Day 112

The chapter for this day hasn't been written yet — it's written once the day closes.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Fog-Bound Morning Inspection

The thick fog clings to the water, obscuring the lighthouse and the horizon. Kevin and Jenny stand by the dinghy, checking the tension on the new stern line against the damp swell.

The fog clings thick to the water, obscuring the lighthouse and turning the world a grey void. The air is heavy with 23°C tropical humidity, and the tide is slowly receding, exposing the slick rocks of the dock-side pools.

🌿 Jenny22:57

The line is too tight, Kevin. Give it some slack before the tide pulls the wood.

Reach out to adjust the cleat, feeling the rough fibers of the new rope against my palm.

💭 thought

If this fog gets any thicker, I won't be able to see the dock, let alone the boat.

🔧 Kevin22:57

Aye. Slack for the swell.

Ease the rolling hitch on the cleat, pay out half a metre of the new half-inch three-strand, and re-seat the hitch with a clean turn so the dinghy can rise and fall without snatching.

💭 thought

She's right. The swell's building and a taut stern line will tear the cleat out or snap the transom. I've seen it happen.

🌿 Jenny22:58

Good. We don't need the cleats pulled out when the boat finally shows.

Squint into the grey, looking for the ghost of the way while wiping salt from my fingernails.

💭 thought

At least the rope understands the physics, even if he doesn't.

🔧 Kevin22:59

Boat's late. Barometer says why.

Turn from the dinghy, walk back up the dock toward the cottage, hand finding the radio shack door latch by habit.

💭 thought

Two days overdue. The barometer's been falling steady since dawn. If the supply boat's fighting a headwind in this soup, they'll be another day at least. We've got water, we've got food, we've got wood. We don't have a dinghy that can leave.

🌿 Jenny23:00

I'll check the radio. Maybe they're holding up on the channel.

Turn away from the wayhy, boots creaking on the rotten dock planks as I head toward the cottage.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping faster than my patience; the air feels heavy in my lungs.

🔧 Kevin23:01

Kevin — follow Jenny up the dock at a quiet pace, boots avoiding the two rotten planks, eyes on the cottage roof where the mast step split is gaping wider in this damp.

💭 thought

She's walking toward the cottage for the radio, but the aerial's shattered and the coax is dead. She'll get nothing but hiss. I could tell her, but she'll find out soon enough. Better she tries first—keeps the hope alive a little longer.

🌿 Jenny23:02

I'm checking the seeds on the stove. The humidity is too high to leave them.

Step into the cottage, the smell of old wood and drying herbs hitting me as I head straight for the kitchen.

💭 thought

The wood is going to give out before the boat does, I feel it.

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the dock · morning

Waiting in the Grey

The tide continues to drop, revealing the barnacles and seaweed beneath the pilings. The supply boat is still two days away.

Kevin pried two corroded nails from the rotten dock plank without tearing the wood fibers, while Jenny cleared salt from the nail holes with a wire brush. A seabird chick fell from the cliff ledges onto the rocks below.

🔧 Kevin23:03

Kevin — walk along the dock planks, testing each with the nail puller where the rot shows

💭 thought

The tide's dropping fast. If I'm going to scarf that teak doubler for the mast step, I need the wood dry and the epoxy warm. The eaves will hold heat from the stove pipe if I get the clamps on before noon. Bronze sleeve can wait — starter's out, bendix is clean enough to measure. First, check the dock planks while the water's low. Two rotten ones won't hold the supply boat's weight.

🌿 Jenny23:04

Careful, Kevin. The wood is soft through, don't put your full weight on the end.

walk to the edge of the jetty and poke the rotten plank with my boot to check the stability.

💭 thought

If those planks give way, the dinghy goes into the surf and I'm not losing my only way off today.

🔧 Kevin23:05

Stringer's soft too. I'll sister it with the spare two-by-six from the crate. You want the nail puller or the saw?

crouch at the rotten plank, pry up the end with the nail puller to see how far the rot runs under the sound wood

💭 thought

She's right — the end plank's gone spongy clear through to the stringer. If the supply boat ties up hard against it, the whole corner goes. Need to sister a new timber alongside before she arrives. Good she's watching.

🌿 Jenny23:07

Give me the puller first. We need to get those old nails out before we split the good wood.

reach into the tool bag and grab the nail puller to hand it to him.

💭 thought

If the stringer is gone, the whole jetty won't hold the weight of the supply boat.

🔧 Kevin23:07

Thanks.

take the nail puller, hook the first corroded nail head, and lever it out slow to save the surrounding wood

💭 thought

She knows the order of things. Pull nails clean, then cut, then sister. No splitting good timber. The puller's heavy in her hand — salt-crusted but the jaws still bite.

🌿 Jenny23:08

Take it slow. If you tear the fibers, we'll have to use more of the epoxy.

crouch on my heels and watch him work the joint, noting the deep grey decay in the grain.

💭 thought

He's being careful than I expected, but that wood is still like a wet sponge.

