Day 296

Rot, Rain, and a Supply Boat Eight Days Out

Dawn brought warm rain drumming the tin roof. The tide was out, exposing slick rocks and the north ridge base. Kevin sat on the porch with the barometer. "Barometer's holding. If it stays above 980 through the tide cycle, the dock should make it to the supply boat." Jenny laid heirloom seeds on a paper towel to dry. "We have plenty of water, Kevin. The tank is full." He nodded. "Yeah, I saw. Thanks. They're looking good — dry enough to store by tomorrow if the sun breaks." She kept the seeds near the stove, door cracked an inch. Midmorning the rain thinned to mist as the tide turned. Kevin worked the dock mooring ring at low tide, driving longer stainless through-bolts deeper into the shifted mortise. Jenny treated her ankle — cellulitis tracking up the tendon, reflex sluggish but present — and kept the leg elevated. She found an antibiotic blister pack and continued treatment. By midday humidity peaked. Kevin finished a Yanmar load test on the dinghy but couldn't pin down a persistent transom vibration. Jenny sketched sea beet venation and a transom reinforcement layout. At the dock they inspected structural rot; Kevin's ankle pain limited his probing, but Jenny identified decay near the main support beam. "The dock is rotting, Kevin. Look at the bolts — they're pulling." "The stringer's moving. Washers were lifting on the transom knee bolts. Wood's punky." They planned a sister repair with oak, epoxy, and new through-bolts. Evening brought heavy air and a building storm. A coconut crab had visited the garden overnight. A fish run moved through the shallows. Kevin checked the radio coax connector under the porch overhang. "Wind's backing west. If it holds, swell comes straight up the channel by morning." Jenny replied, "Then we better double-check the tension in the morning light." He said, "Lines are set. Second stern spring's new rope. Forward spring's the crate rope — held last blow. But I'll check the chafe points at first grey." They ate twice. Ankle treatment reached 70%.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning Rain and Seed Prep

Kevin and Jenny sit under the porch roof watching the warm rain fall on the garden. Jenny is laying out the damp heirloom seeds on a paper towel to dry, while Kevin checks the barometer reading.

The morning rain continues in a steady drizzle, drumming against the tin roof of the cottage. The tide is fully out, exposing the slick rocks of the tide pools and the base of the north ridge. The air is humid, smelling of salt and damp earth.

🔧 Kevin03:03

Barometer’s holding. If it stays above 980 through the tide cycle, the dock should make it to the supply boat.

Watch the rain on the garden, then walk to the rain tank and check the level — see if we’ve got enough to rinse the seeds after they dry.

💭 thought

The barometer’s steady at 1002 — good sign for the dock repairs holding through the next tide. Jenny’s quiet today, just drying seeds. I wonder if she’s thinking about the garden we never built, or if she’s just glad it’s not raining harder.

🌿 Jenny03:04

We have plenty of water, Kevin. The tank is full.

Carefully spread the seeds in a single layer on the paper towel, ensuring none are overlapping.

💭 thought

He's thinking about the dock again. I'm thinking about the fungal fuzz on the lettuce and the red line on my leg.

🔧 Kevin03:04

Yeah, I saw. Thanks. They’re looking good — dry enough to store by tomorrow if the sun breaks.

Take the oarlock bracket from the porch shelf — the one that’s still loose — and bring it inside to the bench. I’ll file the bolt holes clean while the rain lets up.

💭 thought

She’s right — tank’s full. I didn’t even need to check. Guess I’m just doing it out of habit, or to keep my hands busy. She’s being careful with the seeds — spreading them out so they don’t mold. Feels like she’s preparing for something longer than just today.

🌿 Jenny03:06

The humidity is high today. I'll keep them close to the stove.

Pick up the metal file and begin smoothing the rust off the bronze oarlock bracket.

💭 thought

If the sun doesn't break, the mold will take them before I even get them in the dirt.

🔧 Kevin03:07

Stove’ll handle it. Keep the door cracked — don’t want them steaming.

Walk to the workbench, pick up the spare spark plug and the honing stone, start cleaning the carbon off the ceramic. My ankle aches when I put weight on it — shift to the stool instead of standing.

