I live in a place in northern New York State that many Americans have never heard of and don’t care to know about. Our population is dwindling as our manufacturing has moved to other places. Many who live downstate don’t even realize that there is life above the NYS Thruway. Tourism saves us from total abandonment. Visitors come to lodge, fish, and ride boats between May and October at our boundaries on The St. Lawrence River and Lake Ontario. Unfortunately, that excitement and glamor disappeared for six months, leaving businesses boarded up against the snow and wind.

We live in a world where only the spectacular seems to deserve attention. Cell phones and big screens artfully portray a life of color and excitement. We are trapped in a continuous brainwashing commercial that tries to convince us that, under the right conditions, we can be significant.

The COVID lockdown changed the significance for all of us. The familiar and the routine were turned upside down as workplaces, schools, and many stores closed. I tried to compensate. I paid a lot for streaming at that point. Shut out of the real world, I justified this expense to keep myself sane. Unfortunately, I fell down the rabbit hole of the “screen,” where everything is artificially exciting, carefully scripted for emotional response, and enticing enough to convince us to purchase things we don’t need.

I was beginning to lose myself. I was too scared to take long trips for fear of disease. I ventured out slowly, first taking long walks in my woods. When commerce opened up again, I combined errands with drives around my area. I started to notice things. I knew this remote part of my state had some history. I had attended festivals along the river and lake commemorating long-ago battles. I started to wonder about the origin and context of things. I was puzzled by the strange name of Black River and the remains of a canal that shared its name. I finally realized that an ancient stone wall at the back of my property had been built long ago to pen in sheep. I grieved the life of a freed black slave buried at the edge of a cemetery near my town. Even though she was loved by her white family, she was buried facing the woods because of the color of her skin. I marveled at the remains of iron and lead furnaces still standing as they did hundreds of years ago. I wanted to know more about an abandoned cave where pyrite was once mined to make sulfuric acid for papermaking. I was surprised that Europe continued its battles in the North Country during the French and Indian Wars. After The Revolutionary War, European bankers and aristocrats rushed to make fortunes by buying up our land. I was saddened to find out that we pushed out and contained our local Native Americans as we took over their land. I followed the money to understand how our beautiful landscapes were used up, as too many trees were cut down, and profits were made from our many resources and strategic location. And I felt empathy for the many immigrants who were used for cheap labor.

I had more time during the lockdown and took the opportunity to delve into the history around me. My research wasn’t easy because history is far from a one-dimensional discipline. Any point in time or place is influenced by a multitude of factors. I had to increase my efforts. I went to presentations and searched thrift and antique stores for old books. I gathered precious clues and cross-referenced my findings with other sources. My lack of background forced me to find simplified timelines to help me understand my North Country’s place in the story of the world. My perspective grew bigger and bigger, and I suddenly had new eyes. I realized my “insignificant” part of the world, this place I call home, had a fantastic story to tell. It had notable historical figures, but thousands of everyday people made lasting history through their resilience and strength. Unfortunately, because of their station in life, they did not get the grandiose recognition that those at the top did. Here is where the fallacy of insignificance came to light. No act is insignificant. The human struggle is a constant challenge and a problem-solving issue. There are those whose contributions were small, and some even failed. But they tried! Even the smallest effort is valuable; their story can’t be overlooked. My North Country and its people are significant, always were, and always will be.

I got through the pandemic and slowly renewed my travel courage. My curiosity returned, and so did the scope of my travels. In the spring of 2023, I took a road trip to North Carolina, West Virginia, and Tennessee. I discovered similarities between the lives of the early frontier people of those states and the pioneers of my area. Gaining even more confidence, I visited Scotland, Wales, and England in the fall of 2023. I wanted to understand the culture, spirit, and motivation of the British people who crossed the ocean to create something new.

Just before my last flight home from The British Kingdom, I had breakfast near The Philadelphia Airport. Thoughts of my excellent adventure, the things I had seen, and the wonderful people I met became clouded by the news of Israel and Gaza. Once again, the human story was marred by a chapter of darkness. I was upset. Sitting in numb silence, I suddenly became aware of a song playing on the sound system. It was repeated several times, and I finally paid attention. “Make your dreams stronger than your worries.” I thought of my dream to keep exploring, learning, writing, and sharing with others. Like all of us, I knew I had to keep trying.

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