Archive

Quiet — climb the porch steps, set down the mallet, crouch beside her ankle to unwind the wrap

Quiet — open the notebook and force a pencil to sketch the jagged Edge of a sea beet leaf.

"Sketch later. Eat now." I slide the bowl of limpet broth across the table, spoon already in it. "Broth's hot. Limpets are tough but the stock's good.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Broth's going cold. Drink it while it's hot.

Ground rod's off the southeast corner. Two metres down. Cable run's eighteen metres from shack.

As long as the dock stays. I can't lose the dinghy now.

(Kevin! Check the mooring ring again!)

Quiet — walk inside to the bedroom, crouch by the bed where Jenny's sleeping, gently peel back the blanket to check her ankle.

Ankle look any different this morning?

977. Dropped two since noon. West wind backing southwest — rain front's close.

"For now" is how the garden ended up.

Quiet — drive the greenheart offcuts and stone into the scour hole with the crowbar, packing it tight while the water's still low enough to work. Then wedge the tapered greenheart shim under the pilin

Ankle first. Dock second. Sit back.

Bolts are torqued. Wedges are vertical grain, seated. Only thing moves now is the tide.

Quiet — check the barometer reading again, then turn to the window to assess the cloud cover.

Ankle still hot?

Careful. The algae is thick there.

Be careful, the wood is slick and the tide is shifting fast.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

0900 in twenty minutes. I'll call again.

Barometer's dropping. Going to run the Yanmar at idle, check the cutless bearing while I can. You need the dressing changed and fluids before I'm on the radio.

Quiet — walk to the porch door and crack it open to check the generator and radio mast.

Check theches on the garden gate again, Kevin.

Come inside, it's freezing.

Fire's still drawing. Kettle on?

Don't let go of the line!

Don't get the water into the tin.

Be careful on the ladder.

Quiet — fetch the galvanized bucket from under the shutter, pour the boiled salt water into the enamel basin, and set it on the table beside her with a clean cloth

Quiet — pull the blanket from the foot of the bed, drape it over her shoulders, settle into the chair by the window with the notebook

Barometer held 982 at dawn. If it's dropping now, it's moving fast.

Flame's steady. Kettle'll sing in five.

Heat doesn't climb. Show me.

Aye. They won't come in this. We batten down proper and ride it out.

A while ago. It's still working, isn't it?

(quiet) The Yanmar's due a test run at load before the boat gets here. Hour, maybe two. You'll hear it.

Bed's made up if you want proper rest. Ankle higher there.

Boat's due on the tide tomorrow. If it comes, I'll load the dinghy and meet it at the mooring. If it doesn't —

Boat's due tomorrow. Barometer says the window's open. We'll be ready either way.

Quiet — check the dinghy mooring lines through the porch window, then put another log on the stove

Cleats are bolted. Lines have give. Checking the stern spring now.

Quiet — fetch the spruce offcut from the garden shed, then use the knife to shave a thin wedge — about 3mm at the thick end, tapered. Test it in the mortise before committing.

Quiet — close the notebook and tuck the pencil into the binding.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Already did it. Second stern spring on the heavy weather line. Bow line's good. She'll ride it out.

Quiet — keep running down the wet path, hop the garden wall gap, hit the generator shed door and yank it open

Quiet — check the generator oil level and tighten the garden tarp lines at the corners

Ankle's solid. But I won't stop you.

Quiet — pick up the de-salted sea beet leaves from the table.