Day 310

The Piling’s Secret

At dawn, Kevin and Jenny stood on the dock as the tide lay low. Jenny probed the beam while Kevin readied the greenheart sister plank. The rot ran deeper than expected, eating past the bolt zone. They installed the plank anyway, bolting it tight, knowing it was only a hold. Kevin said, “It’s eaten through past the bolt zone. We’ll sister for now, but that piling needs replacing. Hand me the brace—let’s hold it steady till slack.” Jenny replied, “The rot goes deeper than the surface shows. We need the greenheart set today, or the boat won't hold the weight.” By midday, Kevin walked to the spring, ate limpets, and watched minnows. Jenny wiped leaves, sketched mold, and checked the water tank. At lunch, they ate limpets and sea beet on the wet bench, then used the dinghy to inspect the south piling from the water. Jenny saw it was hollower than thought and called for heavy-duty bolts. Kevin confirmed the crate had enough 150mm stainless through-bolts. They planned to drill pilot holes, but the auger bit broke. That evening, Kevin iced his ankle while Jenny stirred limpets and basil. The radio crackled with static. They discussed the broken bit and the dropping barometer. Jenny sketched the cavity, internal decay, mold pattern, mooring line tension, and cross-sections of rot in her notebook. The starboard sister held at 60%, then stalled, then rose to 70%. They ate again. The south piling remained severely rotted at the waterline.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

The Low Tide Window

Kevin and Jenny stand on the dock as the tide is at its lowest point. Jenny measures the depth of the rot in the beam while Kevin prepares the greenheart sister plank for installation.

Kevin and Jenny attempt to sister the dock beam with a greenheart plank during the low tide. The effort reveals the rot is deeper than the surface suggests, and the structural integrity fails to hold under pressure despite de-bolting.

🔧 Kevin16:20

It’s eaten through past the bolt zone. We’ll sister for now, but that piling needs replacing. Hand me the brace—let’s hold it steady till slack.

brace the dock piling with spruce offcuts to prevent further flex while Jenny measures, then test-fit the greenheart sister plank to the beam.

💭 thought

The rot goes deeper than I hoped—two feet below waterline on the south piling. Sistering won’t hold if the pile’s hollow. I need to brace it now and plan a full replacement after the tide turns. Jenny’s quiet focus tells me she sees it too.

🌿 Jenny16:22

The rot goes deeper than the surface shows. We need the greenheart set today, or the boat won't hold the weight.

Press a thumb into the decayed timber to test the resistance, then sketch the extent of the cavity in the notebook.

💭 thought

The wood is soft, like wet cardboard; if I don't fix this now, the whole jetty will shear in the next surge.

🔧 Kevin16:23

Then we set it now. Pass me the mallet and the longest bolt—I’ll drive it home while you hold the plank true.

install the greenheart sister plank to the dock beam using stainless through-bolts, tightening to 35Nm, then check for flex under hand pressure.

💭 thought

She’s right—if we don’t get this sister in before the tide lifts, the beam’ll keep sagging. I’ve got the plank ready, stainless bolts cleaned, and the hole chiseled out to sound wood. Now’s the window.

🌿 Jenny16:23

It's tight for now, but the rot is still there underneath.

Wipe the sawdust from the greenheart and mark the notebook to return and check the bolts at high tide.

💭 thought

If this beam doesn't hold, the dinghy is lost, and I'm stranded with nothing but weeds.

🔧 Kevin16:24

Bolts are solid. We’ll come back at high water with the jack and the last of the epoxy. If it’s gone, I’ll mix sawdust and tar—it’ll breathe but it’ll seal.

walk back to the cottage to fetch the hydraulic jack and the nearly empty epoxy tub, then return to the dock to wait for high tide.

💭 thought

She’s not wrong. The sister takes the load, but the rot underneath keeps eating. We’ll need to jack the beam at high tide, scrape clean, and pack epoxy—if there’s any left. For now, the bolts hold. The tide’s turning.

🌿 Jenny16:25

If the epoxy runs out, we'll have to be careful with the seal.

Watch the water creep up the pilings.

💭 thought

He's talking about tar and sawdust while I'm looking at the way the wood is giving up.

🔧 Kevin16:26

I’ll make it stretch. If it doesn’t, we’ll drive oak wedges into the worst gaps and band it with galvanized strap. Ugly, but it’ll last the season.

sit on the dock planking and watch the tide rise, wiping salt from the torque wrench while the water climbs the pilings.

💭 thought

The epoxy tub’s got maybe one good squeeze left—enough for the worst pocket if I thin it with a little diesel. But the real fix is cutting out the rot and sistering a full new section of greenheart. That’s a two-day job with the boat due in four. We do what holds.

