It is the seventy-sixth day of our voyage, and my heart is a whirlwind of emotions.

The endless expanse of the Atlantic has been our home for so long, yet today, there is a change in the air. I stand at the ship’s bow, the salty wind whipping my hair, as we strain our eyes for the first sight of our new home.

Our crossing was supposed to take two months, but delays and rough seas have stretched our journey. As August begins, we must hasten our preparations for the coming winter. My father, Pieter Tanalda, is a man of unwavering determination. Even in the poorest quarters of Amsterdam, he never let hardship dampen his spirit. He has often spoken of the fertile land of New Netherland, where he plans to grow tomatoes.

I glance back at my younger brother, Hans, who is only seven.

He clings to Father’s hand, his eyes wide with fear and excitement.

Father has been our rock since Mother passed away last winter. His decision to bring us here was made in the hopes of a better life, away from the poverty that clung to us in the old country.

Today, as we edge closer to what the sailors call a shoal of rocks, the tension on board is palpable. The captain, a grizzled man named Van der Meer, navigates with a cautious eye. I overhear him talking to Father, pointing out the treacherous waters guarding the bay entrance.

I think back to our life in Amsterdam.

We lived in a cramped, damp house along the canals, where every day was a struggle.

Father worked as a dockhand, earning barely enough to keep us fed. The promise of land and opportunity in New Netherland was a beacon of hope, a stark contrast to Amsterdam’s crowded, poverty-stricken streets. I remember the night Father decided we would leave—his voice steady as he promised us a new beginning.

As the hours pass, the horizon begins to change. “Land ho!” the cry goes up from atop the lookout, and a cheer rises from the crew.

My heart leaps.

I see the faint outline of what must be our new home.

The shoreline, though distant, fills me with a sense of awe and anticipation. The land we have dreamed of is finally within reach, and the excitement is palpable.

Father grips my shoulder, his face alight with a rare smile. “Lana, Hans, look! Our new home.”

Hans’s face breaks into a wide grin, and I feel a warmth spread through me. Despite the hardships that lie ahead, I know we will make it.

Together, we will build our new life here in Communipaw, our determination as strong as the winds that brought us here.

We draw closer to the shore, and the details of the land become clearer.

The dense forests, the rolling hills—everything is different from the crowded streets of Amsterdam.

We must work quickly to build our cabin before the cold sets in. Father speaks of planting the first tomatoes as soon as possible to establish our place in this new world.

As the ship anchors, I close my eyes momentarily, taking in the sounds and smells of our new home: the creaking of the ship’s hull, the distant calls of the shore birds, and the fresh scent of the sea air mingling vibrantly with the earthy aroma of the land.

This is the beginning of our new life, filled with hope and endless possibilities.

We may have come from nothing, but here, we will create something beautiful in this new land, step by step, starting with our first footprints on this foreign shore.