In the heart of the mountains, roughly two hours from Aspen, lies a magical town called Telluride. In the winter, the valley is wrapped in snow, ski lifts climbing into the peaks, and the whole place feels like a snow globe. But in the summer, in my unofficial opinion, Telluride is even more beautiful.

We arrived after traveling from the east side of Colorado, making a quick stop in Denver. I had never truly explored the mountainous region of the state—most times, I’d chosen the quicker southern route. But this time, my husband decided we needed an adventure. As we descended the winding mountain road, we saw it: a waterfall spilling down from the mountains behind the town, its water feeding the little river that runs through the center of Telluride.

The buildings felt like stepping back in time. Once a thriving mining town, Telluride still has remnants of its past—old mine structures standing silent on the hillsides, while grand mansion-like homes perch near cascading waterfalls. Walking along the trail that winds through the heart of town, I noticed something unexpected: groups of children, anywhere from eight to fifteen years old, running together on the trails, playing in the fields, or laughing downtown—and not a single one of them glued to a phone. It was like a flashback to my own childhood, when it was still safe to stay outside until the sun set.

At one point, my husband and I stopped along a quiet bend in the stream. We slipped off our shoes and dipped our feet into the water—still cool from the snowcapped mountains above. I wanted to cup my hand, lift it to my lips, and taste it, just to prove its purity. The water felt alive, ancient, unspoiled. There was something primal and beautiful about this town. Old mills and weathered windmills still stood on the outskirts, reminders of another time. Stables dotted the land, and animals roamed freely through open fields. At the center of it all was a baseball diamond surrounded by wildflowers, the scent of summer in the mountains heavy in the air.

And everywhere—families. Families laughing together, watching their children play, sharing meals and conversations face-to-face, as if the modern world hadn’t yet intruded. In their presence, I felt an unbridled passion rise in me, a longing for connection unmediated by screens or noise. So much of Telluride felt suspended in the past, preserved in a way that made me ache with yearning.

Streets are lined with houses dating back to the 1800s, lovingly updated with modern comforts. At the center of town, restaurants and breweries use the region’s pure, clear water to give their flavors an edge. And then there are the festivals—music, art, and celebration woven into the fabric of the place. We just barely missed one, but you could feel the lingering energy in the air.

Telluride is more than a mountain town. It’s a living story—part history, part adventure, part dream.