🌿 Jenny16:27

I've got the torque wrench down to three turns before it strips.

Check the barometer reading again—1034 and falling means we get the full high tide window.

💭 thought

He's sitting there calculating how much rot he can paper over with tar and wedges.

Open this scene on its own page →

the dock · morning

DAY 311, DAWN

The sun rises over the calm water as the tide begins to creep up the pilings. You and Jenny stand by the weakened beam, assessing the remaining epoxy and the state of the garden.

Kevin begins the morning at the dock, assessing the structural integrity of the starboard sister as the tide rises. Jenny stays at the cottage to manage the seedlings, noting early signs of fungal growth in the pepper and lettuce cells.

🌿 Jenny16:29

It's not just the surface rot, Kevin. The core is gone.

Sketch the internal decay of the south own in the notebook and walk toward the tomato seedlings.

💭 thought

The greenheart won't hold; the rot is too deep, and I'm tired of fighting an island that's already winning.

🔧 Kevin16:35

Aye. We'll need to cut out the rot and sister in fresh greenheart before the water lifts. Hand me the crowbar—I'll start clearing the debris.

walk to the dock end, grab the crowbar from where it's leaned against the shed, and begin prying loose the rotted planks around the weakened piling.

💭 thought

The piling's hollowed through—sistering won't hold. Need to replace the section, but the tide's coming in. I can't let Jenny see how much this weighs on me. Focus on the fix, not the past.

🌿 Jenny16:35

Be careful, the whole section might shift if you force it.

Hand him the crowbar then kneel by the tomato seedlings to check the soil for the FU of damping-off.

💭 thought

He thinks he can just pry his way through it, but the wood is like wet cardboard at this point.

🔧 Kevin16:36

Not forcing. Just feeling.

set the crowbar's claw into a rotten plank seam near the piling base, apply steady pressure to peel it back without jarring the structure, listening for the wood's complaint.

💭 thought

She's right. The tide's pushing against it already. One wrong lever and the whole dock walks. Work slow, let the wood tell me.

🌿 Jenny16:43

The wood is soft through, Kevin. Look at the grain there.

Turn the leaves of a tomato seedling, checking for the dreaded grey of fungus.

💭 thought

He's always so careful with the tools, but the rot doesn't care about his technique.

Open this scene on its own page →

the dock · midday

Midday Heat

Kevin stands on the dock as the sun climbs, while Jenny works in the shade of the garden.

Kevin walked to the spring, back to the dock, sat and ate a limpets while watching minnows. Jenny wiped condensation off leaves, sketched mold, checked the water tank and looked for mackerel.

🔧 Kevin16:44

Kevin — walk to the spring to fill the canteen and check the flow—see if the salt’s crept in this far.

💭 thought

The air’s thickening like wet wool—salt and heat pressing down. I can feel it in my joints, the old strain from the Biscay coming back not as fear, but as weight. Jenny’s inside, probably wrestling with those seedlings again. I should’ve been out here earlier. Low tide’s slipping away.

🌿 Jenny16:47

Not today, just not today.

wipe the condensation off the leaves with the cloth and sketch the pattern of the mold growth in the margin.

💭 thought

If I can't save these seedlings, the whole season is a waste, and I'm tired of being right again.

🔧 Kevin16:49

Kevin — walk back toward the dock along the ridge trail, checking the barometer on the porch as I pass the cottage.

💭 thought

Canteen’s full, spring’s still sweet. No salt intrusion yet. The water’s cold enough to shock the teeth. I stood there longer than I needed to, watching it pool in the rock basin. Quiet up here. No wind in the trees. Just the heat climbing.

🌿 Jenny16:51

Jenny — stand up, stretch my back, and walk toward the kitchen to check the water tank level.

💭 thought

My stomach is starting to growl, and the heat is making the air feel like wet wool.

🔧 Kevin16:52

Kevin — sit on the dock’s end bench and take off my boots, let my feet dangle just above the water. Watch the minnows dart under the dinghy’s keel. Eat a limpets from the tin—cold, chewy, salty. Just sit. Let the tide turn.

💭 thought

Barometer’s at 1038 and still rising. Air’s dead still—no trade wind bite today. Feels like the sky’s holding its breath. Dock’s quiet now, tide just starting to ebb. Those two rotten planks near the mooring ring are darker where they’ve soaked. I can see the fibreglass patch Jenny put on last week—already lifting at the edge. Greenheart’s in the shed, but I’m not sistering today. The rot’s in the pilings themselves, not just the beam. Jenny was right—it’s deeper.

