Archive

Quiet — fight the plastic tarp into place and secure the edges with heavy stones.

Quiet — bend down slowly to heave the heavy stones onto the corners of the plastic tarp, bracing a hand against the wall.

Coming.

Quiet — hold the fork low, ready to block a retreat toward the beds, and step sideways to keep the crab moving toward the open gate and the dock path beyond.

It's here! Kevin, get inside!

Quiet — limp slightly, rubbing my lower back as I walk.

Quiet — take a long swallow of coffee, lean back against the counter, watch the porch light through the window as the afternoon dims

Quiet — drag the waterlogged crate and canvas rolls up the dock toward the cottage, then walk to the cottage to check the shortwave radio

Crowbar's in the shed. Want a go at it?

Better. Now let's see if the soil is actually stable enough for a foundation.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Diverted to the mainland. Medical evacuation, they said. Someone on another island. Didn't give details.

Barometer dropped another four millibars since noon. Squall's moving faster than I figured.

Quiet — haul the tins out one by one, set them on the dock planking to drain. Count them. Check seals. Roll the canvas and tarp clear of the wet. Kick the empty crate aside.

Any word from the mainland? Or is it just the atmosphere screaming at us?

Barometer's falling. Gonna drill the mast step now, bolt the tenon while the epoxy's still tacky. You want the limpets in the pan or the pot?

Epoxy didn't cure. Split's still breathing.

"Noted" isn't a plan, Kevin. If that spar splits under load, the wind generator goes over the side.

Quiet — set the bowl of boiled limpets and chopped sea beet on the outdoor table and call out toward the dock for Kevin.

Quiet — crouch down and press my palm flat against the wet timber of the jetty, feeling how much give the rotten planks have

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — enter the cottage and put the limpets and sea beet on the stove.

Quiet — step inside the cottage, shake water off hands, head straight for the window facing the ridge to watch the spar

Come on. Back to the cottage. We'll sister the step with the spare timber and bolt it through.

Aye. Mast first or food first?

Quiet — eat the cooked limpets and sea beet, then walk toward the dock to find Kevin.

Quiet — eat in silence, watching the steam rise from the bowl

Chisels won't hold an edge. Need the grinder wheel first.

Barometer is holding steady. High pressure.

Quiet — set the tin on the table between us, pull a fork from the drawer

Boat's due in nine. Barometer's falling. 1038 and dropping.

Quiet — grip the crowbar with my shirt sleeve wrapped around the iron and heave against the crate lid again

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Careful with the leverage, Kevin. You'll crack the frame.

I know. I just miss things that don't taste like a salt mine.

Coffee's yours. I'll heat the beef.

Maybe stop fighting it for a minute. We're both vibrating.

Quiet — carry the spruce mast to the dinghy at the ladder, step it into the tabernacle with the hardwood doubler, pin it, then bend on the mainsail and sheet it home

Quiet — eat the limpets and sea beet slowly, watching the tide through the window

Quiet — carefully slide a separated seed into a dry paper packet, then lean back to stretch my neck.

Barometer's not moved all day. 1038 and flat. That's not normal for here.

Barometer's been falling steady since noon. If the wind holds northeast, she'll be here mid-morning.

Quiet — hand her the oak offcut and pull the block plane from my belt, then crouch beside the spar to measure the split width at the mast step

Quiet — carry the spruce spar from the workbench to the dinghy at the dock, test the fit against the oarlock bracket mast step without forcing it

Quiet — sit down and take a limpet from the bowl, cracking the shell with the back of my spoon

Quiet — wipe hands on the rag, pick up the radio handset, and key the mic for the 0800 call

Quiet — sit back, watch the waves hit the dock, and wait for the wind.

Don't forget the fenders!

Quiet — walk down the rocky path toward the cottage, shielding eyes from the glare.

Quiet — pack the barometer and notebook, then start the walk back down toward the cottage.