Archive

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

( way said)

Quiet — pour water from the tank tap into a chipped enamel mug, set it down beside her hand.

Don't kill yourself doing it all in one go. You're exhausted.

Quiet — limp slowly back toward the cottage

At least three feet. It's soft as cake.

Quiet — lean back against the whitewashed wall and watch him walk away, her gaze fixed on the sagging line of the dock pilings.

Eat while they're hot. Grit's mostly in the foot — twist it out.

Aye. Lap the mounts flat by hand. Surface plate in the workshop, emery in the stores. Three, four hours if I'm careful.

Acceptable's the best soil gets here. Lime beds holding 6.8?

Quiet — torque the remaining three stainless through-bolts to 35Nm each, then test the mooring ring under full body weight.

Quiet — open a tin of mackerel and slide it into the cast iron skillet over the wood stove.

Quiet — pull the heavy wrench and drill from the tool bag, start clearing the corroded bolt holes for the sister beam, work fast while the tide holds.

Don't overcook it. I don't want it tasting like charcoal.

Quiet — stop a few paces behind him and watch the horizon, squinting against the low sun.

Quiet — lean the wrench against the wall, pull the water can from the shade, trickle the dregs over her rows without a word

Quiet — dig up the seed tin from the cache by the spring and sort the packets for the lime beds.

Quiet — walk to the dock

Almost there. Just need to take the last stretch out of the line — then we can leave it till the tide turns.

Figured if we can’t go to the mainland for tea, we’ll bring the shop to us.

All four. Old dock planks buried two feet deep, rope led through the wall rings. Tarp won't move now.

Deadmen held. Tarp's tight. Water tank's down twelve litres from evaporation — garden's drinking more than us.

Quiet — continue digging anchor holes, levering out shale chunks with the spade and prying with the crowbar where needed

Corned beef's too rich. Try a bit of the mackerel oil on the trigger. Or peanut butter if we've got any left.

Basil’s holding. If the wind stays off the water tonight, we’ll have dry air by dawn. Should check the seed tin again before we break.

(A short, sharp laugh) Since when do you care about the mineral content of a mollusk?

Don't exhaust yourself. The weeds have had ten years; they can handle one more night.

Quiet — check generator oil level and top up if needed

Quiet — close the notebook, pack the pencil, and start the trek back down from the cliffs toward the garden.

Don't run it too hard! I'm going to get the limpets.

Barometer says yes. Radio says nothing. Skipper'll come if the channel holds.

Quiet — close the notebook with a sharp snap and stare at the door.

(calling out) Use the torque wrench if you can!

Quiet — pull back, settle on my heels, watch her work the next seed into the hole

Quiet — walk to the stove and start sorting through the remaining tinned mackerel.

Come on. Cottage. Tea.

Don't get too distracted by the numbers, Kevin. The air is getting thick.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

(nothing — just a slow nod, the corner of my mouth twitching once)

A quiet turn — nothing said.

(quiet) It's clean. I re-sorted it after the last check.

Didn't say you couldn't.

Fair enough. Radio at 0800. I'll leave the bag by the set.

Copper spray's in the blue jug by the porch door. Enough for two passes if you go light. Tomatoes first, then the basil row. I'll have the Yanmar done by the time you're back — can run the dinghy out

Quiet — fill both mugs from the kettle on the stove and set one near the tin for her.

Quiet — kneel at the bilge, reach into the cold water, retrieve the missing housing bolt. Clean threads with wire brush and penetrating oil. Run tap through the stripped holes in the block.

Quiet — fire up the Yanmar, let it warm at idle, then put it in gear and run it up through the range under load — watch the prop shaft, feel for vibration, check temperature.

Don't use too much fat, I want to save some for the sea much.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — jenny opened her own to a fresh page and sharpened her pencil, comparing the morphology of the sea beet leaves to the sketches from earlier today.