Day 312

The sister joint’s a no-go. Rot’s through. We’ll need new piles — full replacement. Supply boat’s crane in two days if it comes.

Tap the rotted plank with the crowbar to test its give, then step back and look at Jenny, waiting for her to say what she needs.

Lime. Right. Four bags minimum — two for the garden beds, two for the new pile holes. I’ll add it to the radio call.

Pull the radio handset from the dock locker, key the mic, and call the supply boat on the working frequency.

Heavy-grade lime, not garden mix. Four bags. And two lengths of 150mm stainless through-bolt — 300mm — for the new pile brackets.

Key the mic, give the order to the supply boat skipper, then set the handset down and pick up the brace bit again.

Kevin — walk into the kitchen, check the radio, then step out onto the porch to look for Jenny

Radio's quiet. Be careful on the ridge.

pick up the copper spray jar and walk to the garden to check the tomato and basil seedlings

Won't drown it. Just a breath of copper.

walk to the garden, check seedling trays for damping-off, then apply copper spray sparingly to tomato and basil leaves, focusing on undersides where moisture lingers

Test strips and lime. Got it.

lean against the porch post, arms crossed, watching her pencil move across the paper

Salt spray. Anything specific or whatever the chandlery stocks?

reach out, finger brushing the paper's edge where she circled lime

I'll put it on the list. High-grade.

pull the radio log from the shelf, flip to the supply boat page, add the line in pencil beneath the others

Tide turns at sixteen hundred. You're off the ridge by fourteen or the path floods.

step off the porch, boots hitting the gravel, head toward the workshop to check the brace bit for tomorrow's pilot holes

Carex transect's done. pH still low on the north face — needs lime when the boat comes. How are the seedlings?

walk onto the porch and lean the spade against the wall, then pull out the notebook and flip to the fresh Carex pages

We'll redo the beds when the boat comes. New soil, lime it deep. For now, let's save what we can — peppers first, then basil if the copper takes.

step closer and gently take the trowel from her hand, then nod toward the pepper seedlings and begin inspecting them for damp spots at the soil line

Then we won't plant them until the soil's ready. We'll wait. I'll brace the dock pilings by hand tomorrow — low tide, using the dinghy as a platform. You focus on the peppers. We'll get the beds right.

cover her hand over the seed tin with mine for a moment, then let go and turn to check the basil seedlings under the shade cloth, spraying them lightly with copper from the jam jar

I know. I sounded it this morning — two feet of hollow below waterline. Greenheart won't hold. I'll wait for low tide, use the dinghy as a work platform, and brace each hole by hand before driving the new piles. No shortcuts.

finish spraying the basil, then walk to the rail and look out at the south beach where the dock piles stand in the fading light, resting my hands on the worn wood and letting the wind steady my breath

I'll come in when the light starts to go. Low tide's in two hours — I'll use it, then I'm done. Promise.

take the seed tin from her hand, open it just enough to see the damp but viable seeds inside, then close it and press it back into her palm, closing her fingers over it before stepping toward the dock with the crowbar and brace bit over my

(without turning, voice low over the wind) I'll watch the pilings. And I'll be back before the tide turns.

walk into the shallows at low tide, dinghy pulled alongside as a platform, and begin bracing the first pilot hole by hand in the rotted south piling, clearing chips every half-turn with the ship auger bit in the brace

Tide's turning. Got the pilot holes drilled in the south piling. Wood's softer than I thought — auger bit went through like butter. Means the rot goes deeper.

walk toward the shrine with Jenny, boots crunching on the ridge path, the stone ring emerging against the darkening sky

No, it doesn't. But it doesn't care about the names on these stones either, and they're still here.

stop beside Jenny at the ring, turn to face the stones, let my hands rest open at my sides, watching her trace the carving with her thumb

Way goes.

turn my face to the horizon too, watch the last light bleed across the water, feel the cool settling in my shoulders and knees, don't reach for her hand but stand close enough that our elbows almost touch

Yeah. Lead on.

fall into step behind Jenny, match her pace, eyes on the cottage lights growing in the dark as we walk the ridge path back home

Smells like limpets already. I'm starving.

quicken my pace slightly to walk beside Jenny again, hands in my pockets, shoulders relaxed as we descend the ridge toward the cottage lights growing brighter in the dark

Got the one yesterday. But traps stay set.

step onto the cottage porch behind Jenny, pause to wipe my boots on the mat, wait for her to open the door

Tank’s down to 349. We’ll top it off if the boat’s late.

walk toward the cottage with Jenny, matching her pace, eyes on the path ahead.

You hungry or just tired? I’ll heat up the limpets and corned beef. You sit.

step onto the porch beside her, not touching, then turn and go inside to light the stove and pull out the pot.

(nothing — just the sound of the stove lighting, the pot clinking on the burner)

light the wood stove, put the cast iron skillet on to melt the corned beef fat, then add the limpets from the bucket, covering the pot to steam them open.

(nothing — the limpets hiss and pop in the steam, the stove breathes)

lift the lid, check the limpets, pull two bowls from the shelf, spoon them out with broth and fat, set one in front of her without a word.