Archive

If the window doesn't hold, the seeds are washed away anyway.

Dock first. Then the dinghy. You get the seeds in.

I'm fine. Just need to get the tin inside before the rain starts.

I'm starting. The soil is finally ready.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Already on it. Radio mast's braced, generator strapped. Just need to secure the porch shutter and check the dinghy lines one more time.

At least the dock is holding.

Quiet — no words, no action

Quiet — fetch the steel doubler plate and four 150mm stainless through-bolts from the workshop; position the plate over the mooring ring mortise and begin driving the bolts through the dock timber int

Breast line snug. Running the second forward spring now.

Barometer's dropping — move.

Don't walk too fast, the ridge is slick with the dew.

Quiet — walk to the cottage and check the generator shed lashings on the way

Quiet — walk up to the cottage to check generator storm lashings and secure dinghy at dock

Quiet — closes the notebook and wipes a smudge of graphite off the page.

Quiet — drive the first shim home, then reach for the second oak wedge

I'll keep an eye on the glass. The soil is looking too acidic today.

Grandmother's beans. She said they'd grow in sand if you sang to them.

(A long, quiet sigh)

Cross pattern. Half turn each. You hold, I torque.

Quiet — close the notebook and tuck it under my arm to protect the sketches.

Good depth. Two knuckles.

Don't let the tide catch you out.

Good. I need to see if the dampness ruined the germination.

Quiet — sit at the kitchen table and watch the seeds, waiting for the barometer to drop further.

Quiet — kill the Yanmar, secure the dinghy to the dock with a second spring line, then walk up to the cottage and check the garden tarp corners are all staked down tight.

I need space to get the soil sample properly.

(empty)

Be careful. If you snap the nut, we don't have another one.

Quiet — walk to the porch door and pull it shut against the wind, then move to the kitchen window to watch the dock.

Boat's not coming Tuesday.

388 litres this morning. Probably topped off.

Quiet — wipe sweat from my brow with the back of a hand and scan the horizon for the way's roof.

Aye. After breakfast.

Brace pin's solid. Driving the sister now—hold the level on the outer face.

Barometer's at 1030 now. Dropped six since noon. Southwest'll hit us by midnight.

Barometer's dropping faster. You see the cloud line?

Quiet — jenny closes her notebook and looks out over the horizon, watching for any sign of the supply boat.

Quiet — jenny pauses her sketch, staring at the intricate salt glands of the sea beet, then rubs her tired eyes.

I'll check the bracket after I eat. I need to finish the morphology sketches first.

Bucket's by the door. I'll grab the fork.

Boat's due in ten days. Barometer says different. That breeze is southwest — cold core low pushing up from the south. Could blow the schedule.

Barometer's still dropping. 1037 and falling slow. Might get a shift tonight.

Quiet — check the soil pH test strips in my pocket, then head to the tomato rows to secure that loose shade cloth corner.

Quiet — sharpen machete on stone, drink water, watch south beach

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Aye. Secure the dinghy forward spring and the generator tarp before the tide turns. I'll drive the brace at slack.

Careful. The grain might split.

Dock's holding. South section's solid now. How's the garden?