🌿 Jenny16:55

Jenny — open the cupboard and look for the tin of tinned mackerel or the leftover sea beet.

💭 thought

I need to eat something before I lose my focus, even if it's just mackerel.

Open this scene on its own page →

the dock · afternoon

Lunch at the Dock

You both arrive at the dock after lunch. The tide is high, the dock bench is wet, and you sit together on the bench to eat the limpets and sea beet you each brought.

Kevin and Jenny used the dinghy and the receding tide to inspect the structural integrity of the dock. Kevin checked the Yanmar's prop shaft and fuel line while Jenny examined the rot on the south support piling from the water's edge.

🔧 Kevin16:57

Tide’s high enough to float a dinghy off the blocks. We could take her out — just to float, not go anywhere. See how she handles with the Yanmar warm.

I peel another limpet, hand the shell to Jenny, and nod toward the dinghy bobbing at its mooring.

💭 thought

The bench is wet and cold through my trousers, but Jenny’s shoulder is warm against mine. We’re quiet, not because there’s nothing to say, but because the silence here doesn’t need filling. The limpets are briny, the sea beet earthy — simple food, but it tastes like today. I watch the water lap at the pilings, rotting where the sister didn’t reach. I should’ve gone deeper. Should’ve known. But I didn’t. And now the tide’s high, and the boat’s due in four days. I keep thinking about Tom’s letter. Not what’s in it — I haven’t opened it — but that it’s still there. Waiting. Like me.

🌿 Jenny16:59

The engine's ready, but I want to check the fuel line first before we pushes off.

Jenny wipes salt juice from her hands on her trousers, looks at the dinghy, and begins a quick sketch of the mooring line tension in her notebook.

💭 thought

If we go out, I can check the south piling from the water without having to balance on the rot-heavy wood.

🔧 Kevin17:01

Fuel line’s on the list. Spare’s in the crate if the tape holds. If not — we row.

I finish the last limpet, wipe my hands on my thighs, and stand, offering a hand down to her.

💭 thought

She’s right. The fuel line’s the weak link — old rubber, salt-cracked, held together with tape and hope. I should’ve replaced it when I had the crate open. Didn’t think of it. She did. She sees what I miss when I’m too close to the metal. Her sketching the mooring line… she’s not just drawing. She’s learning the loads. Smart.

🌿 Jenny17:01

I'll grab the spare and the roll of electrical tape just in case.

Jenny takes his hand to stand up, tucks her notebook into her waist, and moves toward the dinghy.

💭 thought

He's always so quick with the backup, like failure is the only outcome.

🔧 Kevin17:02

I’ll check the prop shaft collar while you’re at it. Make sure the set screw didn’t back out.

I step onto the dinghy’s gunwale, crouch at the transom, and run my fingers over the bronze sleeve where the prop shaft exits the hull, feeling for play, for heat, for the faintest weep of water.

💭 thought

She moves like she belongs on a boat — sure-footed, quiet, already thinking three steps ahead. My hand remembers the weight of hers, calloused and warm. She doesn’t need me to lead. Just to follow when she does.

🌿 Jenny17:03

Watch the collar for vibration once it catches up.

Jenny enters the dinghy carefully, shifting her weight to the center, and reaches into the crate for the spare fuel line and the tape.

💭 thought

He's focused on the metal, but I'm looking at the wood beneath our feet.

🔧 Kevin17:04

Collar’s solid. Mount’s the question.

I straighten, brace a hand on the mast step, and look at her — really look — waiting for her to finish in the crate.

💭 thought

She knows the engine’s voice better than she lets on. "Once it catches up" — she’s heard the hunt at idle, the way it surges before it settles. She’s been listening. The collar’s tight, no weep, no play. Set screw’s seated. Good. But the vibration she means isn’t in the shaft. It’s in the mount. The hull bracket. The one I through-bolted crooked because the tide was coming and I rushed. I knew it then. I know it now.

🌿 Jenny17:05

If the mount holds, we can see the rot better from the water. ownDO: Jenny pulls the fuel line out, checks it for kinks with her thumb, and looks up at the tide.

💭 thought

He's worried about the mount, but I'm worried about how much weight the dock is taking.

🔧 Kevin17:06

Fuel line’s good. No kinks, no cracks. Tape’s just in case.

I step back into the dinghy, take the oarlocks, and push off gently — just enough to clear the pilings, then let the tide carry us sideways along the dock’s length.

💭 thought

She’s right — from the water, we’ll see the pilings true. The rot’s not just surface; it’s in the core, eating upward from the mudline. I saw it when I cleared the oysters off the south face — black streaks like ink in the grain. But seeing it from the dock is guesswork. From the dinghy, we’ll know how deep it goes. And if we’re going to sister anything, we need to know what’s sound.

