Interestingly, when I wrote the passage below, I had not actually seen the flowers I
described, but somehow I could visualize them and I knew they were very small and
delicate. Imagine my delight when I found these growing “riverside” at Jamestown,
just as Joan said!

I saw that the Jamestown landscrape, even in barren winter, could be beautiful, even charming.

I wanted to remember the colors of the water with the winter sun on it.

I knew the Paspeheghs lived near the mouth of the Chickahominy River (where it meets the James), but I wanted to see it for myself. The land to the left and right of the canoe (below) would have been Paspehegh territory. The James River was behind us.

If we had kept paddling up the Chickahominy, we would have come to the land belonging to the Chickahominy tribe and the location of Orapax, where Chief Powhatan relocated in early 1609 to befuddle the settlers--knowing it would be difficult for them to reach him.

Soberly I realized that the children of the Paspehegh Queen would have been killed near this spot in the river--thrown into the water and shot by Percy’s men. The Queen herself was taken captive on a ship here and transported back to Jamestown, where she was “put through to the sword.”

She does not mourn her own death, but that of her children, I thought. In that brief melding of gazes, we were neither white nor red, English or Paspahegh. We were but two mothers.

Would that I knew a native word for grief or sorrow, but, alas, I did not. Yet I understood a mother’s heart. As Annie Laydon said, the men folk fight and the women folk bear the brunt. This woman had borne the burden of war between her people and my own and had paid the highest price any mother can pay—her children. My eyes filled with tears for her loss, and for the loss of all the children and all the mothers from these wars.

No, I had no word for sorrow, but I lifted my fist to my heart and let the tear run down my cheek. Your sorrow, my sorrow. We are both women, and we are both mothers.

In return, she gave the barest of nods, an acknowledgement. Yes, it said, thank you.

She had allowed me to share her concealed grief. She then turned her eyes upward to the sun once more—lest any soldier think her afraid or that she was any less warrior than they themselves were. I knew she would not cry out upon her death—natives never did.

From Dark Enough to See the Stars in a Jamestown Sky by Connie Lapallo © 2006

I attended “Foods and Feasts in Colonial Virginia,” a festival Jamestown Settlement has been featuring each November.

These foods don’t look too bad—the more traditional fare before the winter of 1609 to 1610 turned bleak and starvation set in.

At home in October, I had collected nuts--acorns, hickory nuts and walnuts--and stored them in my fridge as long as possible. Until the day my kids said, “Mom, what are these white hairy things? Can we throw them out?”

What did I learn? Black walnuts grow white beards. So much for research!

In January, 2003, I went to Historic Jamestowne (the fort site) to do more hands-on research. I studied the barren landscape. If I were Joan, starving, what would I eat? The only thing I could find that was at all promising was a cedar tree.

In a move my writing group has never let me forget, I plucked a sprig of cedar and ate it. At home, I boiled up more sprigs into a green, spiny soup. So when Joan says cedar tastes minty, she knows what she’s talking about!

With a basket tucked beneath my arm, I approached the edge of the fort, taking a moment to look about or listen for anything unusual. I will not fear the arrow that flyeth by day, I reminded myself, quoting the morning’s Psalm and adding, God protect me from savages and fill my basket with cedar. The cedar was close in—no longer would we go as far as the oak and hickory groves in the uplands.

Arriving at the tree, I snatched and broke the little branches, snapping off spiny fronds. I worked with all haste, except for tasting a sprig, thinking, if it does not poison the deer, I reckon it will not poison me.

It had a grainy, rough texture and made me cough, as some of it went down and some lay in the back of my throat. I swallowed again, hard and quickly. If the Indians were nearby, I did not want to attract their attention. They would not believe it was a deer coughing like that!

The flavor was not as bad as I might have thought. It was strong, but not unpleasant, and went into my empty stomach remarkably well. Cedar had a lingering taste, almost like mint. I picked and plucked and grabbed sprigs from the tree, filling my basket with as many small cedar branches as I could reach and whatever lay on the ground.

From Dark Enough to See the Stars in a Jamestown Sky by Connie Lapallo © 2006

Maggie’s rendition of [the ballads] reminded us too well of home, especially as she played along on her tambourine. Her clear, bright voice drifted through the windows and soothed us, as did the crackling of the fire as autumn settled in.

Perhaps music could chase the sense of dread we were beginning to feel, the sense of something about to go terribly wrong.

From Dark Enough to See the Stars in a Jamestown Sky by Connie Lapallo © 2006