There’s something I’ve noticed over and over again while working with businesses across Northern New Hampshire. A lot of North Country business owners believe they have a marketing problem. So they put more energy into social media. More posts. More boosted ads. More graphics. More effort trying to “stay visible.” And yet, many of them are quietly asking the same question: “Why isn’t this turning into customers?” I heard someone say recently: “Our engagement is actually reall

I saw it yesterday in a Facebook comment. I don’t remember what the original post was about. It was something worth celebrating—that much I know. Someone had shared a moment that mattered to them, something they felt was important enough to put out into the world. And then, in the comments, I saw the response: “I love that for you.” I didn’t stay. There was something about it that made me move on almost immediately, like the moment had already been closed before it had the ch

Beaver Brook Trail None of us actually saw it happen. We were on the Beaver Brook Trail, descending along the falls the way you do when you’ve done enough hiking for the day and just want to get back to the car. Careful, but not overly cautious. He had gone a little bit ahead of the group and disappeared out of sight. When we caught up and found him at the bottom of the falls, it didn’t fully register at first. I think there’s always that split second where your brain tries

My great Aunt Agnes was an exceptionally large woman. Undoubtedly, her size contributed to my feelings of intimidation around her, but I think it was more her assertive and confident nature. She always knew what she wanted. I remember her bossing my great Uncle Albert around. By the time I was old enough to have real memories of them, he was in a wheelchair with MS, and life was already challenging for both of them. Fondly referred to as Aunt Aggie, she always wore a lot of p

It was the absence of distraction. It felt like hitting the Franconia Notch – going from 75 mph to suddenly what seems like slow motion at 45 mph. Maybe at times it even felt as if the car was in reverse. Disconnecting from the online world – from social media, to be more specific – has been one of the most unintentional intentional shifts I’ve made in my recent life. What I originally saw as a temporary break, is turning out to be much more than that. I have felt a deep cra

A Littleton wellness shop transformed its online presence with 10 new Google reviews, revealing how visible customer feedback drives trust and local business growth.

Amanda McKeen reflects on how personal loss and a growing sense of disconnection led her to leave a stable remote career and begin building a more present, community-rooted life grounded in the simple but powerful practice of being where her feet are.

This article explores how Google’s latest shift to AI-driven recommendations is quietly changing how local businesses are discovered—and why many are losing customers without realizing it.

Amanda McKeen walks into her studio unsure how she’ll carry an hour-long show with four silent teenagers—only to discover that the moment she stops trying to control the conversation, something far more powerful takes over.

A single conversation with an eighty-year-old forced me to confront the quiet bitterness I didn’t realize I was still carrying—and reconsider how I’m choosing to live my life.

After a recent conversation on North of Normal, Amanda McKeen reflects on a moment in her career that taught her the hard way that systems don’t lead people—empathy does.

Being unafraid to get it wrong is the most liberating posture I’ve ever adopted, because the moment I stop waiting to know everything is the moment no one can shame me out of showing up exactly as I am.

When hard news is delivered without clarity, steadiness, and space for response, it’s not the decision that damages a small-town business — it’s the fracture in trust that follows.

When something familiar no longer aligns with our values, the hardest work isn’t deciding what we believe—it’s noticing how we react before we act.

If visibility does not help a business show up when someone is actively searching for a service, it may feel affirming, but it is not solving the problem business owners are actually facing.

It was an ordinary, careful day, and that ordinariness did nothing to soften the fear underneath it.

Some of the most expensive losses in business happen quietly, without feedback, conflict, or a chance to respond.

A childhood story about asking for a hamburger that wasn’t on the menu became a reminder of how much we limit ourselves by deciding in advance what’s possible here in the North Country.

A quiet act of kindness becomes the starting point for a reflection on why the warmth of this community doesn’t always translate to online spaces.

On pressure, performance, and why so many North Country business owners feel like they’re failing quietly.

In this reflection on running a business in the North Country, I explore what happened when I stopped forcing certainty, started listening more closely to myself, and learned the quiet power of saying no.

What happens when you ask yourself the questions you usually avoid—and answer them out loud, without editing, without hiding, and without knowing where the truth will land?

In 2026, small-town businesses earn trust and customers not by being louder online, but by being clearer, more consistent, and unmistakably human.

A hike, a conversation, and two strangers’ stories came together this week to remind me how deeply our presence can shape the world around us.