Two weeks ago, Anna shared her experiences as a country girl visiting New York on the Meet a Member tour. As a hick-from-the-sticks myself, I feel I must defend the Purple Valley's reputation. Williamstown has been unfairly maligned as "the middle of nowhere," when it is in fact, a bit south and east of nowhere. Allow me to explain.

Let me begin by saying that compared to my hometown of Cape Vincent, New York, Williamstown is a veritable metropolis. Everything is relative, and to an inhabitant of "the Cape," any town in which you can walk down the street and not know everyone you see constitutes a sprawling urban jungle. Cape Vincent is home to 673 people, not counting the hordes of tourists that descend upon the town for one weekend in July to enjoy the mild summers that made the Thousand Islands famous (the other reason being the salad dressing ... but that's another letter). Our town has one street, incongruously named Broadway. Everyone in town lives and works in the buildings lining Broadway. At one end of the street is a lighthouse and Lake Ontario. At the other end is our "downtown" area, consisting of a general store, a post office, and a town barn housing the Cape's pride and joy, a pumper truck purchased second-hand from a nearby town.

The town has one claim to fame: In the late 1700s, Napoleon Bonaparte's lieutenant, James LeRay Chaumont, settled there and built a miniature version of Versailles for his beloved commander. De Chaumont intended to spirit Napoleon away from St. Helena and, with the support of the French Canadians across the St. Lawrence, resurrect Napoleon's empire a third time. Ultimately, Napoleon died before his faithful friend could undertake his rescue, thus ending the Cape's 15 minutes of fame. Rumor has it that Sylvester Stallone has purchased and renovated the old mansion, but I won't believe it till I see him myself.

Our brush with history was close enough to merit the holding of a French festival every Bastille Day weekend (hence, the tourists). A male inhabitant dons a Napoleon costume and, white horse in tow, leads a parade down — where else? — Broadway. After sampling a few of our famous French pastries and a mug or two of Canadian beer, even the visiting city folk get weepy as the brass band bleats out La Marseillaise. Napoleon, we hardly knew ya ...

I am pleased to announce, however, that even our little corner of pastoral bliss is entering the next millennium. One of the best things about the Internet is its capacity to bring ideas from the outside world to places as remote as the Cape. Our tiny town library now boasts a single computer with a modem, and the effects are already apparent. Now the neighborhood rumor mill includes talk about the virtues of the Church of the SubGenius and the moral implications of selling models' eggs online, and there's more than one Internet-auction addict. Some folks are even making noises about building homepages — and you can just bet where they'll be building! So, if you're ever in the Thousand Islands, stop by, grab a pastry, and check your e-mail. I'll tell Sly to expect you!

— Laura