We are camped not ten miles from where the Virginia Company established the Jamestown colony, settling themselves in land already settled for hundreds of years by native peoples.
In the mornings I wake up and look out our front window onto the Gordon Creek. This morning, I was up early enough to catch the sun just above the plane of the water (didn’t actually see it break that plane, not quite that early). There are shallow reedy patches at spots, and they broke up the deep orange reflected sunlight, like little islands in lava.
And birds, so many birds. Singing. They know it’s Spring, I guess. The roads here are lined with fields in their Spring greenest, too, and fruit trees covered in flower. It’s warm, but the bugs aren’t out yet and the humidity is low. Yesterday evening I sat outside and read.
I like to imagine the colonists, and the Powhatan, maybe navigating the creek outside of our window, fishing or looking for game or exploring, killing each other. Four hundred years ago dragging reed-woven nets from a dugout canoe. Four hundred years ago for God and country.
Four hundred years is nothing. We’re talking ten to fifteen generations. So long ago, but really nothing. I can almost see them out there, hear them.