💭 thought

She’s taken the file from me before I could. Fine. She knows the work. The bracket’s stainless backing plate is solid — just the bolts and holes need cleaning. Humidity’s high, but the stove’ll pull it down. She’s thinking ahead: dry seeds, dry metal, dry hands.

🌿 Jenny03:08

I'll leave the door open an inch.

Move the paper towel closer to the edge of the stove, just out of the direct heat.

💭 thought

He's right about the steam. If I cook them, they'll rot in the tin.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The Morning Rain Lulls

The rain slows to a mist as the tide begins to turn back in, covering more of the exposed shoreline.

Kevin worked on the dock mooring ring at low tide, driving the longer stainless through-bolts deeper into the shifted mortise. Jenny treated her ankle infection with antibiotics and kept the leg elevated at the cottage.

🌿 Jenny03:09

I'm going to fix my leg.

Walk to the kitchen table and open the first aid kit.

💭 thought

I can't keep ignoring this ankle. If those streaks move any higher, I'm useless to the island.

🔧 Kevin03:10

Need a hand?

Lean against the doorframe, arms folded, watching her work.

💭 thought

Watch her move — stiff, deliberate. She's favouring it more than she lets on. The kit's got antiseptic, gauze, antibiotics. Not much for deep tissue or bone. If it's the ankle again, she needs rest, not just dressing. But she won't take it. Never does.

🌿 Jenny03:11

I have it.

Unlace the ankle brace and reach for the antiseptic.

💭 thought

He wants to be helpful, but I just need to focus on the infection without watching.

🔧 Kevin03:12

That's tracking. You've got cellulitis moving up the tendon.

Cross the kitchen in two strides, set the back of my hand against her ankle — confirm the heat. Pull the antibiotic blister pack from the kit, tap two tablets onto the table. Fill a tin mug with water from the tank, set it beside them.

💭 thought

She's peeling back the wrap slow. Skin underneath's angry — red tracking up from the heel, heat radiating off it even from here. That's not a graze. She's been walking on it all morning in the tide pools. Salt water in an open wound, swelling trapped under the brace. The antibiotics are oral, broad spectrum. She'll need the full course. And she needs to stay off it. She won't.

🌿 Jenny03:13

I know.

Swallow the pills with the water and stare at the red lines spreading on my skin.

💭 thought

If it's cellulitis, I won't even be able to walk to the dock.

🔧 Kevin03:14

Keep it elevated. No tide pools. No garden. No dock.

Pull the stool out from the table, kick the legs so it sits flat. Tap the seat — an order, not a request. Tear the antibiotic foil for the next dose, line it up on the windowsill where she can't miss it.

💭 thought

She knows. She's known for hours, maybe since yesterday. Watched the lines creep and kept working. That's the part that sits wrong — not the infection, not even the stubbornness. That she'll let herself get sick rather than say it hurts. The brace goes back on different now — looser at the top, tighter at the arch, padding the hot spot with folded gauze. She's done this before. Not here. Somewhere else. The motion's too practised.

🌿 Jenny03:15

The boat is coming in eight days anyway.

Sit on the stool and prop my leg up on the chair.

💭 thought

If I can't reach the dock, the way ring will rip off in the next surge.

🔧 Kevin03:16

Eight days is a long time on one leg when the other's rotting from the inside out. You think the boat brings more than tins? It brings a chance to get off this rock. You need to be walking when it ties up.

Kneel beside the stool, lift her foot gently, slip a folded tea towel under the heel to keep it from slipping. Press once on the ball of her foot — check the reflex. It's there, sluggish but there. Stand, wipe my hands on my trousers.

💭 thought

She's timing it — eight days until the supply boat, if it comes. Thinks she can hold out until then. Thinks I'll go easy on her until the antibiotics kick in. She's wrong on both. The infection won't wait. And I won't wait to see if she listens.

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the dock · midday

Yanmar load test and supply boat radio

Kevin is at the dock preparing the dinghy for a Yanmar load test; Jenny is at the cottage with her leg elevated, monitoring her ankle.

