In the mornings, a thin crust of ice glazes the shallows of the Champlain Sea on the border of what is now northern New England. For the small groups of people who make their home here at the water’s edge—fishing, hunting birds, and harvesting crustaceans—it is the end of the warm season. The seasonal move will start soon.

Every fall they go inland, away from the glacial front and the impending harsh weather, following the birds and the migrating wildlife. They pack up the hides they use for shelter, their warm clothing, hunting and household gear, and with their children trek downstream along the large rivers that drain to the south and east. On the way they make mental notes of outcrops of rock suitable for toolmaking, and of animal trails and vegetation that point to food. There will be snow hare, deer, caribou, and beaver to sustain them on the journey. 

The people winter in the sheltering forests of what is now southern New England, New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. Around campfires, they tell stories and share information about their travels, planning for the summer, when they will return to the Champlain Sea.

On the way to the winter camps, they may have noticed the forests spreading northward, and the new kinds of plants that greet them. To the east is a large and windy grass plain with peat swamps and sometimes caribou and mastodons. Beyond that is the Atlantic, where those who decide to stay will discover fish, clams, and lobsters. Over a few lifetimes the ocean moves noticeably inland.

Exploration is serious business to these people, spread thin on a changing landscape. They take note of every useful thing, whether for the present or the future. They are sojourners in an uncertain time, and their children are likely to be the same, and probably their children’s children.