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Day 255

Tarp Down, Storm In

The barometer dropped steadily through the morning, falling to 994 hPa as the wind began to whistle through the radio mast wires. Kevin inspected the Yanmar cutless bearing on the dinghy while Jenny checked the garden beds for stress. By midday, heavy rain fell and the wind rattled the mast as they worked to secure the site. Kevin checked the bearing for wear; Jenny inspected the seedlings. They reinforced the dock pilings, a task now finished. The tide rose and lapped against the lower pilings as they secured the dinghy with shims and checked the garden before retreating to the cottage. Inside, they shared warmth as the rain intensified to a steady downpour and the wind howled. Kevin eased the strain on the mooring ring; Jenny monitored the barometer, which continued to dip. At night, the smell of boiled limpets filled the room as they checked the barometer and secured the dock’s forward line. They discussed the rising tide and keeping the seed tin dry, noting the rain tank had gained about 25 litres. Kevin found metal flakes in the grease of the cutless bearing, confirming sleeve scoring, and they pulled the shaft. Jenny’s radio was now at 3/10. A rat had gotten into the pantry. They ate. The shortwave crackled with voice or static at an odd hour. The wind turned sharp from the north, bringing cold spray off the Greenland shelf.

The barometer dropped steadily through the morning, falling to 994 hPa as the wind began to whistle through the radio mast wires. Kevin inspected the Yanmar cutless bearing on the dinghy while Jenny checked the garden beds for stress. By midday, heavy rain fell and the wind rattled the mast as they worked to secure the site. Kevin checked the bearing for wear; Jenny inspected the seedlings. They reinforced the dock pilings, a task now finished. The tide rose and lapped against the lower pilings as they secured the dinghy with shims and checked the garden before retreating to the cottage. Inside, they shared warmth as the rain intensified to a steady downpour and the wind howled. Kevin eased the strain on the mooring ring; Jenny monitored the barometer, which continued to dip. At night, the smell of boiled limpets filled the room as they checked the barometer and secured the dock’s forward line. They discussed the rising tide and keeping the seed tin dry, noting the rain tank had gained about 25 litres. Kevin found metal flakes in the grease of the cutless bearing, confirming sleeve scoring, and they pulled the shaft. Jenny’s radio was now at 3/10. A rat had gotten into the pantry. They ate. The shortwave crackled with voice or static at an odd hour. The wind turned sharp from the north, bringing cold spray off the Greenland shelf.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Pre-storm Pressure Drop

Kevin and Jenny stand by the reinforced mooring ring as the overcast sky darkens. Jenny checks the barometer, noting the steady drop to 997 hPa while Kevin inspect the tension on the dinghy lines.

The air is heavy and still, the overcast sky pressing down on the dock. The barometer continues its steady drop to 994 hPa, signaling a significant shift in the weather. The tide is high, lapping steadily against the reinforced pilings.

🌿 Jenny12:19

The way is bottoming out, Kevin. We need to pull the garden tarp down before the wind shifts.

Jenny wipes sticky sea-beet residue from her palms and traces the grain of the rotten timber with a trembling thumb.

💭 thought
The pressure is dropping too fast; if this storm hits before the boat comes, the seedlings are nothing but salt-crusted mush.
🔧 Kevin12:20

Aye. I’ll take the windward corner. You get the lee — watch for chafing on the ropes.

walk to the windward corner of the garden tarp, grab the rope, and begin pulling it down steadily, bracing against the damp canvas.

💭 thought
The barometer’s fall matches the ache in my ankle — both steady, both warning. Jenny’s right about the tarp; if the wind backs southeast, it’ll tear loose and flap itself to shreds before we can catch it. I’ve been avoiding the limpets on my plate, but she keeps putting them there. Not hunger — something else.
🌿 Jenny12:20

Watch the pilings. They're softer than they were yesterday.

Jenny moves to the lee side of the garden, leaning her weight into the heavy plastic to pull it taut.

💭 thought
He thinks it's just the ropes, but the rot is deep in the wood, through the whole structure.
🔧 Kevin12:22

I’ll check the pilings after we’ve got the tarp down. Hold that corner — don’t let it slip.

keep pulling the tarp down, using my weight to take the strain, eyes scanning the dock pilings as I work, noting which ones feel spongy under hand pressure.