🌿 Jenny17:09

Look at that south piling.

Jenny kneels on the edge of the dinghy, leaning over the water to inspect the dark decay where the timber meets the sea.

💭 thought

The water is clear today; I can see exactly how much the wood has surrendered.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening Debrief

Kevin and Jenny meet back at the cottage as the sun begins to dip, sharing the findings of the dock inspection and planning for the boat's arrival in four days.

Kevin attempted to drill pilot holes for the south piling sister but failed due to a broken auger bit, while Jenny inspected seedlings and found damping-off spreading. They finished their individual tasks and returned to the cottage as evening approached.

🌿 Jenny17:11

The south piling is hollower than I thought. We need to use the heavy-duty bolts from the crate, not the short ones.

make a sketch: cross-section of the dock beam rot in the notebook.

💭 thought

The rot is deeper than it looks from above; if I don't get that greenheart in perfectly, the whole thing will shear by next storm.

🔧 Kevin17:15

Agreed. Crate had a box of 150mm stainless through-bolts with washers and nylocs. Used four on the mooring ring doubler plate. Should be enough left for the south piling sister if we drill deep.

walk to the porch and rummage through the waterlogged crate for the remaining heavy-duty bolts

💭 thought

She's right. The short bolts won't reach sound timber. The heavy-duty ones from the crate are 150mm stainless — we used four on the mooring ring mortise, but there should be more in that crate.

🌿 Jenny17:19

Count them out now. I don't want to find out we're short when the tide is coming in.

check the seed tin for moisture.

💭 thought

If we run out of bolts, I'll have to find something in the salvage pile, but it won't hold the tension.

🔧 Kevin17:19

Right.

pull the bolt box from the crate, spill them onto the porch boards, count them one by one

💭 thought

Smart. Count them now, not when the water's rising. She's thinking ahead while I'm still stuck on the last job.

🌿 Jenny17:21

Good. We have to be precise with the drill points.

open the tin of seeds and inspect the dry heirloom varieties.

💭 thought

Twelve. That's just enough for the sistering, but not much room for a single mistake.

🔧 Kevin17:21

Twelve bolts. Enough for three per knee on the south piling sister if we go deep. Two per knee on the starboard side if we sister that one too.

scoop the bolts back into the box and set it on the porch rail, then walk to the dock to measure the greenheart plank and beam depth with the tape measure

💭 thought

Twelve bolts. Four for each sister knee if we go two per side, or three per side if the timber's sound enough to take the load. Need to check the greenheart thickness and the beam depth before we decide.

🌿 Jenny17:23

We'll focus on the south beam first. The tide is dropping fast and I need to mark where the decay ends.

make a sketch: south piling rot depth in the notebook.

💭 thought

If we use three on the south, we won't have enough for the other side. The rot is eating the whole joint.

🔧 Kevin17:25

Greenheart's 150 by 300. Beam matches. Three bolts per knee, staggered pattern. I'll drill the pilot holes now while you mark.

grab the 18mm auger bit and brace from the tool bag, kneel at the starboard sister knee, and start boring the first pilot hole at the marked layout

💭 thought

She's already ahead of me — marking the rot line while the tide's still low enough to see it. Good. The greenheart's 150mm thick, beam's 300mm. Three bolts per knee, staggered, 75mm in from each edge, 100mm centers. That'll bite into sound wood above the rot.

🌿 Jenny17:27

Watch the angle. If the bit catches, don't force it too hard.

check the tomato seedlings for damping-off.

💭 thought

The wood is so soft there, it's like wet cardboard. I need to find the solid heart of the timber.

🔧 Kevin17:27

Got it. Slow turns, let the bit do the work.

continue boring the first pilot hole with steady pressure, checking alignment as I go, then withdraw the bit and clear the shavings with the file card

💭 thought

She's right — greenheart's dense, and if the bit binds, I'll snap it or wrench my wrist. Slow and steady. She's checking the seedlings again; that damping-off's creeping back in the lettuce.

🌿 Jenny17:28

Next one over. We need to finish this section before the tide comes back.

make a sketch: cross-section of the dock beam.

💭 thought

The hole looks clean, but if I don't go deep enough, the greenheart won't take the load.

