Archive

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?

Brace won’t hold. Hole’s not deep enough. We gotta replace the planks first—south side’s worst. I’ll rip out the rotten ones, you pass me the sound cores from the shed. We’ll sister new two-by-fours u

Quiet — fetch the ship's auger and brace from the workshop, carry them to the dock, kneel on the planking and start the 25mm hole through the greenheart brace stock.

(grunting) This piling’s gone further than we thought.

Hole's ready. Grab the greenheart from the skiff when you're done there.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Got the one yesterday. But traps stay set.

(without turning, voice low over the wind) I'll watch the pilings. And I'll be back before the tide turns.

And check if they have any salt-neutralizing spray. The wind is getting through the cracks in the stone today.

Quiet — walk into the kitchen, check the radio, then step out onto the porch to look for Jenny

Heavy-grade lime, not garden mix. Four bags. And two lengths of 150mm stainless through-bolt — 300mm — for the new pile brackets.

Quiet — pull out the chair at the table and sit, boot heels thudding against the stone floor. Stretch the left ankle out slow, testing the brace.

Base is deep enough. Dug it last week. Just need the batter right — one in six. You hold the level, I'll move the rock.

I know.

Auger spun free at two feet. Heartwood's lace. We're not sistering that — we're replacing. Four new piles, cross-braced, driven at low tide off the dinghy. Tomorrow's tide window is ours.

Quiet — press a small indentation into the earth with my index finger, hovering over the seed.

Bit's clear. Hole's dead. How deep does the rot run?

A spoon wouldn't do much for greenheart that soft.

Agreed. Crate had a box of 150mm stainless through-bolts with washers and nylocs. Used four on the mooring ring doubler plate. Should be enough left for the south piling sister if we drill deep.

Collar’s solid. Mount’s the question.

Quiet — open the cupboard and look for the tin of tinned mackerel or the leftover sea beet.

Aye. We'll need to cut out the rot and sister in fresh greenheart before the water lifts. Hand me the crowbar—I'll start clearing the debris.

Bolts are solid. We’ll come back at high water with the jack and the last of the epoxy. If it’s gone, I’ll mix sawdust and tar—it’ll breathe but it’ll seal.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Five days.

Quiet — walk up the dock to the cottage, check the dinghy's stern spring tension at the cleat, then head to the workshop to true the prop shaft alignment on the Yanmar.

(quietly) Still here.

Blade's tracking.

Cut back to sound. Scarf in the greenheart. Four 12mm through-bolts, epoxy every surface. You hold the sketch — I’ll cut.

Don't overtorque the bolts. The wood is softer than it looks.

Quiet — step into the dinghy, check throttle linkage and fuel line connections, then start the Yanmar and let it warm at idle

Quiet — advance throttle to full, hold it there for a full minute, eyes on the prop wash and hand on the tiller feeling for any vibration in the drivetrain

Quiet — climb the porch steps and set the crowbar down by the door, pause a moment watching her in the garden

Look right here where the beam meets the piling—the fibers are completely hollowed out.

Fine. Work. But don't come to me when the seedlings are mush by morning.

(I don’t speak. I push the last of the corned beef toward her with my fork, then fold my arms on the table and look out the window at the fading light.)

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Aye. Wind’s coming. Let’s get those bolts true before it does.

Quiet — drill pilot holes for dock mooring ring repair with steady pressure, clearing debris as I go.

Don't waste it. Two pumps resin, one hardener—no more.

Heartwood's at sixty millimetres. I'll stop at fifty-five. Leave a shoulder for the sister.

Good. The bed by the wall gets morning sun — best spot for the tomatoes.

Six inches. I'll get it.

Quiet — press a finger into the soil of the tomato and basil trays to check the moisture depth.

Quiet — carefully adjust the edges of the shade cloth, tucking the fabric deeper into the soil to block the midday glare.

Drilling.

Aye. Slack water's in twenty. I'll sister the greenheart knee then — got the stock cut and dry.

( way said)