of something edible — like wine grapes, chile and onions, for example — is influenced by the land where it is grown. Food scholars, vintners and aficionados debate its validity, but Padilla's honey delivers it as fact. The bite in my mouth contains not only the fragrance, but also microscopic pieces of the plants that fill the Pecos River Valley that stretches below Padilla's home in Villanueva. It may even contain bits of the actual Earth. I chew some more.

Caught between worlds

"So when did you first decide to keep bees, become The Honey Man?"

The answer, it turns out, is not unlike a bee's flight from one source of pollen to another and another, yet always aimed toward home.

Not quite 60 years ago, Padilla was born in Las Vegas, N.M., the hometown of his mother. His father was from the nearby village of San Ignacio. His grandfather owned some 40,000 acres there, a sawmill, a local store. "He had a little empire," Padilla says.

His grandmother was a curandera and a midwife. "She was also a storyteller. I grew up in an oral tradition. I often think of my grandmother's house, the vigas with herbs hanging to dry. She kept the house scrupulously clean. So clean, so much respect for where and how they lived.

"It was so rural, so beautiful, so perfect, so pristine."

He recalls that the acequia in San Ignacio was his playground.

"I would go there to climb trees, to dream, to draw. I used to draw pictures of bees when I was maybe 4 or 5, and their skeps (the classic cone-shaped beehive). I wasn't really thinking about it; I just liked the shape of the skep and the bees' movements mesmerized me."

But when he was about 6 years old, his parents moved the family to Taos, another world.

"There was the influence of the pueblo there, the artists and writers," Padilla says. "It was still a small town then, but it was very different than where I had been. And about that time, for many people my age, television arrived and just changed everything. You went from having family with your meals to having commercials."

Padilla's life was still rooted in family, however. They regularly made trips back to San Ignacio. "There were no paved roads. The snowstorms could be fierce, so making the trip required thought and planning. But there was never any question if we would go. San Ignacio was home."

When Padilla later read Frank Waters' The Man Who Killed the Deer — the novel of a young pueblo boy schooled "away" in the white community who then struggles the rest of his life because he fits in neither world — that resonated with him. "In a similar way, I was caught between worlds," he says. "But I knew I belonged in this world."

Padilla makes a gesture with his hand that takes in the whole of Villanueva, but particularly the more than 100-year-old adobe building that houses his studio, the equally old stone-faced adobe house where he lives, the Pecos River running just below the edge of the escarpment where the house stands, the hives of his bees.

So how did he make his peace between the age of television and the world of his grandparents?

"I moved to Santa Fe and in the late 1960s, early 1970s there was that whole back-to-the-land movement, a whole world of people who were thinking like me," he says.

Padilla began to write poetry and played guitar — the latter well enough that one famous band (that he will not identify) invited him to join. But he injured his hand and had to give up guitar. "So I got a degree in education and I taught, fourth through 12th grade, in Pecos and in Santa Fe."

Singing to the bees

There was not some specific epiphany that led him to Villanueva and bees 20 years ago, he says. "It was just never getting over wanting to be out in the country, to hear church bells ringing on Sunday, to walk along the acequia. In Villanueva there is a way of life that is still clinging to the land, barely hanging on, but still here," he says.

The village has perhaps 150 people and most of them were born there. "They raise their own food and for money, sell stone, sell wood, get by," Padilla says.

He heats his house with wood he splits, writes poetry and paints, and sells unfiltered honey. It's not available in stores and he doesn't set up a stand at a farmers market. People who want a taste of this land with their sweetener find him, he says.

It's clear that Padilla's beekeeping is not primarily a money-making venture. As he talks about his relationship with bees, it sounds more like an art form, or a spiritual path — sometimes a dangerous one.

"When I first moved here, one of the neighbors said to me, 'You don't make mistakes here. Mistakes can cost your life.' To live here requires thought and attention. Even so, there's always an element of risk. I love it because of that risk," he says.

In the fall, he camps among the hives some nights to protect them from bears. "I doze and wake up every 15 minutes or so and walk around. Usually that's enough to keep the bears away," he says.

One night a bear had knocked over a couple of hives before being frightened away. "I was putting the hives back when I looked up and saw a mother bear. You know how they tell you to never come between a mother and her cub? I looked around and realized there was a cub coming with her and without intending it, I was right between them," he says.

Padilla decided to concentrate on the work at hand. "I focused all my attention on putting the hive back, calmly, so not to further disturb the bees. I think she sensed I wasn't interested in her cub, or her, and she was willing to leave it at that. When I looked up again, they were gone," he says.