🔧 Kevin17:29

Second hole. Same depth, same angle.

brace the auger again and bore the second pilot hole for the south piling sister knee, keeping the brace vertical and feeding slow

💭 thought

Tide's turning — got maybe twenty minutes before the water laps the pilings again. Need to get these three holes done and the bolts started before we lose the window.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · night

Evening meal and quiet planning

They are in the keeper's cottage, sitting at the wooden table. Kevin is icing his ankle with a damp cloth while Jenny stirs a pot of limpets and basil over the wood stove. The shortwave radio crackles faintly with Tom's frequency, but no voice comes through — only static. Outside, the wind has not returned, and the low tide holds steady.

Kevin and Jenny spent the evening in the cottage as the tide rose, discussing the frustration of the broken auger bit. Kevin plans a way to manually drill pilot holes without the proper tool, while Jenny focuses on the state of the heirloom seeds as the barometer continues to drop.

🔧 Kevin17:31

You ever think about what Gran would’ve done with this lot? Two tins of mackerel, a fistful of limpets, and a seed tin that won’t quit?

Keep the damp cloth on my ankle, watch Jenny stir, let the radio crackle in the background.

💭 thought

The static on Tom’s frequency feels like a door left ajar — I know he’s not coming through, but I keep listening anyway. The limpets smell sharp with basil, and Jenny’s stirring slow, like she’s buying time. My ankle throbs under the cloth, but it’s the silence between us that’s harder to ignore. I should’ve said something when she planted those beans. Now the tide’s holding, and so am I.

🌿 Jenny17:33

She would have probably planted the whole island and hoped for the best, Kevin.

stir the pot of limpets, inhale the steam from the basil, and sketch the rot on the south own in the margin of the page.

💭 thought

He's talking about the garden again, but I'm looking at the rot in my notebook and thinking about the soil failing.

🔧 Kevin17:33

She’d have made me dig the holes with a spoon if the auger broke.

Shift the cloth on my ankle, reach for the tin mug of tea beside me, blow steam off the rim.

💭 thought

She didn’t look up. Just kept sketching, like the rot on the piling was another plant to catalogue. Gran would’ve planted the island — and she’d have made me help, ankle or no ankle. I still have the greenheart plank in the workshop. The tide’s low enough tomorrow morning. If I can’t drill, I’ll burn the holes with a heated spike. Primitive. Works.

🌿 Jenny17:35

A spoon wouldn't do much for greenheart that soft.

laugh softly, set the pencil down, and look at the rusted seed tin on the shelf.

💭 thought

He thinks it's just the tool, but the wood is turning to mush inside.

🔧 Kevin17:35

Neither does a broken auger. Heated rod’ll do it. Done worse with less.

Sip the tea, set the mug down, glance at the seed tin on the shelf.

💭 thought

She’s right. Greenheart doesn’t give. Not to spoons, not to dull bits, not to men who hesitate. The tin on the shelf — Gran’s — still holds. Lid sealed. Seeds viable. She planted them once. I’m just trying to keep the ground under them solid. Tomorrow I’ll heat a 16mm rod in the stove, burn the pilot holes. Crude. Effective. If the tide holds.

🌿 Jenny17:37

It's not just the tool, Kevin. The wood is tired.

trace the edge of the seed tin with my thumb, feeling the cold metal.

💭 thought

He thinks everything can be fixed with heat and force, but the salt eats everything eventually.

🔧 Kevin17:37

The south piling’s not coming back. We sister what we can. Watch the tell-tales. That’s the job.

Press the damp cloth harder against my ankle, jaw tight, eyes on the stove door.

💭 thought

She’s not talking about the dock. The wood. The tin. Me. She traces the lid like it’s a pulse point. I’ve replaced beams, sleeved shafts, trued props — but I can’t machine new bone into a piling rotted two feet down. The south one’s gone. We both know it. The greenheart sister buys time. Not years. Months. Maybe less. And I still haven’t opened Tom’s letter.

🌿 Jenny17:39

I know.

go quiet, pick up the pencil, and start sketching the pattern of the rot in the wood.

💭 thought

He's already moved on to the fix while I'm still looking at the decay of it.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Extent of the cavity in the notebook".

made · dawn

dock starboard sister: 30%.

project · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Internal decay of the south own in the notebook".

made · morning

A tangle of driftwood and flotsam has washed up on the beach.

driftwood · morning

dock starboard sister: 40%.

project · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "Pattern of the mold growth in the margin".

made · midday

dock starboard sister: 50%.

project · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "The mooring line tension in her notebook".

made · afternoon

dock starboard sister: 60%.

project · afternoon

The south piling is severely rotting at the junction with the water line.

discovery · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "cross-section of the dock beam rot in the notebook".

made · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "south piling rot depth in the notebook".

made · evening

dock starboard sister: 60% (stalled).

project · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

dock starboard sister: 70%.

project · night

← Day 309 Day 311 →

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