🔧 Kevin23:09

Fibers are holding. Next.

work the second nail free, same slow leverage, watching the grain for any sign of tear-out

💭 thought

First nail comes reluctant, showering rust. The wood around the hole holds — good. Four more in this plank, then the next. Epoxy's half gone already. Can't waste it on torn fibers.

🌿 Jenny23:11

Watch the angle. The rot likes to hide where the metal meets.

reach for the small wire brush to clear the salt and grit from the hole so he can see the grain.

💭 thought

If we can get these nails out without shredding the wood, I can at least salvage the surface.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday work divides

Kevin is at the cottage workshop clamping the teak doubler onto the mast step; Jenny is in the woods checking the vole mesh and drying heirloom tomato seeds by the stove.

Kevin honed the bronze sleeve bore to tolerance and fitted it to the piston pin boss. Jenny boiled limpets with corned beef fat and found the rat trap sprung but empty, with bait gone.

🔧 Kevin23:12

Kevin — walk to the Yanmar on the porch, bring the bronze sleeve and honing stone to the bench, set up the micrometer and start honing the sleeve bore slow and steady

💭 thought

Epoxy's setting clean. No weeping at the scarf — wood flour held. Three hours minimum before I can drill, six before load. Bronze sleeve still needs the bore honed to 0.002 clearance. Should run the hone while the clamps sit.

🌿 Jenny23:15

Stay dry, just a little longer.

Pick up a single tomato seed and inspect the coat for any hint of white serious.

💭 thought

If I don't get these dry now, the mold will take the whole tin before the boat even shows up.

🔧 Kevin23:16

Kevin — continue honing the bronze sleeve bore, checking fit with the micrometer and piston pin boss every few passes, working slow to hold tolerance

💭 thought

Hone's cutting clean. Two thou off high spots, checking every thirty seconds. Sleeve's taking the stone even — good bronze. Another fifteen minutes and it'll slip the piston pin boss with hand pressure. Mast step epoxy should be at green strength by then.

🌿 Jenny23:18

Jenny — stand up and walk to the stove to check the water for the limpets.

💭 thought

The seeds are less damp, but the air is still too heavy to be sure.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening meal and radio check

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table with tinned corned beef and the last of the boiled limpets. The shortwave radio crackles on the porch, tuned to Tom's frequency. The barometer holds at 1014 hPa rising. The supply boat is due tomorrow.

The heavy humidity hangs over the cottage as the air pressure begins a slow drop. Kevin focuses on the bronze sleeve for the Yanmar engine, while Jenny manages the damp heirloom seeds in the stifling afternoon heat.

🔧 Kevin23:20

Boat's tomorrow. Finish the sleeve, check the step. You need anything from the stores list?

eat corned beef and limpets, wipe hands on rag, stand up from table

💭 thought

The corned beef fat renders clean in the pan. Good protein. Jenny's eating steady — that's something. Radio's been quiet on Tom's frequency for three hours. Barometer rising means the supply boat'll make the crossing tomorrow. Need to finish the bronze sleeve heat-fit before they arrive, and check the mast step doubler cure.

🌿 Jenny23:21

Antibiotics for the infection. And more flour—the sack was ruined.

Turn the paper towel under the tomato seeds near the stove to dry the underside.

💭 thought

He thinks a list fixes the hunger and the rot in my ankle, but the island is still hungry.

🔧 Kevin23:22

Flour in the metal drum this time. Antibiotics — I'll check the boat's kit when they dock. If they're short, I'll raise the coast guard on 16.

walk to the porch, pick up the shortwave handset, key the mic on Channel 16

💭 thought

Flour and antibiotics. Both critical. The rat got the flour — need to seal the next sack in the metal drum, not canvas. Antibiotics mean the supply boat's medical kit; if they're short, I'll have to radio the coast guard for a medevac form amendment. Tomato seeds drying — good. Viable stock matters.

🌿 Jenny23:23

Just make sure they actually have the antibiotics. The pressure is dropping again.

Walk to the way and check the rat trap for any sign of movement.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come, the red streaks are going to keep moving up my leg.

🔧 Kevin23:24

Coast Guard, this is Sorrel Island Keeper, over.

hold handset to ear, wait for squelch break

💭 thought

She's right — barometer was 1014 rising, now she says dropping. Means the front's moving faster than forecast. Supply boat might delay. Antibiotics aren't optional with the red streaks tracking. Need to confirm stock before they commit to the crossing.

🌿 Jenny23:25

waying ETA for the supply boat tomorrow. We need antibiotics and flour. Over.

Lean against the stone wall, watching the grey horizon for a silhouette of a hull.

💭 thought

The static is the only thing between me and the rest of the world today.

🔧 Kevin23:26

(into handset) Sorrel Island to Coast Guard, requesting supply boat ETA confirmation and medical stores verification — antibiotics, amoxicillin or equivalent. Over.

thumb off mic, listen to static

💭 thought

She's on the radio before I finish the call. Good. Two voices carry better than one. Horizon's empty — typical. Coast guard'll answer if they're manned. If not, French trawler net on 2182 kHz might relay.