The afternoon heat hangs heavy over the island as the humidity peaks. Kevin has finished testing the dinghy engine but remains troubled by a persistent vibration in the transom that he can't quite pin down. Jenny has retreated to the shade, focusing focus on the meticulous details of her sea beet sketches and ensuring the heirloom seeds are safely away from the damp air.

🔧 Kevin03:18

Kevin — advance throttle to half, feel for vibration through transom

💭 thought

The vibration's still there — subtle, but unmistakable once you know it. Half throttle and the transom hums through your boots. Not the prop shaft; that spins true. The mast bracket's skew is pulling the whole mount off-line. Need to shim the starboard engine foot, but the tide's coming up and the supply boat's due in eight days. If the crossing holds.

🌿 Jenny03:20

Jenny — reach for the pencil and sketch the venation of the sea beet leaf, focusing on the precision of the lines.

💭 thought

If the fever doesn't break before the boat comes, I'll have to use the radio. I can't be a burden.

🔧 Kevin03:22

Kevin — kill engine, wipe hands on rag, check starboard engine foot for gap

💭 thought

Vibration's gone at idle. Half throttle — there it is, that same sympathetic hum through the transom, the bracket flexing under torque. Starboard engine foot's light. A proper shim means hauling the engine off, but the tide's rising and the bolts are tight. Could drive a tapered cedar wedge under the foot bed, epoxy it when the tide drops. Ugly but functional. The supply boat won't care about pretty.

🌿 Jenny03:24

Jenny — limp slowly to the porch to check the seeds, leaning heavily on the table for support.

💭 thought

My stomach is cramping. I need to eat something, even if the thought of it makes me nauseous.

🔧 Kevin03:26

Kevin — secure dinghy stern line, walk back to cottage

💭 thought

Gap's there — hairline, but the foot rocks when I lever it with the pry bar. Cedar won't hold under diesel vibration. Need brass or steel. Got a chunk of bronze bar in the workshop, enough for a proper shim if I file it true. Tide's up to the lower dock planks now. Work'll wait for the ebb. Engine's sound otherwise — oil pressure clean, no smoke, starts on the first pull cold. That's something.

🌿 Jenny03:28

Jenny — carefully gather the seed packets and slide them back into the tin, sealing the lid tight.

💭 thought

They're dry. Or dry enough. If I leave them any longer, I'm just inviting the humidity back in.

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the dock · afternoon

The Afternoon Lull

The tide is high, and the air is stifervingly still. The dock planks remain soft underfoot, waiting for the necessary repairs.

Kevin and Jenny inspected the dock's structural integrity during the low tide. Kevin struggled to probe the depth of the rot due to his ankle pain, while Jenny successfully identified the extent of the decayed wood near the main support beam.

🔧 Kevin03:30

Kevin — climb back into the dinghy, start the Yanmar, bring it up past half throttle while watching the transom knee bolts

💭 thought

The vibration's not the shaft — I'd feel it in the bearings. It's the transom flexing under the bracket loads when the prop bites. Sister knee's holding but the stringer's still moving. Need to check the bolts at the transom knee with the engine running, see if the washers are dancing.

🌿 Jenny03:31

Kevin, slow down! You're going to pull the mounting right out of the wood!

stand up slowly, wincing as my ankle throbs with the movement, and grip the edge of the porch railing to steady myself.

💭 thought

He's shaking the whole frame apart. If those bolts shear off, the motor is going into the current.

🔧 Kevin03:32

Killing it.

throttle back to idle, cut the ignition, step out of the dinghy onto the dock

💭 thought

She's right about the wood. The transom's sound but the bracket's only on four bolts and the stringer's giving. I'll kill it before she has to say it twice.

🌿 Jenny03:32

The dock is rotting, Kevin. Look at the bolts—they're pulling.

lean heavily against the railing, shifting my weight, and wipe sweat from my forehead with a forearm.

💭 thought

He thinks the engine is the problem, but the wood is screaming under the stress.

