Life in the mountains

They say when you travel through the Mule Pass Tunnel, you go back in time. It’s part lore, part absolute reality. Bisbee moves a little slower than most places; it hasn’t quite caught up to the rest of the world. And honestly? That’s more than alright.

We don’t have major chain establishments here. You won’t find McDonald's or a Walmart, and our grocery selection is limited—and yes, overpriced. Parking? Let’s just say it’s not our strong suit. And you can’t go anywhere without running into someone (or several someones) you know. For a crippling introvert like me, that’s as much a challenge as it is a charm.

But there’s nowhere else I’d rather call home. Bisbee has a way of working its magic on you, catching you off guard in the best kind of way. I’ll step out the front door of our shop, take in Main Street from a slightly different angle, and think to myself, Wow. I live here. It’s a town that looks like it belongs in the pages of a novel—part history book, part fairy tale.

My kids have grown up running the streets of Old Bisbee. They’ve explored its alleys and staircases, found hidden nooks, and made lifelong friends. And not once have I ever worried. Bisbee is that rare kind of town where you can let kids be kids without a second thought.

There’s a connectedness here that’s hard to describe. I know my coffee roaster and my baker. I know my beekeeper and my hat maker. And every time I go to the post office, I’m bound to run into at least two of them. It feels like stepping into an era long past, where the person behind the counter isn’t just there to sell you something but to share a story or ask about your day. It’s the kind of place where handwritten notes are still left on doors and neighbors trade homemade goods like it’s the most natural thing in the world. In Bisbee, time stretches and folds in on itself, and you find yourself part of a rhythm that feels both refreshingly simple and impossibly rare in today’s fast-paced world.

Life in this mountain town isn’t for everyone. It can be inconvenient and, at times, frustrating. But it’s also deeply fulfilling in a way that’s hard to find elsewhere. Bisbee has a soul. It’s in the creak of century-old floors, the glow of the sunset on copper rooftops, and the laughter and music that spills out of late-night gatherings in places that feel more like living rooms than bars.

And here’s the thing—you don’t have to be a local to feel it. Whether you’re here for a weekend or a lifetime, Bisbee welcomes you with open arms. You can sit on a sun-dappled patio with a cup of locally roasted coffee, wander through eclectic shops, or take in the breathtaking views from the hillsides. It’s a place where you can slow down, breathe a little deeper, and feel like you’re part of something timeless.

Small-town mountain life demands patience and a willingness to adapt, but it rewards you with a sense of belonging that’s hard to replicate. For me, Bisbee is more than home—it’s part of who I am. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Whether you’re just passing through or decide to stay, I hope you feel that magic too.