🌿 Jenny23:27

The radio is just spitting noise.

Trace the red line on my ankle with a finger, feeling the heat of the skin.

💭 thought

If they don't show up, the sepsis is going to win before the boat does.

🔧 Kevin23:28

Skip layer. Try 2182 kHz — French trawler net monitors.

spin dial to 2182, key mic

💭 thought

Static means skip or dead air. Not the boat. Not the coast guard. Her finger on the ankle — the infection's hot. Red streaks past the calf now. Last antibiotic course was three days ago. If the boat doesn't come tomorrow, I'm keying 2182 and declaring medical emergency. No pride in this.

🌿 Jenny23:29

It's nothing but salt.

Flip the paper towel under the tomato seeds to Ensure they don't mold.

💭 thought

He's always looking at frequencies while I watch the world rot.

🔧 Kevin23:30

Boat's not coming tomorrow. Pressure's dropping too fast. We hold position.

set handset down, walk to the bench, pick up the bronze sleeve and Yanmar housing

💭 thought

2182's dead too. Propagation's gone to ground with the pressure drop. Front's moving hard — boat won't risk it. Means we hold. Means the antibiotics stay on the mainland. Means her leg decides the timeline. Seeds drying is smart — she's thinking past tomorrow. I'm not.

🌿 Jenny23:31

way I better hope these seeds dry faster than the infection.

Sit on the stool and watch the red streaks climb toward my knee.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come, the island is going to take me.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening storm-prep

The wind finally picks up as the sky turns bruised purple. You and Jenny meet in the kitchen to secure the gear for the night.

The evening air at the old shrine is heavy with the 29°C heat of the wet season. The barometer shows a slow drop to 1015 hPa, signaling potential shifts in the weather. Kevin focuses on the precision work for the engine components while Jenny manages the drying heirloom seeds. The supply boat is two days away.

🔧 Kevin23:32

Barometer's 1002 and falling. Wind's backing southwest. We secure the dinghy now — mast down, lines doubled, bilge pump ready. Then batten the cottage.

walk to the dock with Jenny to unstep the dinghy mast and double the mooring lines

💭 thought

Sky's the colour of a bad bruise. Barometer's at 1002 and still dropping. This'll hit us by midnight. Need the dinghy lines doubled and the mast unstepped before dark.

🌿 Jenny23:33

I'll get the seed trays inside first. Don't let the lines slip.

Pick up the heirloom seed trays and move them to the driest spot near the wood stove.

💭 thought

If the wind shifts any further, those sprouts will be drowned in the humidity before they even reach the soil.

🔧 Kevin23:34

Right. Meet you there.

grab the spare half-inch line and the rolling hitch tool from the porch, then head down to the dock

💭 thought

She's right about the seedlings — they're the only garden we've got. I'll meet her at the dock in two minutes.

🌿 Jenny23:35

Be careful with the cleat, the wood is slick with algae.

Place the heirloom seed trays carefully on the counter next to the wood stove.

💭 thought

My hands are shaking from hunger, but I have to get these seeds dry before the salt air ruins the last of the work.

🔧 Kevin23:36

Got it.

step onto the dinghy's bow, test the cleat with a boot before trusting weight, then begin untying the mast from the thwart to lower it

💭 thought

Cleat's been slick since March. I know it. But I'll take the warning — means she's watching.

🌿 Jenny23:37

Watch the swell, the tide is coming in faster than usual.

Spread the damp heirloom seeds onto the paper towels near the stove's heat.

💭 thought

If the supply boat doesn't come in two days, I'll be eating nothing but limpets and desperation.

🔧 Kevin23:38

Aye.

lower the spruce mast carefully into the dinghy's bottom, mindful of the split step, then secure it fore and aft with sail ties so it can't shift

💭 thought

Tide's pushing hard. Swell's already licking the dock planks. Mast comes down now, lines doubled, then we get off this float.

🌿 Jenny23:39

Double-check the hitch, the wind is picking up.

Lay out the heirloom seeds in a single layer to ensure they dry evenly.

💭 thought

The air is so heavy I can barely breathe, and if these seeds rot, the whole season is for nothing.

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the old shrine · night

The Calm Before the Arrival

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden wall.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

bronze sleeve: 30%.

project · dawn

A seabird chick has fallen from the cliff ledges.

chick_fallen · morning

dock stringer is soft rot beneath sound planks; will need sistering with spare two-by-six from crate

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

bronze sleeve: 40%.

project · midday

Found: corned beef fat.

item · midday

rat avoids trap but takes bait; likely cautious or trap-shy

discovery · midday

bronze sleeve: 50%.

project · afternoon

bronze sleeve: 60%.

project · evening

Carex transect data is complete; sea beet salt gland morphology documented in notebook.

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

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