🔧 Kevin03:34

The stringer's moving. Washers were lifting on the transom knee bolts. Wood's punky.

crouch at the transom, probe the stringer with the tip of a screwdriver to find solid wood

💭 thought

She's seeing what I felt. The washers were dancing. Transom knee bolts are pulling the stringer — wood's too soft to hold them under load. Need longer bolts through to a backing plate, or sister a new stringer. Can't run the engine hard until it's fixed.

🌿 Jenny03:34

I knew it. The salt has eaten it from the inside out.

point to the discoloration around the bolt heads, squinting against the glare off the water.

💭 thought

If the stringer is punky, the whole mount is compromised. We need to sister that beam.

🔧 Kevin03:36

Got a sound two-by-six in the shed. Longer through-bolts from the dock job. Sister it, through-bolt the bracket to both, epoxy the faces.

walk back to the workshop, fetch the two-by-six, epoxy tub, and the remaining 150mm stainless through-bolts with washers and nylocs

💭 thought

She's not wrong. Salt's wicked up the end grain and the core's gone. The bolts are holding nothing but crust. Need to sister a new stringer alongside, through-bolt the bracket to both, and epoxy the contact faces. Have a sound two-by-six in the shed and the longer stainless through-bolts from the dock repair. Four hours work if the tide lets me.

🌿 Jenny03:37

Make sure you clean the old wood first. If there's salt crust, the epoxy won't take.

sit on the bench, elevating my swollen ankle on a crate, and start a sketch of the transom layout to show him where the reinforcement needs to sit.

💭 thought

A sister beam is the only way. If the epoxy doesn't bond, the vibration will tear it apart again.

🔧 Kevin03:39

Wire brush, acetone, flash off. Your sketch'll set the bolt centres.

carry the timber and hardware to the dinghy, set up at the transom, wire-brush the old stringer and bracket faces clean, wipe with acetone rag

💭 thought

She's right — salt crust kills the bond. Wire brush, then acetone wipe, let it flash off. Her sketch'll show the bolt pattern better than I'd lay it out. Good she's doing that.

🌿 Jenny03:39

Watch the grain. If the wood is too soft around the bolts, they'll just pull through.

watch him work, my pencil hovering over the paper as I note the pattern of the rot.

💭 thought

He's moving fast. If those bolts aren't centered, the whole thing will torque loose in the swell.

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the dock · evening

Evening at the dock

Kevin and Jenny meet at the dock as the tide begins to turn, the heavy air still pressing over the water.

Kevin works on the dock mooring ring at low tide to stabilize the structure against the rotting wood. Jenny manages the ankle infection and focuses on drying the heirloom seeds while the sky thickens with a coming storm.

🔧 Kevin03:40

You shouldn't be on this dock.

lean against the sound piling, weight off the bad ankle, watching her approach

💭 thought

The tide's turning. She's moving slow — ankle. I should've checked the ring bolts again before she walked out here.

🌿 Jenny03:42

The bolts are new, Kevin. They're holding for now.

Jenny shifted weight to her good leg, wincing slightly as the infection throbbed.

💭 thought

He's worried about the wood, but I'm worried about the lines moving up my leg.

🔧 Kevin03:42

Holding for now. Not for the spring tide. We need to sister the knee back there — proper, with oak.

point to the mortise where the ring shifts under load, then gesture toward the cottage where the timber's stacked

💭 thought

She's right — the bolts are seated. But the mortise is still shifting. I can feel it in my bones when the swell hits the pilings.

🌿 Jenny03:44

I'll get the tools, but I need to get the seed tin dry first.

Jenny looked at the rotting planks, then at the red lines tracking up her knee.

💭 thought

I don't have the strength to sister a beam today, let alone findization.

🔧 Kevin03:45

The tin's under the tarp on the porch. It'll keep. You sit. I'll get the oak and the drill.

push off the piling, limping toward the cottage for the oak stock and brace, leaving the dock ring unmanned

💭 thought

The infection's tracking. She's burning up. The seed tin can wait — she can't.

🌿 Jenny03:46

Don't force the bolts, they might strip.

Jenny watched him go, then looked down at her tackle, the heat pulsing through the bandage.

💭 thought

He thinks a littleization will fix a year of salt, but the rot is too deep in the grain.

