Midsummer notes

Snow in June, at home in Wilderness, upcoming events

It’s been a while.

I love writing these notes. They’re a small practice in shaping words, a way to reorganize my thoughts—like pulling weeds or shoveling snow off the driveway: small, tangible progress. Instantly satisfying.

But as spring turned to summer, my children’s soccer tournaments and dance recitals piled up. Writing time became scarce. My book projects began to feel like rare species in need of protection. I made real progress on both, but many small stories and great adventures I meant to share never made it beyond my notebook. One day, I’ll write them up.

Then, one Sunday morning in June, it started to snow.

We knew it was coming, but it still felt like another world. Riding into the wilderness on horseback is always exhilarating—the wild mountains and rivers, the thrill of not knowing what’s around the next bend. Wild places pull you in. They demand your full attention. But riding into a snowstorm in summer felt like something else entirely: a true commitment to the unknown.

There is no transition—just the place that heals, reveals, and tests, all at once. And for the first time, I clearly understood: I was coming home.

Since moving to Montana, I’ve spent a lot of time in wild places. Every year, I’ve traveled beyond the wilderness sign, learning how to pack mules to stay longer, go farther, and bring my college class and my young family with me into the mountains. Those journeys have shaped me more than I can say.

They’ve also shaped the stories I’m telling. The protagonists in both of my current book projects—one set in the Alps on the eve of World War II, the other deep in the bear country of North America—each find solace and courage in wild places. Nature frames their stories. Maybe that’s true for me, too.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what home really means. People have asked me for years if I’d ever move back to Europe. But only this spring—while writing about resistance to dictatorship, and watching one rise—did I truly ask myself that question.

I’m from Germany. My entire family still lives there. I love Europe. But I’ve lived abroad for most of my adult life— in Italy, Morocco, sixteen years in the U.S., eight of them in Montana, the past four as a citizen. My kids were born here. This is where I built a life: as a professor, a mother, a mule packer, a writer. I’ve been happy here. But I never called it home.

Until now.
This summer, when the sun melted the snow, I sat by the river and understood: this is where I belong. The message didn’t arrive with a big bang—it fluttered in quietly. As a yellow butterfly crossed the clear water, we became one. My son and husband squealed nearby as they caught another fish; my daughter danced along the rocks.

All at ease. All at home.

If you’d like to hear more stories from Hush of the Land, Smoke and I will be sharing a few at upcoming events. I’ll include the details just below, starting with this Saturday’s Montana Folk Festival in Butte. Come say hello, bring your curiosity—and maybe a story of your own.

Auf bald,

Eva

UPCOMING EVENTS

Hush of the Land: Stories from the Bob Marshall Wilderness
with Smoke Elser & Eva-Maria Maggi

ALL EVENTS ARE FREE AND OPEN TO THE PUBLIC. KIDS WELCOME!

• July 12, 1:00–2:00 PM
  Montana Folk Festival – Folklife Stage
  Book signing to follow at 2:00 PM
  Isle of Books – 43 E Broadway St, Butte, MT

• September 10, 7:00 PM
  Montana Natural History Center
  Missoula, MT

• September 12, 6:00 PM
  Stillwater Speaks at Cobblestone School
  Absarokee, MT