Day 330

Aye. Hand me the dibber and the trowel—I’ll stake the loose tomatoes while you’re inside.

walk to the garden wall, pick up the dibber and trowel leaning against the stones, then begin staking any tomato stems that are leaning or loose from last night’s wind, working row by row.

Got it. I’ll keep an eye on the windward side—if it starts to flap, I’ll come help you batten down.

continue staking the tomato stems, moving steadily down the rows, checking each plant for looseness and driving the stake deeper where needed, then tying the stem loosely with twine.

One more row, then I’ll secure the tarp and check the dinghy lines. Won’t be long.

finish staking the current row of tomato plants, then walk to the garden tarp’s loose corner, re-stake it with the spare wooden stakes from the shed, and pull the tarp tight before tying it off with sail twine.

On my way. I’ll grab the tin and the packets from the shelf and bring them straight to the table.

drop the trowel and dibber where I stand, walk quickly to the cottage porch, pick up Jenny’s seed tin and the damp seed packets from the shelf, carry them inside, and place them on the paper towels beside Jenny’s packets, making sure they d

It’s on the table. Right beside yours.

set the seed tin and the damp packets down on the paper towels next to Jenny’s, making sure none overlap, then step back and wipe my hands on my trousers.

Holding. Insulator's sealed. Coax is dry.

Check the radio's power light and listen for static on the monitored frequency.

I'll wipe the sill and check the shutter seal after the gust passes.

Stand, grab a dry rag from the hook, and move to the kitchen window to blot water seeping in at the frame.

Radio check in ten. Then I'm walking the dock lines.

walk to the dock

The ring held last blow. The piling shim's solid. Just checking the chafe.

walk down the path to the dock, testing footing on the wet boards

I'll lash the tarp over the seed trays after the dock. Generator first.

reach the dock, grab the mooring line where it bites the ring, feel for play in the mortise with my weight on it

Got it. Wire brush and WD-40 on the flywheel teeth before I cinch the ratchet straps.

lean over the gunwale, run fingers along the chafe guard on the stern spring — new rope, good splice, but the guard's wearing thin at the chock

Radio check in ten. I'll take the rat out past the point before the tide turns.

pick up the bagged rat carcass and walk down the path to the south beach, timing the throw for the outgoing current

Staying inside the kelp. Back in five.

walk to the water's edge past the tide pools, heave the bagged carcass into the current where it catches the outflow past the kelp bed, watch it disappear, then turn back toward the cottage

Copy that. Radio first. Then the dock.

step onto the porch, pick up the shortwave handset, depress the PTT and call the trust's scheduled frequency — "Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Keeper Kevin, check-in day three-three-zero, over"

Trying again. Same call.

release PTT, wait two seconds, depress again and repeat the check-in call — "Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Keeper Kevin, check-in day three-three-zero, over"

Tea sounds right. I'll check the dinghy's chafe guard while it heats.

walk to the dinghy, inspect the chafe guard at the stern chock for wear, feel for thin spots with fingers, note if replacement is needed before the supply boat arrives in 4 days.

Won't let it. I'll wipe it down after inspection and re-serve with fresh cordage if needed.

continue inspecting the dinghy's chafe guard at the chock, run fingers along the rope to find worn strands, check if the serving sail twine is intact, then return to the cottage porch to rinse hands and wipe the guard with a damp rag if sal

Aye. I'll step light.

step carefully across the slick dock planks back to the cottage porch, rinse salt off hands in the bucket by the door, wipe the chafe guard with a damp rag from the shelf, then sit at the table with the mackerel and wait for tea.

Thanks.

take the mug she pushes over, wrap both hands around the ceramic, let the heat soak into knuckles and wrists, blow once across the surface, then sip—bitter, hot, good.

Kevin — set the mug down, pick up my fork, break the mackerel into the bowl, eat slow, watch her hand move across the page—steady, deliberate—while the wind picks up outside and rattles the porch shutter.

Then we batten proper tomorrow. Dock lines, garden tarp, generator lashings. Tonight we eat.

finish the mackerel, drain the tea, set the mug aside, pull the notebook closer without asking, glance at the sea beet sketch—salt glands rendered in fine lines, labelled in her hand—then push it back and stand to rinse the bowl.

Aye. Tin comes in. Tarp first — south corner's still loose from yesterday.

walk to the porch and check the garden tarp's south corner, batten it down with timber strips and weight it with the tool bag

Kevin — step out onto the porch and pull the spare tarp tight over the garden rows, tucking the leading edge under the ridge beam and battening it down with timber strips

Stakes are driven deep. Twine's holding.

finish battening the tarp's west edge, then walk back to the cottage and check the shutters on the kitchen window, latching them tight

Right behind you.

step through the door, pull it shut, drop the bolt, and hang the storm lantern on its hook by the table