Nestled between the Pan-American Highway and the Rio Grande, all along the Ruta Caminos del Mezcal, exist hundreds of palenques, or small farms that carry the ancient practice of mezcal production. Tourists come in droves to watch the mules pull the great stone wheel of the tahona in slow circles, crushing roasted agave before it is fermented, distilled and enjoyed.
I had the pleasure of learning about this age-old practice firsthand, a practice that existed long before it became a spectacle for curious travelers, while living and volunteering at one of these fabled farms.
How community and ecology sustain mezcal production
The land once belonged to the Zapotecs, an ancient civilization known for its profound connection to the natural and spiritual worlds. Inhabiting the land for more than 2,500 years, the Zapotecs were first overtaken by the Aztecs beginning in the late 15th century, and subsequently by the infamous Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés.
Although the group suffered decimation from disease and invasion, around 500,000 Zapotec speakers remain in the Oaxaca region. That air of tradition survives in the people and culture of Oaxaca today: in the emphasis on community, in farming and ecological initiatives, in spiritual practice and myth, and most notably, in mezcal.
Oaxaca, the mezcal capital of the world, is also known for its ecological initiatives and Earth-centered culture, and remains a place of continual education and philosophy for anyone passionate about a lifestyle that benefits the planet.
Indigenous and mestizo communities own nearly 82% of the state’s 6.1 million hectares of forest, managing them collectively rather than as private property. Zapotec is still spoken in several municipalities, and local mythology and spiritually driven land stewardship make the state an example of an ecologically sustainable community.
First sip goes to the Earth and ancestors
In Zapotec tradition, mezcal brings people closer to the spirits. Across Oaxaca, it is common to pour the first sip for the thirsty earth and for ancestors long gone.
As the glasses are raised and the offering given, participants speak the word “Dixeebe” over the anointed ground. Dixeebe is a Zapotec salutation used to express deep reverence for the spirit of Earth. The gesture is small, but it is a daily reminder to put the needs of the Earth, and of those no longer living on it, before one’s own. Repeated across a community, it builds a culture devoted to a better planet for all of us.
This inherent reverence and respect for the Earth reverberates through small, traditional mezcal-producing palenques across the Oaxacan region.
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Protecting the land is protecting mezcal
For Miguel Ángel Zamora, mezcal maestro at Casa Cabrón in Unión Zapata, protecting the land and protecting mezcal are inextricably linked. Casa Cabrón is one of many family-run palenques in Unión Zapata that remain true to the traditional culture of mezcal production.
Regarding his production process, Zamora says, “That connection (to the Earth) is so important for life in general, and can also be achieved through mezcal. But first, we must be conscious of producing it in a conscious way.”
He goes on to say, “We must care for Mother Earth, because from her flows the medicine that heals our soul, mind, body and life.”
‘Revealing a bit of life’s magic’
The mezcal production process begins on monthly cycles.
During harvest day, jimadores use machetes to cut and carve the agave plants’ core and prepare them for pickup. After the batch is cut and ready, workers from the palenque or neighboring farms retrieve the haul from the mountains and bring it back to the palenques for production.
“For me, producing mezcal means revealing a bit of life’s magic, the magic of transformation,” Zamora says. “It means showing the world that processes rooted in great love and respect for Mother Earth foster life, enjoyment, bliss and joy.”
The following day the crew and I headed back to the harvesting site promptly at 4:45 a.m. to pick up the agave and deliver it. The trip to the Sierra Mixe mountains was a generous three hours, even with our skilled, quick driver.
As we maneuvered the mountains’ impressive turns, the men talked of the prior night’s full moon, healthy horses and newly bought motorcycles. My traveling companions would point out edible plants, dangerous cacti or friends’ palenques, all the while passing snacks over my shoulder.
Once we arrived at the agave harvesting site, beverages were shared over small coolers, while the workers formed assembly lines — one man lifted the cut-down plant, tossed it to the next, and finally threw it into the back of the exporting truck.
Despite the physically demanding work and intense heat, there was no shortage of laughter. It was easy to mistake our hard work for a friendly reunion.
The world can’t get enough mezcal. Oaxaca’s forests are paying the price
Navigating the tradition-modernity divide
Although larger mezcal corporations have pitched their tent along the mezcal route in recent years, family-run mezcal farms remain, with their beliefs intact and traditions upheld. Contrasts between old and new, nature and machines, are everywhere in Oaxaca. Local ruins exist amongst modern towns. Spanish churches are built upon ancient Zapotec temples.
Nowhere is this divide clearer than at the Church of San Pablo in Mitla. An ancient Zapotec ceremonial site, this once-great temple was torn down and rebuilt by Spanish Dominican friars, turning the structure into a Catholic institution. However, the original Zapotec foundations remain, creating a haunting visual representation of religious syncretism within the region and the enduring Indigenous presence.
As I walked through the ruins, our guide, a local Zapotec historian and teacher, led us past fallen walls and shrunken tombs that once sheltered a people defined by their relationship to the natural world. Spirals of life and death decorated the low-hanging frames, and old women passed, the numinous melody of the Zapotec language drifting in their wake.
We had brought our guide freshly distilled mezcal to taste, and he insisted we pour the first sip for the thirsty ground and the ancestors. We stood together, surrounded by the imposing walls of the temple’s spiritual resilience, and poured the first sip of mezcal onto the ancient stone floors.
We saluted using the Zapotec word dixeebe, while remembering all those who had been at this very spot before us.
The Zapotec civilization may have been nearly lost to time, but its beliefs and the spirit of its people live on in Oaxaca and, evidently, around the world, carried in the smoky, sultry, handmade spirit of mezcal.
Abigail Rose is a journalist, archaeologist and storyteller with a hands-on, in-the-field approach to journalism. She reports on local environmental initiatives, cultural stories and frontline conflict through writing, photography and video. Her work has taken her across Colombia, Peru, Oman, Greece, Mexico, Ecuador, Germany, Italy and the U.S., with her next project bringing her to Oaxaca, Mexico.