In the words of the Grateful Dead (RIP Bob Weir)
“Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart
You just gotta poke around”

Bozeman Magazine has been helping locals, newcomers, and visitors poke around this town for the past eighteen years, with informative content, and the most accurate and extensive events calendar in Southwest Montana. We continuously give readers what they are hungry for—local info, from locals. If you continue to pick up the print magazine monthly, and check our website and social media frequently, you won’t have to poke around elsewhere for the most up-to-date content about ‘all things Bozeman.’

We’ve created an editorial calendar for 2026 that follows the seasons, and gets to the heart of the mountain lifestyle that makes Montana-living unlike anywhere else in the world. What truly makes Montana unique is the deep appreciation and love for the land, nature, and each other that has endured throughout every long winter, and every influx of tourists, and newcomers. We care about history here, and our culture is that of honor, courage, honesty, hard work, self-reliance, and fairness. We have both an independent spirit, and the knowledge that we are stronger together, and that community is more important than any individual.

In this issue you will find the Heart of the Valley, both literally and figuratively. We’ve chosen to poke around the topics of historic love letters, place names, thoughtful artisans, a recipe (along with our local dining interview), a local real estate update, the Grateful Dead, and our monthly events calendar.

Each issue, this being the 224th, is a love letter to Bozeman, beginning with cover art created by a local or regional artist, and handcrafted  discourse from local contributors on topics they care deeply about.

As I mentioned last month, appreciation continues to flow our direction, and we are extremely grateful to hear from those of you willing to share your love of the magazine with us. Please feel free to send more love our way this month!

Attics of My Life
Grateful Dead

In the attics of my life, full of cloudy dreams unreal.
Full of tastes no tongue can know, and lights no eyes can see.
When there was no ear to hear, you sang to me.

I have spent my life seeking all that’s still unsung.
Bent my ear to hear the tune, and closed my eyes to see.
When there was no strings to play, you played to me.

In the book of love’s own dream, where all the print is blood.
Where all the pages are my days, and all the lights grow old.
When I had no wings to fly, you flew to me, you flew to me.

In the secret space of dreams, where I dreaming lay amazed.
When the secrets all are told, and the petals all unfold.
When there was no dream of mine, you dreamed of me.