The bees themselves can be risky business. Once, when another bear had wrecked 15 hives, Padilla found himself moving already-agitated bees, loading their hives on the back of a pickup at dusk. He realized too late that the bee suit he had donned (with protective netting for the face and full coverage of the body) was torn, and bees were getting in.

"When a bee is trapped between you and your clothing, there is nothing to be done. The pressure of the cloth is frightening and when a bee is frightened, it stings," he says. "I knew they were on my body and under my veil, so I began to 'talk' to them. I kept saying, 'You can sting me, but don't sting my eyes; sting me, don't sting my eyes.' "

Repeating this mantra, he got the hives and bees safely transferred, then inventoried some 400 stings on his body. None of them were around his eyes.

Learning mutual respect

Traditionally, beekeepers rob their hives by carrying in a device that creates smoke. "The smoke triggers fear in the bees, they think that their home is on fire, that the hive will be burned, so they begin to gorge themselves on the honey to evacuate," Padilla explains. While the bees are distracted, the keeper can remove combs from the hive with relatively little danger.

Padilla doesn't smoke his bees, he says, because the smoke masks his particular scent.

"When I'm out watching the bees come and go, they begin to recognize my scent, to trust me," he says. "So they aren't frightened when I come to the hive for honey. I approach from the back, so it isn't quite so abrupt. And when I take the honey, I leave more than is standard in the hive for the bees."

Many commercial beekeepers have pollen traps on their hives, a narrow entry which causes the bee to scrape its legs when entering, removing the pollen that clings to them. "It's lucrative to sell the pollen," Padilla notes, "but the bees are bringing that pollen into the hive to feed their young. If you take it like that, you're causing stress to the hive and the bees. I won't do that."

Padilla also has been changing from the conventional box hive to the African top-bar hive. With the box hive, the keeper disassembles the boxes to get to the honeycomb and in doing so, disturbs the bees. The top-bar hive is a single trunk-like box that has a series of bars across the top. The bees build the comb from each bar vertically down into the box. The beekeeper can lift one after another without upsetting the whole system.

Padilla notes that there are other values to these hives: "Box hives are pre-formed. In the top-bar hive, the bees build their combs freeform. It's like jazz. It's beautiful," he says.

Top-bars also are handmade and, Padilla says, "like a piece of art themselves." An empty top-bar hive that he has sitting on the porch of his studio looks, in fact, like a prized artifact from Territorial days — a trapezoidal chest painted and weathered a soft turquoise, like the sky above.

Padilla has been phasing out the box hives he began with and now has only about 40 of those compared to about 70 of the African top-bar hives. "If you want to learn about bees, top-bar is what you use," he says.

And learning about the bees is the point for Padilla.

Lessons of the bees

"I definitely don't have anything to teach the bees, but they have a great deal to teach me. When you spend enough time with the bees, you begin to understand what the different sounds mean. The way they hum, you can tell if they are angry or if they are satisfied. There is excitement when they are making honey. And when the queen has died, it's just depressed. If you bring in a new queen, when they perceive she is there, the joy and excitement can be heard and be seen," Padilla says.

Padilla became a vegetarian after living with his bees. "I realized I couldn't eat creatures with the level of awareness they have," he says.

The bees contribute far more than honey to his life, Padilla says. On one part of his land, where he had kept bees for several years, a field of evening primrose suddenly appeared one summer. The bees, he says, had brought the pollen and planted the beautiful field.

And yes, he eats his thick, comb-encrusted, pollen-rich honey. Folk legend says that the surprising longevity of rural Russian beekeepers can be attributed to the fact that they sold the strained honey, keeping the "caps" with debris to eat themselves.

"My father is 92," Padilla notes.

Does he eat your honey, I ask? The Honey Man just smiles.



This recipe was devised by Sacramento, Calif., food writer Elaine Corn for her family's Rosh Hashanah meal. Traditionally the meal begins by dipping slices of apple into honey to assure a sweet New Year. Corn's naturally flavored applesauce is served in individual bowls over a small pool of honey. As you eat, you dip each bite of sauce into the honey. This presentation is lovely, with a complexity of flavor that makes it a perfect simple dessert any time of the year.