💭 thought
The pilings are giving — salt rot working faster than I thought. If the wind shifts and slams us broadside, those soft spots could go. I should’ve reinforced them after the last blow. Jenny’s pulling hard; her left foot’s barely touching the ground again. She’s hiding the pain, but I see it in the way she braces her knee.
🌿 Jenny12:22

It's shifting in the mortise, Kevin. Hurricanes.

Jenny grips the edge of the wet tarp, her knuckles white as she fights the first gust of wind.

💭 thought
If that ring pulls, the whole muchhy goes with it and we're stranded on this rock.
🔧 Kevin12:24

I see it. One more pull — let’s get it on the ground, then I’ll bolt the ring down proper.

put my full weight into pulling the tarp windward, stomping to gain leverage, aiming to snap it flat onto the soil before the next gust hits.

💭 thought
She’s right — the mooring ring’s working loose again, just like the journal said. The gust’s lifting the tarp like a sail now. If we don’t secure it fast, it’ll rip or wrap around the dinghy. Her knuckles are white — she’s holding on with everything she’s got, ankle screaming but won’t say. I need to get this tarp down and then fix that ring before dark.
🌿 Jenny12:25

The pressure is falling too fast. We need it down.

Jenny lunges for the corner of the tarp, pressing her body against the plastic to stop the wind from catching it.

💭 thought
If the dock doesn't hold, the seeds won't matter when the tide rises.
🔧 Kevin12:26

Hold it — I’m coming to weight it down.

lunge toward the tarp, grab the corner Jenny’s bracing, and throw my body onto the plastic to pin it to the ground, using my chest and legs to smother the lift while digging my heels in for traction.

💭 thought
The barometer’s dropping like a stone — we’re in the teeth of it now. Jenny’s using her whole body to hold that corner, but she’s favoring her left leg badly. If the wind gets under this tarp, it’ll turn into a kite and take the garden with it. I’ve got to break its lift — fast.
🔧 Kevin12:28

Tarp’s down. Go inside — I’ll bolt the ring.

scramble up the dock toward the mooring ring, grabbing the heavy wrench and the longer stainless through-bolts from the supply boat stores, moving fast despite the limp.

💭 thought
The tarp’s pinned. Wind’s screaming now, tearing at the edges, but it’s held. My chest is heaving, ankle burning where the strap cuts in. Jenny’s still crouched at the lee corner, not moving — just breathing hard, eyes on the dock pilings. The mooring ring’s shifting under every gust. We’ve got minutes before dark and the real blow hits.

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the dock · morning

The First Squall

Kevin and Jenny meet at the dock as the wind picks up from the north and the first heavy clouds break the overcast.

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the dock · morning

MORNING

The first gust of wind picks up, whistling through the radio mast wires as the pressure begins to drop further.

Kevin inspects the Yanmar cutless bearing on the dinghy while the tide continues to drop. Jenny checks the garden beds for signs of stress from the approaching storm, noting the atmospheric pressure is starting to dip.

🔧 Kevin12:30

Jenny! Storm’s coming in early. I’m going to check the Yanmar cutless bearing and the dock moorings—now. You stay low and keep the radio dry.

walk to the dinghy, crouch by the prop shaft, and feel for play in the cutless bearing with my fingers, watching for any wobble or heat buildup.

💭 thought
The barometer’s falling fast now—994 and dropping. Wind’s picking up from the east-northeast. I should’ve checked the cutless bearing at first light like I planned, but the storm’s moving in sooner than I thought. Jenny’s still inside, probably bracing for the gusts. I can feel the ankle brace chafing worse with the damp in the air. Tom’s frequency—0800 and 2000—still matters, but right now, the dock and the bearing come first. If the Yanmar’s scoring the shaft, I’ve got maybe a day before it seizes. And if the moorings fail, we lose the dinghy—and maybe the cottage.
🌿 Jenny12:30

Check the stern line specifically, it's fraying against the salt.

walk back to the cottage to grab the heavy tarp for the seedling shelter.

💭 thought
If the tide rises any faster, those rotten planks will be gone before I can even set the bolts.
🔧 Kevin12:32

Got it. Stern line next.

fingers working the prop shaft, feeling for lateral play at the cutless bearing, counting thousandths in my head.

💭 thought
Stern line fraying against salt—she’s right, I saw the chafe yesterday but didn’t replace it. The new half-inch three-strand is on the porch, coiled. I’ll splice it proper after the bearing. First, feel the play.
🌿 Jenny12:32

Watch for any metal flakes in the grease, it'll mean the sleeve is scoring.

grab the heavy tarp from the shed and head toward the garden, wind catching the fabric.