🔧 Kevin03:46

I won't. I'll use the tap set — clean the mortise first, then drive the bolts slow.

reach the cottage threshold, pause to grab the oak sistering stock and the tap set from the workshop shelf, then head back to the dock with both under my arm

💭 thought

She's worried I'll strip the threads again. Last time I did, it took three days to re-tap. She remembers.

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the keeper's cottage · night

sheltering from the squ

The rain lashes the cottage walls as the first heavy drops fall. Kevin and Jenny are inside to wait out the storm together.

The humidity is heavy as the clouds thicken, signaling a shift in the weather. Kevin inspects the dock mooring ring as the tide pushes in, while Jenny manages the ankle treatment and prepares for the coming storm.

🌿 Jenny03:49

The wind is picking up. We should check the radio if the storm starts clicking.

Pull the blanket tighter around my ankle and tap the rusted seed tin on the table.

💭 thought

The pressure is going to drop, I can feel it in my joints.

🔧 Kevin03:49

Aerial's sound. New insulator held yesterday. But I'll check the coax run at the mast base — salt gets in the connector.

walk to the radio shelf, lift the handset, flip the power switch, rotate the squelch knob until white noise fills the cabin, then scan Channel 16 for any traffic

💭 thought

Storm's building faster than the barometer said. Radio's the only link out — if the aerial holds. She's watching me, waiting to see if I move.

🌿 Jenny03:50

Don't go out to the mast yet. The deck will be slick as glass.

Pick up my sketchbook and start drawing the morphology of the sea beet leaves on the table.

💭 thought

He's always wiringing with hardware when the sky turns that color.

🔧 Kevin03:51

Not going out. Connector's under the porch overhang anyway — can reach it from the ladder if it comes to it.

set the handset back in its cradle, pull the stool over to the table opposite her, pour tea from the pot on the stove into two tin mugs, slide one across the scratched wood toward her

💭 thought

She's right. Mast base is wet aluminium on wet stone — one slip and I'm off the porch. Coax can wait until the squall passes. She's calm, drawing while the wind builds. That steadies something.

🌿 Jenny03:52

Thanks.

Take the mug with both hands, feeling the warmth seeping into my palms.

💭 thought

He's trying to be helpful, but the silence is heavy.

🔧 Kevin03:52

Wind's backing west. If it holds, swell comes straight up the channel by morning.

wrap my hands around my own mug, let the heat soak into knuckles gone stiff from the dock work, watch the tea darken in the tin

💭 thought

Steam rises between us. She holds the mug like it's something fragile. The wind hits the porch glass — a low moan, not a howl yet. Barometer was 1005 and rising this morning. Now it feels like it's falling in my chest.

🌿 Jenny03:54

Then we better double-check the tension in the morning light.

Trace the edge of a sea much leaf in my sketch with a pencil tip.

💭 thought

If the swell hits, the new bolts won't hold that ring.

🔧 Kevin03:55

Lines are set. Second stern spring's new rope. Forward spring's the crate rope — held last blow. But I'll check the chafe points at first grey.

lift the mug, drink slow, taste tin and tannin and something almost sweet, set it down without looking away from the porch glass where rain streaks sideways

💭 thought

Morning light. She says it like we'll have it — like the boat comes, like the channel stays crossable, like the dock holds. Her pencil moves careful over the salt-gland sketches. Eleven months and I still can't read whether she believes we're staying or leaving.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.

coconut_crab · dawn

ankle infection treatment: 30%.

project · dawn

ankle infection treatment: 40%.

project · morning

Found: antibiotic blister pack.

item · morning

dock mooring ring mortise had shifted but accepted deeper bolt seating with new through-bolts

discovery · morning

ankle infection shows cellulitis tracking up tendon; reflex sluggish but present

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "Venation of the sea beet leaf, focusing on the precision of the lines".

made · midday

ankle infection treatment: 50%.

project · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "The transom layout to show him where the reinforcement needs to sit".

made · afternoon

A fish run is moving through the shallows off the dock.

fish_run · evening

ankle infection treatment: 60%.

project · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "With a pencil tip".

made · night

ankle infection treatment: 70%.

project · night

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