In Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula, protecting a historic and biodiverse landscape

Walking on the same ground as the jaguar is a luxury few people have, says Carlos Coutiño, a conservationist and entrepreneur who owns the eco-village Kinich Ahau. For the ancient Maya, the god Kinich Ahau embodied the sun during the day and became a jaguar at night to journey through the underworld.

In 2016, Coutiño and his family bought nearly 30 acres of rainforest—something like 12 city blocks—to protect it and the jaguars, tapirs, bats, and other wildlife that depend on it. Beyond setting up water troughs for wildlife during the dry months and working with the government and WWF to install camera traps for monitoring, Coutiño and his partners operate 12 small ecotourism cabins where travelers from around the world can appreciate nature.

Paths here are shaded by ramón, cedar, and chicozapote trees that fill the air with a sweet, gumlike scent. Between their trunks lie remnants of ancient Maya structures—stone foundations, stairways, and deep pits once used to store food and weapons. From the canopy above, a symphony of birdsong fills the air.

“It is the forest speaking,” says Fernando Contreras, a biologist and WWF field officer. “Here the sky and the earth are never still.”

The sounds fade for only a few minutes before the last rays of sunlight brush the forest and millions of bats pour out of their caves nearby. The roar of wings spirals like a tornado, and slowly their dark fur blends into the night.

Kinich Ahau is also a gathering place for local youth. Experts like Contreras project camera-trap images of tapirs, jaguars, and pumas on the eco-village restaurant’s walls, and students crowd around in the dim light to get a closer look. The hope, Coutiño says, is to spark awareness in the younger generation and revive a sense of belonging that is slowly slipping away as local youth leave in search of jobs in nearby cities. “If this small effort is repeated in other communities, we can do a lot to protect the forest and recover our culture,” he says.

The eco-village, like Juan Díaz’s ranch, borders the Calakmul Biosphere Reserve, a protected area that spans nearly 2,800 sq. mi. and is home to thousands of different species. Opossums and coatis wander along the forest floor, spider and howler monkeys sway through tree branches, and ocelots and pumas slip silently through the foliage.

Coutiño, who once served as deputy director of the reserve, says that protected areas are the only thing standing between the Maya Forest and the advance of urban expansion and agriculture.

From above, the dark green forest canopy is broken by large brown and pale-green scars where the agricultural and livestock industries have cleared land for soybean farming and to grow animal feed. The small communities that border the reserve also put pressure on it when their grazing, planting, and harvesting practices are not sustainably planned.

The growth of nearby cities is also bringing economic acceleration, rising costs of living, and competition that small producers in southern Mexico struggle to withstand. Close to 350,000 people live in poverty in the region, and landowners often face pressure to sell their property—often at extremely low prices—to agricultural interests or real estate developers.

The key to protecting the forest, Contreras says, is improving people’s living conditions. The more economic stability farmers and ranchers have, the less they will need to expand unsustainable practices or sell their land.

“Small producers,” he says, “only want to live.”

A few hours’ drive from Díaz’s ranch live six women known as Las Vecinas (“The Neighbors”); their garden resembles a miniature version of the vast protected area that borders their land. At its heart is a small meliponary where hundreds of bees fly freely into little boxes, provided by nonprofit groups that work with WWF, to build honeycombs and produce medicinal honey. WWF also established a pollinator garden nearby.

Meliponiculture is an ancestral Maya practice focused on conserving the native, stingless bees (which produce honey said to have healing properties) and caring for the surrounding ecosystems, explains Vecinas member Berta Silvia Canul. “If they are well,” she says, “I’m well, too.”

Scientific studies have identified heat stress and pesticide contamination as the main causes of bee deaths worldwide, and stingless bees are especially sensitive to extreme heat. One morning, Canul found hundreds of dead larvae and honey spilling from the boxes where the honeycombs were kept.

“It hurts so much,” she says. “It was three years of work.”

Canul has found resilience in Las Vecinas, who have become her friends, confidants, and support system since they began working together in 2021. They all know that the love they give to their bees also helps pollinate hundreds of flower species in and around their home.

Keeping healthy bees in a healthy forest is “rescuing the heritage of my ancestors,” Canul says, while pointing to the colorful mural of her mother’s face painted on one of the walls. She says her mother passed down patience, sensitivity, and a deep respect for the environment. To her 12-year-old grandson, Jesús Eduardo, Canul wants to leave her “wisdom and knowledge about the bees.”

Like many locals, Juan Díaz believes that heritage and continuity are the most precious gifts he can leave to his family. In 2023, Díaz was diagnosed with lung cancer. Rather than travel far from home for treatment that would be devastating for “a body eight decades old,” he says, he decided to enjoy the rest of his days on his ranch. “Here is life, here is health,” he says, inside the shadowy stable where some of his sheep graze.

His children had to leave the ranch to work and provide for their own families. But one of his grandchildren, Jasieel Díaz León, came to him a few years ago and said he wanted to take care of the ranch and continue the project Juan Díaz dreamed of when he arrived in Calakmul so long ago.

Jasieel is not only a source of great pride for his grandfather but also the only guarantee that Juan Díaz’s love for the forest—the same one he refused to leave for all those years—will be passed down for generations to come.

“This forest is life,” Díaz says, looking toward the trees that begin where his pasture ends. “It would be a disaster if all of this gets lost.”

*Juan Díaz died in November 2025, a few months after sharing his story. WWF is grateful for his time and generosity. We hope this article helps honor his legacy.