💭 thought
If that bearing is shot, the whole engine will shake itself apart once we hit a heavy swell.
🔧 Kevin12:34

Checking grease now.

wipe a finger through the cutless bearing grease port, hold it to the grey light, turn it slow between thumb and forefinger, looking for the dull glitter of metal.

💭 thought
She knows the sound of a failing bearing better than she lets on. Metal flakes in the grease—that’s the sleeve eating the shaft. I’d have missed it if she hadn’t said. The wind’s hitting the tarp now, snapping it like a sail. She’s moving fast for someone with a bad ankle. I’ll check the grease, then the stern line, then the dock ring. Order matters.
🌿 Jenny12:34

If you see any flakes, we need to pull the shaft before the storm hits peak.

spread the heavy way over the seedling beds, weighting the edges with stones.

💭 thought
If there is silver in that grease, we're stranded on this rock if the boat fails.
🔧 Kevin12:36

Flakes. Confirmed. We pull the shaft.

grab the wrench from the dinghy seat, start loosening the prop nut while holding the shaft with a screwdriver in the keyway—quarter turns, slow, so I don’t strip the threads.

💭 thought
Pull the shaft? That means splitting the housing. Takes hours. And if the storm hits peak before we’re done, the cottage takes water. But if the sleeve’s scoring and we run it, we lose the shaft for good. I saw a faint flash—just a speck, but real. Steel on bronze. She’s right. We don’t have time to wait for the spare. We have time to save what we’ve got.
🌿 Jenny12:36

Take it slow with the nut, I'll secure the dinghy before the rain starts for real.

check the barometer one last time—992 hPa and still falling.

💭 thought
If the engine goes down, I'm just a ghost on this island.

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the dock · midday

Preparing for the Rain

Kevin and Jenny meet at the dock as the first heavy drops fall. The wind picks up, rattling the radio mast.

The warm rain continues to fall as the pair works to secure the site before the tide turns. Kevin checks the Yanmar cutless bearing for wear, while Jenny inspects the garden to ensure the seedlings are protected from the rising wind.

🌿 Jenny12:38

The pressure is falling, Kevin. We need to secure the dinghy before the tide turns.

wipe sticky sea-beet juice off my hands and gesture urgently toward the garden.

💭 thought
The barometer is dropping faster than I predicted; if we don't get those seedlings shielded now, they're gone by morning.
🔧 Kevin12:38

Aye. I’ll take the forward line. You hit the stern and the spring. Move quick—before the tide really turns.

grab the new half-inch three-strand rope from the dinghy’s forward spring line and run forward to secure the bow to the offshore piling, taking two quick turns and a figure-eight to hold against the rising chop.

💭 thought
The barometer’s falling fast—994 and dropping. She’s right about the dinghy. If the wind shifts, that bronze sleeve on the prop shaft won’t hold if it slams sideways. And the seedlings… if the tarp tears, we lose weeks.
🌿 Jenny12:40

I'm on it. Just don't let the bow swing out!

run to the back of the dinghy and loop the spring line around the cleat.

💭 thought
He's moving too fast for his own good, but the wind won't wait for his knots.
🔧 Kevin12:40

Holding. Keep tension on that spring—don’t let it slip.

plant my feet on the wet dock, lean back against the rope’s pull, and take a third turn around the piling, then finish with a secure clove hitch to lock the bow in place as the first heavy drops hit the planks.

💭 thought
The wind’s picking up—rattling the mast, lifting the tarp at the garden. If the bow swings, we’ll chafe the new rope on the piling’s sharp edge. Got to hold it tight.
🌿 Jenny12:42

It's tight for now. Now get to the garden—we need to look at the seedlings.

pull the spring line taut, knot it off, and sprint toward the cottage.

💭 thought
The tension is holding, but the wood is screaming. If the pressure drops further, the whole jetty is at risk.
🔧 Kevin12:43

Right behind you.

sprint up the path from the dock toward the cottage and garden, the rain slicking the boards underfoot, the wind tearing at my sleeves as I close the distance to the beds.

💭 thought
She’s moving fast—ankle or not. The garden’s exposed. If the tarp rips or the stakes pull, the pepper and lettuce seedlings are done. Damping-off’s already got half of them. Can’t lose the rest to wind.
🌿 Jenny12:44

They're already starting to lift the tarp! Look at the soil!

drop to my knees and check the shade cloth over the heirloom sprouts.

