Soap Mentorship

He was given a research assignment for one of his classes, and of all the topics he could have chosen, he picked soap. The humble little bar that's been around for ages, and is often under-appreciated, which he touched on, "I recognized that soap should, and hopefully does, play a big part in our everyday lives and isn’t as appreciated as it should be." Spot on, Yzion.

We spoke at length about the history of soap, the processes in which it can be made, what makes a great bar of soap, and so forth. And he wasn't just going through the motions, he seemed genuinely curious and excited about the topic. Which, of course, thrilled my inner soap geek.

And then, a few days ago, I received a letter from him in the mail. Which is a feat in itself, since sometimes receiving mail in Bisbee feels like advanced sorcery. The kindness and appreciation in his note let me know I'd made the right decision, and that there was no way I was going to miss this opportunity. Also, let’s take a moment to appreciate that a teenager wrote me a letter—on actual paper. My heart was touched.

The last few weeks, we stayed in touch and eventually made plans for the final phase of his project: making soap! Coincidentally, one of my suppliers, Arizona Soap Supply, is also located in the Phoenix area. I remembered they’d mentioned having a classroom space and reached out to Norma, one of the owners. She graciously agreed to let us use their space.

Quick aside: When it became apparent that Bisbee Soap needed to scale up production, we turned to Norm and Norma at Arizona Soap Supply (I'm having a hard time not using the obvious acronym...). Prior to this point we'd been purchasing our soap oils in 5 gallon pails, and I was mixing them myself in 55 gallon drums, and blowing through supply very quickly. It was super laborious, and I was definitely working harder, not smarter. They came to my rescue and have mixed the oils for me since then, 1,600 pounds at a time. They are lifesavers, and some of the most genuine and kind people I've had the pleasure of working with. Seriously.

Just before I left Bisbee for my trek, Yzion sent a message, "Do you have any sweet scents?" Pushing against the clock and scouring through my collection I was coming up short, until my daughter Madison landed on something perfect, "Oh! What about this?"

"Sweet!" I said (pun absolutely intended).

I packed up everything we could possibly need, armed myself with coffee and snacks and hit the road to meet my junior soaper. Traffic was horrendous, especially for someone who's acclimated to Bisbee style traffic—or lack thereof—and the drive was long, but after a chaotic week the solitary 3.5 hour drive was balm to my frazzled brain.

I arrived and met up with Yzion, a young man who stood at least a foot taller than me, and we got right to it. I pulled the fragrance out to show him, "I found something you might like. Skittles!" Upon smelling it, he declared blissfully "I want to eat it." After a quick lesson in not eating soap, we dove into planning the batch. He chose a three-color design—a bold choice for a first-time soaper. For the mold, I handed him an empty Pringles can, because no soapmaker’s journey is complete without that rite of passage.

And he did it. He absolutely nailed it with minimal guidance from me. He followed instructions carefully, took advice to heart, and executed everything with such precision that you’d think he’d been making soap for years. This young man tackled a three-color batch—something even experienced soapmakers can find tricky—with ease and confidence. I can’t help but wonder if this project might have sparked something bigger in him. Maybe this is the start of a lifelong hobby or even the first step toward an entrepreneurial journey.

Who knows? I might have just mentored my future competitor. But honestly, that idea fills me with pride. Seeing someone so young take such an interest in the craft and dive into it with genuine excitement is inspiring. I’m so glad he reached out, and I feel fortunate to have played a role in his project.