I was very proud of myself. I thought that I had actually contributed something to the world’s encyclopedia — even to the greater good.

Was I wrong? Did I commit some unforgivable sin?

In the second week of March, I spent the better part of two days researching and writing a Wikipedia article about my old hometown, the quaint hamlet of Hawkesville. I interviewed residents. I took dozens of pictures, of which I selected only one to include. I read a book and personal correspondence. Not bad, I thought.

I wrote an entry, edited it and uploaded it. Done. And done well, I thought. Friends and family reviewed it over the following week. Everyone was happy to see Hawkesville on the virtual map.

I thought I did alright.

Today, a month later, I was preparing a brief lesson for students in which I wanted to promote Wikipedia as an online resource. I was reminded of my work on the Hawkesville article and thought I’d take a look at it again.

It was gone.

Not edited. Not trimmed. Erased.

I logged into Wikipedia. My article had been deleted because, apparently, somebody thought that the town should have been discussed under its broader municipality of Wellesley.

Okay. So I probably broke someone’s Wikipedia rule. I am sorry. But it just seems in poor taste to obliterate someone else’s work without even chatting with them first about how it might be better suited elsewhere.

Today, I see ahead of me the insurmountable task of working with the collective. Visions, and revisions, and revisions.