💭 thought
If those seedlings get flattened, the whole month of work is gone. The wind is too sharp.
🔧 Kevin12:44

Hand me those rocks from the wall—quick.

grab two fist-sized stones from the low garden wall and sprint to the flapping corners of the heavy-duty tarp, dropping each rock onto the flap to weigh it down before the wind can lift it further.

💭 thought
The tarp’s flapping—corners are lifting. Soil’s wet but not flooded yet. If the wind gets under it, it’ll tear or take the seedlings with it. Got to weight it down fast, before the rain really sets in.

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the dock · afternoon

The tide returns

You and Jenny meet back at the dock as the water begins to lap against the lower pilings. The wind picks up slightly from the north.

Kevin and Jenny worked at the dock as the tide rose and the rain began to intensify. They successfully secured the dinghy with shims and checked the garden for damage before retreating to the cottage as the air pressure continued to drop.

🌿 Jenny12:47

The wind is turning. We need to get inside before the rain really starts.

Wipe my sticky hands on my trousers and look at the rotting wood on the jetty.

💭 thought
The pressure is dropping faster than I liked. If those two planks go, the dinghy is lost to the tide.
🔧 Kevin12:47

Aye. Give me ten minutes—I'll brace the worst of it with the cedar shims we saved. Then we head up.

walk to the workshop shed, grab cedar shims and mallet, return to dock, drive shims into the mortise under the loose planks to stop them shifting under load.

💭 thought
The wind's from the north now—bad sign. Jetty's rotting worse than I thought. Two planks gone, others soft. Supply boat's due in nine days; if it can't tie up, we're stuck till the next run. Jenny's hands are sticky from limpets—she wiped them on my trousers without thinking. Old habit. She's watching the wood like I am, waiting for me to say what needs doing.
🌿 Jenny12:48

I'll check the barometer one last time. Watch your step on that plank.

Walk toward the cottage, clutching the notebook against my chest.

💭 thought
He's fast with the hammer, but the wood is so soft. It might not hold a real surge.
🔧 Kevin12:48

Steady as she goes. I'll have it shored before you're inside.

finish driving the cedar shims into the dock mooring ring mortise, then scan for the next weakest plank—second from the end, starboard side—and wedge a spare two-by-four vertically under it as a temporary brace, using the mallet to seat it

💭 thought
She's holding the notebook tight—sea beet sketches inside. Barometer's falling fast; if it drops below 1005 with southeast wind we'd be lashing moorings, but this north wind's different. Cold front coming. That plank's sprung—I felt it give under my boot. One wrong step and I'll be in the drink, and I still remember forty minutes in the Biscay. Not today.
🌿 Jenny12:50

Don't stay out too long. The rain is getting heavy.

Stop at the porch and look back at the jetty, watching the dinghy sway in the swell.

💭 thought
He's doing what he can, but that wood is like wet cardboard. I hope the shims hold against the surge.
🔧 Kevin12:51

Two minutes. Securing the dinghy stern spring—bracket's still off true.

walk to the dinghy, check the heavy weather line rigged as second stern spring, pull it tight against the cleat, add a half-hitch for security, then grab the bow line and take up slack on the forward spring line to keep her square to the do

💭 thought
She's watching the dinghy—knows the Yanmar's mounted but untested at load. The stern line's reinforced, bow spring's new rope, but the mast bracket's still skewed from the storm. If the swell builds and that bracket gives, the engine tears off the transom. Nine days to supply boat. Can't lose the dinghy. Rain's hitting the dock boards now, turning rot to slick.
🌿 Jenny12:52

I'm going inside. The salt is stinging my eyes.

Turn away from the dock and head for the door, boots squelching in the mud.

💭 thought
The tide is coming in too fast. If those shims slip, the whole jetty is going into the drink.
🔧 Kevin12:53

Right behind you.

cast a last look at the dinghy's lines, the dock braces, the barometer visible through the cottage window reading 994, then walk up the path to the porch, boots heavy with mud, and step inside behind Jenny

💭 thought
Salt in her eyes but it's warm rain—no spray reaching the porch. She's been rubbing that ankle all morning, favoring the left foot. Didn't say a word about it at breakfast. The notebook's still clamped to her chest like a shield. She walked away before I could ask about the limpets, about the ankle, about why she still puts two on my plate. Nine months on this rock and the silence between us has its own weather system.
🌿 Jenny12:54

Close the door. The rain is catching up.