HONEY APPLESAUCE
(serves 8)

2-1/2 pounds of apples (any variety, but the more flavorful, the better)
3 tablespoons honey
2 cinnamon sticks
8 whole cloves
Pinch of nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon minced fresh ginger
1/2 cup fresh orange or lemon juice
1 tablespoon minced orange or lemon zest
1-2 teaspoons vanilla or almond extract
1/2 cup honey

Peel, core and coarsely slice the apples. Put in a heavy saucepan with 1/4 cup water, the 3 tablespoons of honey, the cinnamon and cloves and bring to a boil. Cook for 20 minutes, stirring to prevent scorching. When the apple slices are easily pierced with a knife, they are ready to purée.

Remove the cinnamon sticks and cloves. In a blender or food processor, purée apples until very smooth. Return the purée to the saucepan over very low heat and add the nutmeg and ginger. Add the juice and zest, stirring until all is blended and warmed through. Remove from heat and add 1 teaspoon of the extract. Taste and add more if desired.

When you are ready to serve, set out 8 individual serving bowls. (Glass bowls or bowl-shaped wineglasses are especially attractive.) Spoon 1 tablespoon of honey into the bottom of each bowl. Spoon equal portions of the applesauce over the honey.


Umeboshi plum vinegar, available in natural food and Asian groceries, is both salty and tart. It works as a perfect foil for the combination of citrus and honey.

YIN YANG VINAIGRETTE
(Makes about 11/2 cups)

1/4 cup umeboshi plum vinegar
1/2 teaspoon sesame oil
1 tablespoon canola oil
4 tablespoons pale honey
Juice of 1/2 lime
Juice of 2 oranges

Whisk all the ingredients together and serve. Can be stored in the refrigerator, but will need to come to room temperature and be whisked again just before serving.


This honey liqueur is Polish and has been traced back to the 14th century. Its sweet, heady flavor is a good complement to savory appetizers. May be chilled or warmed very gently before serving. A very little goes a long way.

KRUPNIK

1-1/2 cups honey
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 cinnamon sticks
2 whole cloves
3 strips lemon peel, about 2-inches each
750 milliliters very good vodka

In a large saucepan, combine the honey with 2/3 cup water, the vanilla spices and lemon peel. Bring to a boil over high heat. Cover, turn the heat down to medium and simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and immediately add the vodka. Stir and then pour into a large ceramic or glass pitcher. Cool, then cover. Let stand for at least 24 hours, up to 3 or 4 days. Strain to remove the spices.


Based on the recipe from the Tassajara Bread Book by Edward Espe Brown; adjusted for high altitude by Patricia Greathouse.

HONEY NUT BREAD
(Makes 1 loaf)

1 cup milk
1 cup honey
1 cup whole wheat flour
1-1/2 cups unbleached white flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 cup butter cut into several pieces
3 eggs
1 cup chopped pecans or walnuts

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Adjust rack to middle of oven. Butter a 9-inch x 5-inch x 3-inch loaf pan.

Combine milk and honey and warm over medium heat, stirring frequently until the honey melts. While the honey is melting, whisk together the flours, salt, and baking powder in a medium-sized mixing bowl and reserve.

When the honey is melted, remove from the heat and whisk the butter and eggs into the milk and honey mixture. Pour over the dry ingredients, and fold together with big strokes just until the flour is thoroughly moistened. Do not beat the batter or the bread will be tough. Fold in the nuts.

Pour batter into the buttered loaf pan and bake for 45 to 55 minutes on the middle rack, or until it's golden on top and a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean. Cool 15 minutes in the pan on a rack, then run a knife around the edge of the pan and gently turn the bread out onto a rack. Cool completely before cutting.


One of the best uses of honey, we think, is in the traditional Greek sweet, baklava. The recipe that follows was originally published by The New Mexican on July 30, 2003. We think it's one of the best versions we've tasted — and it makes enough to feed hordes of holiday visitors.

Note: Like many traditional family recipes, the quantities of all the ingredients in the recipe that follows are only estimates. Be aware, too, that you will need to start making the baklava a day or two before you plan to serve it.

PETER AND LEMONIA KOMIS' BAKLAVA
(Makes about 150 pieces)

4 boxes fully defrosted filo dough
8 cups ground pecans
16 cups ground walnuts
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup cinnamon
3 tablespoons ground cloves
1 tablespoon nutmeg
For the syrup:
2 cups honey
5 pounds of sugar
4 quarts of water
A handful of whole cloves
Rinds from 2 lemons and 2 oranges
8 sticks of cinnamon
1 pound unsalted butter for every 50 pieces
Whole cloves (about 150)

Combine pecans, walnuts, sugar, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg for nut-filling mixture. Set aside.

