the dock · day 324 · evening

Evening Tide Turn

The rain has slowed to a drizzle as the tide begins to turn. You and Jenny meet to prepare the evening meal using the boiled limpets.

The rain continues its steady, rhythmic drumming against the tin roof as Kevin heads for the dock. The tide has retreated, exposing the slick, algae-covered rocks of the north flank, while Jenny prepares to stay inside, the dinghy bobbing slightly against its moorings as the water begins its slow return.

🌿 Jenny07:23

The limpets are ready. Pass the salt, will?

Take the bowl of limpets from the stove and set them on the wooden table.

💭 peek at the thought

I'm so hungry my hands are shaking, but the smell of that salt and steam is almost everything right.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:23

"Here." (I slide the chipped salt cellar toward her, my knuckles brushing the rim of the bowl.)

I pull out the second chair and sit, waiting for her to serve before I take my first bite.

💭 peek at the thought

The rain's easing, but the damp's getting into my bones. I'm hungry, but more than that—I want to hear her voice, not just the clink of the spoon.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny07:25

Eat before they get cold. You've worked long enough today.

Scoop a few limpets onto his plate and slide it toward him.

💭 peek at the thought

He's waiting for me to start, but I'm just too tired to play the hostess.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:25

"Shim held. No movement on the north piling since the last tide." (I take the plate, fork a limpet, chew slow.)

I eat, watching her face in the lantern light—seeing if she's eating too, or just watching me.

💭 peek at the thought

She's right. I haven't stopped since first light. The shim, the mortise, the limpets. My hands still smell of creosote and salt.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:27

Good. The sister is deep enough to handle the swell for now.

Take a limpet for myself, the salt hitting sharp on my tongue.

💭 peek at the thought

He's always looking for the failure, even when the wood is holding. I need protein.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:27

(I don't look up, fork limpets into my mouth.) "It'll hold till the boat. Ten days." (I swallow, voice low.) "Then we sister the whole piling."

I push the empty bowl aside, wipe my hands on my trousers, and stand. "I'll take the dinghy out on the flood. Check the north face for drift—see what the tide's brought in." (I don't wait for an answer, already moving toward the door.)

💭 peek at the thought

She's tasting the salt like it's news. I haven't told her yet—I checked the mortise again after she went inside. The sister's holding, but the rot's creeping past the bolt heads. One more surge and it'll give.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny07:29

Be careful. The barometer is dropping.

Watch him go through the door, then turn back to the empty bowl.

💭 peek at the thought

He's going out in that rain? The dinghy is heavy and the tide is turning.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:29

(Pausing at the doorframe, half-turned.) "Radio on 2182. I'll check in at the hour."

I pull the oilskin from the hook, shrug into it, and step out into the drizzle—down the path to the dock, hands already finding the dinghy's gunwales by feel.

💭 peek at the thought

She doesn't ask me to stay. She never does. The barometer's been falling since noon—1036 to 1028 in six hours. That's not a front, that's a system. The dinghy's engine held at load, but the vibration above half-throttle is still there. Prop shaft or the bracket. I'll keep it slow, stay close to the lee.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

🌿 Jenny07:31

I'll watch the water.

Pick up the notebook from the table and flip to the damp page of sea beet sketches.

💭 peek at the thought

He's so stubborn. The tide is coming in faster than he thinks.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin07:31

(Into the handheld VHF, squelch cracking.) "Sorrel Island. North piling shim holding. Scour increased. No new drift. Returning."

I kill the engine, ship the oars, and pull for the dock—slow, letting the tide help, listening to the water suck at the pilings.

💭 peek at the thought

She'll watch the water. She always does. I row out past the kelp line, the oars quiet in the flood tide. The dinghy handles clean at low revs—no vibration under 1800 RPM. The north face of the piling is clean, no new drift caught in the bolts. But the scour hole at the toe has deepened. I can feel it with the oar blade: another foot of shingle gone since Tuesday. The greenheart shim's still tight, but the seabed's washing out from under it.

nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.