Step into the cottage and pull the door shut, latching it to block out the wind.

💭 thought
The air is so heavy you can almost taste it. I need to see if the seedlings actually held in that wind.
🔧 Kevin12:54

Door's latched. Wind's picking up in the rigging—I'll check the generator lashings in ten.

hang my oilskin on the peg by the door, wipe boots on the mat, then walk to the table and sit opposite Jenny, not touching the notebook, hands resting palms up on the wood like I'm waiting for her to put something in them

💭 thought
The latch clicks—sound of sealing out the storm, but not the quiet inside. She's standing by the table, notebook open to the sea beet salt gland sketches. Salt in her eyes from sweat or rain, I can't tell. Wind's rising in the eaves now—north-northeast, true. Barometer's still falling. I haven't asked about the limpets on my plate today. Haven't asked why she still writes my name in letters to Tom. Nine months and we're still dancing the same steps.
🌿 Jenny12:56

The barometer is still dropping. I should have checked the seedlings again.

Set my sticky, beet-stained hands on the table and look at him.

💭 thought
He's so quiet when he's waiting. I just want to know the garden isn't a wash.
🔧 Kevin12:56

Seedlings'll hold till morning. You said the wind's turning north—true north? That's the cold front off the Greenland shelf. Brings ice in the spray, cuts the skin raw.

reach slowly across the table, not for her hands, but for the salt-stained edge of her notebook, and turn it to a clean page, then push it back toward her with two fingers, saying nothing.

💭 thought
Her hands—beet-stained, sticky—resting on the table between us. Not limpets this time, but the red's the same. She's watching me like she's waiting for me to break first. Seedlings can wait; the garden's survived worse. This quiet between us—it's the real storm. The barometer's dropping, yes, but what's rising is the thing we don't name: the weight of all the things we haven't said since the Biscay, since Tom's letter went unanswered, since the garden stayed half-weeds and I kept talking about building it instead of doing.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening Hunker Down

The rain has turned into a steady downpour. You and Jenny sit at the table sharing the warmth, watching the barometer as the wind howls outside.

The evening air is heavy and still, the 31°C heat holding over the island. Kevin has finished securing the dinghy's mooring lines to ease the strain on the shifting dock ring, while Jenny has stayed inside to monitor the barometer as it continues to dip to 994 hPa.

🌿 Jenny12:58

It's at 994 and falling. We need to make sure the shade cloth is still pegged down tight.

Reach for the notebook to record the current reading in the log.

💭 thought
The pressure is dropping too fast; if it hits 990, the seedlings in the garden are gone.
🔧 Kevin12:59

Mm. I'll check the dinghy lines after supper. You want me to drive the garden pegs deeper while you're at the log?

pull on oilskin jacket and boots, head out to the dock to inspect dinghy mooring lines and reinforce any slack

💭 thought
She's right about the shade cloth. At this pressure drop rate, the wind'll shift northeast by midnight and tear it loose if the pegs aren't driven deep. My ankle throbs but the brace holds. I should check the dinghy lines too — the stern spring took a beating last storm.
🌿 Jenny13:00

way check the dinghy first. The soil is too saturated for the pegs right now, they won't hold.

Wipe the sticky sea-beet residue from my apron and rub my hands together.

💭 thought
If he goes out now, the wind will just rip the pegs right out of the mud anyway.
🔧 Kevin13:00

Dinghy first, then. I'll take the forward line — you handle the stern if it needs re-splicing. Keep the radio dry; might need to call for hold if the ring gives.

walk to the dock, grab the marlinspike and extra three-strand from the locker, begin inspecting the forward spring line for chafe and stretch under load

💭 thought
She's right — the ground's soup. Pegs would just lever out. Better to focus on what won't fail: the dinghy's stern spring and the mooring ring. If those hold, we ride it out.
🌿 Jenny13:02

I'll stay by the radio. way watch the mortise, it's looking loose.

Stand up and walk to the window to watch him through the grey rain.