Boil water, sugar, cloves, rinds and cinnamon. Boil mixture for about an hour, then lower the heat and add two cups of honey. Stir well and turn off heat immediately. Cover honey mixture and let it sit overnight.

Take a cheese cloth or something else good to work with for filo dough. Take four layers of fully defrosted filo dough. Brush each layer with melted butter and stack them. Spread 1 cup nut mixture across 3/4 quarters of the sheet of the stacked filo dough. Continue buttering as you roll the filo dough tightly like a cigar. Once is it rolled, cut into nine diagonal pieces and punch a whole clove into the center of each pieces. Place completed segments in a large, buttered baking pan.

Brush all pieces in the pan with melted butter again. Place the completed pan in the refrigerator for about an hour or as long as overnight. (The butter needs to harden before the baklava is baked.)

Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 30 minutes. Take a syringe or baster and squeeze honey mixture over each piece of baked baklava. Make sure each piece gets fully soaked in honey syrup. Cover the pan of baklava with a light cloth and allow it to cool overnight. This allows the pieces to fully soak up the honey.

Remove pieces from the pan, place them in individual serving cups or doilies, and serve.





CHERRY BLOSSOM DREAMS

Last night
Hungry
Bees dreamed
Morphed
Milky Way stars
Into cherry blossoms
Buzzing
Nectar oozing
Golden drops
Big Dipper scooped up
Gently
Poured into hives
Today's headlines read:
Monster
Galaxy devouring
Black Hole discovered
But what do astronomers know?
Bees just dreaming
Cherry blossoms.



SAN IGNACIO
(PRAYER TO A VILLAGE)

Cradle this white haired man
My dear father
One of your beloved children
In your arms
Tickle his ears
With a lullaby of rustling oak leaves
And gently set him down
On the banks of your acequia
For he wishes
To drink of its sweet waters
One last time
To sit and catch his breath
In the buzzing hum
Of your blossoming apple orchards
Before he spreads his wings
And leaves this earthly paradise
Behind.







Nutritionally, honey is primarily carbohydrates and water, with trace amounts of vitamins and minerals including niacin, riboflavin, pantothenic acid, calcium, copper, iron, magnesium, manganese, phosphorus, potassium and zinc.

Honey also contains flavonoids and phenolic acids, which are antioxidants. Antioxidants have been shown to have a positive effect in preventing heart disease and cancer. Generally, darker honeys have more antioxidants than light ones.

Honey has been traditionally credited with antimicrobial ability, and local honey with pollen in it is thought by some to be beneficial in fighting hay fever.

Recent studies show that some traditional health claims for honey may have scientific basis. For more information on the most recent studies and their results, check this link on the Web site for the National Honey Board: www.honey.com/consumers/honeyhealth/healing/


Honey has a long shelf life if kept in a well-sealed container. Exactly how long depends on how it was processed in the first place, the plants it came from and storage temperatures. A general rule of thumb is that properly stored honey is good for at least two years, although honey has been known to remain stable and edible for decades.

Crystallization is natural and does not affect the flavor or edibility of honey. You can eat crystallized honey, or put it in your cup of tea. If you want spreadable honey, however, place the jar in warm water and stir until the crystals dissolve. You can also heat it in a microwave-safe container with the lid off at medium for 30 seconds. Stir and reheat for another 30 seconds. Continue the process until the crystals dissolve, but be careful not to get the honey so hot it scorches.


Honey can be substituted for granulated sugar in recipes, but it will add its own distinctive flavor, depending on the variety. If you use it in baked goods, you will need to reduce the amount of other liquid to compensate for the honey. Substituting honey for sugar in baking is not an exact science, so it will work best in a forgiving recipe, like one for muffins, as opposed to your great-grandmother's five-layer torte. If you want to substitute honey for sugar in a baked item, begin by replacing half the granulated sugar called for with the same amount of honey. Reduce the oven temperature by 25 degrees to keep it from browning too quickly. Reduce any liquid called for in the recipe by 1/4 cup for each cup of honey used, and add 1/2 teaspoon of baking soda for each cup of honey.

Honey absorbs and retains moisture, making it a good choice for recipes to be made ahead for holiday baking.



IMPORTANT:

Infants younger than 1 year should not be given honey since it may contain Clostridium botulinum spores that can cause infant botulism. Older children and adults are not affected by these spores.