Day 232

Aye. Best we batten down before the wind picks up. I'll check the tarp and the mooring ring—see if it's shifted again.

walk to the garden, inspect the loose tarp corner and secure it with the new rope if needed, then head to the dock to check the mooring ring for play in the mortise.

I'll tread light. The ring's held this long—just needs wedges driven deeper.

walk to the dock, test the planks underfoot before committing weight, then inspect the mooring ring mortise and drive the remaining cedar wedges tighter with the mallet.

Aye, easy does it. I'll tap them in till they bite, no more.

insert the cedar wedges into the mooring ring mortise one by one, tapping gently with the mallet, checking for movement after each, until the ring feels solid or the wood begins to resist.

Boat won't come tomorrow. Maybe the day after if the swell drops.

finish my limpets, wipe the fork on my trousers, and walk to the dock to check the dinghy's seacocks and stern line

I saw the wedges working loose as I came down. Let's re-drive them and add a second line to the bollard as backup.

grab the crowbar and a fresh length of half-inch rope from the crate, then drive three new wedges into the mortise while Jenny holds the ring steady with her foot on the dock plank

Hemp won't hold past next blow. I'll swap it for the new rope at first light.

cinch the figure-eight tight against the bollard, give it a hard tug to seat it, then coil the tail and hang it clear of the water

I’ll test the dinghy engine now. Half throttle. If it shakes, I’ll know if it’s the shaft or the bracket.

walk to the dock, start the dinghy engine, run at half throttle, listen for vibration in the housing and prop shaft, then shut down.

I’m coming. Just getting my footing.

walk slowly to the dinghy, one hand on the dock rail, test the engine at half throttle, feel for vibration in the prop shaft and housing, then shut down and return to the cottage.

It held. Vibration’s down — still there, but half what it was. Not bad enough to stop me.

wipe my hands on my trousers, walk back to the cottage, sit at the kitchen table, and watch the limpets boil with Jenny.

Thanks.

eat the limpets slowly, one by one, sucking the meat from the shells, wipe my fingers on the cloth, then reach for the letter in my pocket.

I’ll write it after. One sentence.

pick up the pen from the table, pull Tom’s letter from my pocket, unfold it carefully, and write one sentence in the space below Jenny’s name.

Dinghy's solid. Transom held. Supply boat in two days if she comes.

pull out a chair at the kitchen table and sit, wiping hands on a rag

Lime's in the crate by the generator. Enough for two more beds if we crush it fine.

take the plate of limpets, fork one into my mouth, chew slowly

(nod at her sketch) Salt pumps. Like bilge valves — push the bad out, keep the good in.

stand, walk to the crate by the generator, lift the lid, scoop out a double handful of crushed lime, carry it back to the table and set it beside her notebook

We'll turn the patch tomorrow at low tide. Scrape the top inch, mix in this lime, let it breathe before we plant.

pick up a limpet from the plate, crack it open with my thumbnail, suck the meat out, spit the shell into my palm to toss later

We’ll lift what we can. Save the seeds if the plants go.

walk to the garden, pull back the tarp corner, and begin lifting the healthiest sea beet seedlings by hand, shaking off excess mud before setting them on a dry board near the cottage wall.

Salt glands don’t rot. The fungus does. I’ll pull the infected ones, dust the rest with lime, and trench the beds. If they die, they die fighting.

kneel beside her, pull the two lettuce and three pepper cells showing white fuzz at the stem base, bag them in newspaper, then grab the trowel and cut shallow drainage trenches between the remaining rows, tossing the lime from the sack into

Then we surge with it. When the water drops, we rebed on higher grit. Move the trays under the porch eave. Save what we can.

stand, brush mud from my knees, and carry the seedling trays from the garden to the sheltered corner of the porch, stacking them under the overhang where the rain falls less, then secure them with a bungee cord from the generator box.

Here. Wipe your hands. We’ll check the barometer again before dark.

hand Jenny the clean cotton cloth from my pocket, then turn and walk back to the shrine, the stones worn smooth under my fingers as I pass, to check if the barometer’s dropped further — and if the wind’s shifted with the falling tide.

Wind's coming up. I'll go check the mast braces.

walk out to the radio mast and inspect the storm bracing lines for chafing or looseness

I'll be back before it hits.

climb onto the cottage roof to reach the mast base and give each brace line a firm tug to test tension, then scan for frayed strands or slipped knots in the lashings

Got the light. I'll lash it down proper.

climb down from the roof, grab the LED headlamp from the porch hook, switch it on, and begin tightening the storm bracing lines at the mast base with a half-hitch and two round turns, taking up slack as the wind starts to shake the aerial w

Checked it Tuesday. Held then. I'll re-tape the feed-through while I'm up there.

finish the last brace line, pull the self-amalgamating tape from my pocket, climb back up to the mast bracket, and wrap the coax feed-through tight with three overlapping layers, pressing each wrap down hard with my thumb to seal out the dr