💭 thought
If that ring gives, the whole boat is lost to the surge and I'm stranded here.
🔧 Kevin13:02

Line feels sound for now — no fresh fraying, just the usual salt-stiff. I'll take a turn around the bollet and ease the strain. You see any shift in the ring yet?

take a round turn on the forward bollard, then ease the line to transfer load to the spring, eyes on the mooring ring mortise as Jenny watches from the window

💭 thought
She's watching the mortise — good. If the ring shifts, we'll see it in the piling's shadow. I need to know if the forward spring is taking the load or just looping slack. The three-strand's wet, hard to feel stretch, but I can check the turns.
🌿 Jenny13:04

Not yet, but it's shifting. Don't pull it too hard.

Press a hand against the cold glass, tracking the movement of the dock in the swell.

💭 thought
The stone is holding, but the wood is groaning. I can feel it.
🔧 Kevin13:04

It's working. I'll take another turn around the bollard to spread the load — keeps the ring from jerking. You keep watching; tell me if it jumps.

add a second round turn on the forward bollard, then ease the line gently to settle the load across both turns, keeping tension steady on the spring while monitoring the ring for sudden shift

💭 thought
The ring's dancing in its socket — just a few millimetres, but enough. If it works loose completely, the whole spring system fails. I need to load it evenly, not yank. The wedge idea's no good — split cedar won't hold in this wet. Maybe double the turn, distribute the pull.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Approaching Front

Kevin and Jenny meet at the table as the smell of boiled limpets fills the room. The heavy air thickens, and the first cool breeze of the storm whispers through the eaves.

Kevin and Jenny spent the night at the cottage, checking the barometer and securing the dock's forward line. They discussed the rising tide and the need to keep the seed tin dry, while noting the rain tank was filling.

🌿 Jenny13:07

The wind is turning sharp. Did you check theches on the porch?

Jenny wipes her sticky sea-beet hands on her apron and sits across from Kevin, watching the rain own against the glass.

💭 thought
The pressure is dropping faster than I predicted this morning; I hope the garden wall holds for the seedlings tonight.
🔧 Kevin13:07

Chocks are set. Doubled the forward line with the new three-strand. She’ll hold.

push the limpets toward her across the table, quiet.

💭 thought
The porch checks can wait. She’s asking about the chocks because she’s worried the dinghy might break loose in the wind — but I see it in her eyes, she’s trying to fill the silence with something practical. I don’t want to talk about the bearing or the barometer or the boat. I want to know why she still puts limpets on my plate.
🌿 Jenny13:08

Good. The tide is coming higher than usual tonight.

Jenny picks up a fork and takes a small bite, her eyes fixed on the falling needle of the way.

💭 thought
He's confident about the boat, but I'm the one who worries about the soil.
🔧 Kevin13:08

You've said that three times today.

pick up my fork, eat one limpet slow, watch her face.

💭 thought
She's watching the barometer, not the tide. The needle's at 994 and falling. She knows what that means — she's seen the charts, felt the pressure drop in her ankle before the storm hits. She's not eating. She's waiting.
🌿 Jenny13:10

I'm noting the change.

Jenny sets the fork down with a soft clink and looks at the rusted seed tin on the table.

💭 thought
He thinks I'm being repetitive, but I'm just tracking the data.
🔧 Kevin13:10

You still keep that tin dry.

slide the tin toward her, just enough to catch the edge of the cloth.

💭 thought
She's not noting the change — she's avoiding the silence. The seed tin is rusted, split at the seam. She keeps it clean, dry, wrapped in cloth. Like she's holding onto something that's already leaking.
🌿 Jenny13:12

Can't let them rot.

Jenny places a hand over the cold metal of the tin, feeling the weight of the seeds inside.

💭 thought
It's the only thing I have left that hasn't been catalogued yet.
🔧 Kevin13:13

The garden's still half weeds.

reach across the table, two fingers brush the back of her hand on the tin — light, brief, gone.

💭 thought
She says seeds. I hear the garden she never built. The sensory garden. The life we talked about for eleven months. Half weeds still. She won't let the tin rot — but she let the garden go. She won't let the limpets go cold — but she won't say why she puts them on my plate. Her hand on the tin is the same hand on my shoulder three weeks ago. The only time in months I didn't feel the water.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.
plan · dawn
×2
reinforce dock pilings is finished.
project_done · dawn
The rapid barometric drop indicates a significant storm is imminent.
discovery · dawn
reinforce dock pilings is finished.
project_done · dawn
The shortwave crackles with a voice, or static, at an odd hour.
radio_voice · morning
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · morning
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · morning
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · midday
A rat has gotten into the pantry.
rat · afternoon
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · evening
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · evening
Jenny's radio is now 3/10.
level_up · night

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

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