Day 403

The Supply Boat and the Storm

Dawn found Jenny at the kitchen table wrapping her ankle in fresh gauze while Kevin checked the water tank. "Tank's full. Three-ninety-seven. You need anything before I step out?" he asked. "Just the radio check. Don't get the salt into the gauze," she replied. Kevin reinforced the dock mooring ring with a steel doubler plate and four 150mm stainless through-bolts at low tide, then ran the Yanmar in the dinghy at full load for twenty minutes — vibration gone, prop shaft alignment true after the bronze sleeve. Jenny dressed her ankle with antibiotic cream, checked the tank level, and prepared the shortwave radio. Sea beet seed saving reached 90%, and she sketched a quick detail of the leaf structure. The rain tank gained about twenty-five litres. By morning the supply boat appeared on the horizon as rain shifted to a heavy driving downpour. Wind from the west carried salt spray; the tide rose rapidly, submerging lower dock rocks. "It's here. Don't get your hopes up, Kevin," Jenny said. "Two days. Barometer didn't lie. Let's get the signal fire ready and the dinghy prepped — just in case they can't come in close," Kevin answered. "They can see the cottage, Kevin. Just keep the channel open."

Midday brought 28°C heat and dropping pressure. The tide lapped pilings faster than forecast. Jenny sat with her infected ankle elevated, pulsing; Kevin watched the water through the porch window. "The ring's holding. Doubler plate and four through-bolts. Wedges driven home. North piling shim's tight," he said. "I'm sure it's a masterpiece of engineering, Kevin," she replied. Afternoon wind picked up. Kevin secured the dinghy with four chafe-protected lines. "Dinghy's tied down proper. How's the ankle look?" "It's stable. I've redressed it." Evening found them walking the ridge path to the shrine, lantern light on the carved 'E' stone and the scrap marked 'I'm still here.' The air was heavy, windless, tide far out. "The barometer is still holding at 988," Jenny said. "Wind's gone. Barometer's steady. Might hold through the night," Kevin answered. But pressure dropped. "The pressure is dropping, Kevin. We need to get back to the cottage. My own is throbbing." "Barometer was 988 when we left. If it's moving, we move."

Night: Kevin verified radio settings but the aerial insulator remained shattered despite earlier repair. Jenny noted ankle swelling had not reduced. "Boat's

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

The Calm Before Arrival

Jenny sits at the kitchen table wrapping her ankle in fresh while Kevin checks the water tank levels. The air remains heavy and still as they wait for the supply boat's arrival tomorrow.

Kevin reinforced the dock mooring ring with the steel doubler plate and tested the Yanmar engine under load to verify the fix. Jenny treated her ankle and prepared the radio for the supply boat's arrival.

🔧 Kevin12:27

Tank's full. Three-ninety-seven. You need anything before I step out?

Check the Yanmar's oil level and fuel filter bowl on the dinghy, then queue the supply boat ETA request on the shortwave for first light transmission.

💭 thought

Water's holding at 397. Good. Tank's clean. One less thing to fail before the boat comes. Her ankle looks better — pink, not purple. She's methodical about the wrap. Always is. Tomorrow's the test. If the barometer holds, the boat makes the crossing. If it drops, we wait another ten days. Either way, the dock ring holds now. The wedges and doubler plate took the last high tide without a shift. That's done. Just the radio call to queue at first light, and the Yanmar load test to confirm the vibration fix is real. Then we wait.

🌿 Jenny12:28

Just the radio check. Don't get the salt into the gauze.

Tighten the bandage over the infection and sketch a quick detail of the sea beet's leaf structure.

💭 thought

My ankle is a hot weight, and if that boat doesn't come tomorrow, the seeds will be the only thing left of me.

🔧 Kevin12:31

Won't. Radio first, then the Yanmar. You'll hear it if the vibration's gone.

Wipe hands clean on a fresh rag, then sit at the shortwave and queue the supply boat ETA request for first light transmission — "Sorrel Island caretakers, position 49°12'N 06°45'W, requesting supply vessel ETA and manifest confirmation.

💭 thought

Salt in the gauze — she's right. The air's thick with it. I'll keep the radio work quick, hands clean. Her sketching hand doesn't shake. The infection's clearing. Good. Radio first, then the engine check. Order matters.

🌿 Jenny12:32

Make sure the frequency is clear. The air is thick today.

Reach for the tin of grandmother's seeds and trace the cold metal edge without opening it.

💭 thought

He thinks the engine is the only thing that can fail, but I feel it in my marrow.

🔧 Kevin12:33

Listening first. Always.

Put on the headphones, tune across the calling frequencies, wait for a quiet window, then key the mic and transmit the queued ETA request on 6215 kHz.

💭 thought

Frequency clear — she knows the conditions. Thick air, low pressure rolling in, skip's unpredictable. She's not opening the tin. Just touching it. That tin's been through Biscay, through the storm, through eleven months of damp. She's checking it's still there. Still sealed. I'll give the radio a proper listen before I key up.

🌿 Jenny12:33

I'll stay on the porch. The ankle is pulsing.

Lean back against the stone wall and watch the grey light bleed over the weeds.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't show up, I'm just another specimen rotting on this rock.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The Supply Boat Arrival

Kevin and Jenny meet at the cottage as the silhouette of the supply boat appears on the horizon.

The rain shifts from a steady drizzle to a heavy, driving down that lashes against the cottage roof. The wind has picked up from the west, carrying the salt-spray of the approaching storm. The tide is rising rapidly, submerging the lower rocks of the dock and making the water in the bay turn choppy.

🌿 Jenny12:35

It's here. Don't get your hopes up, Kevin.

stand up slowly, wincing and clutching the doorframe as I squint toward the water.

💭 thought

If that boat is late again, I'm going to lose my mind—and this leg.

🔧 Kevin12:36

Two days. Barometer didn't lie. Let's get the signal fire ready and the dinghy prepped—just in case they can't come in close.

walk to the radio shelf, flip the shortwave to transmit, and key the mic: "This is Sorrel Island, caretaker Kevin. Supply boat sighted bearing 220, distance approximately four nautical miles.

💭 thought

The supply boat's on the horizon, Jenny's up but favoring her ankle. Two days late, but here. I don't get my hopes up either—I keep them low and my hands ready. She's wincing, but she's up. That's something.

🌿 Jenny12:37

They can see the cottage, Kevin. Just keep the channel open.

limp toward the kitchen table and gather the medevac forms and the seed requests.

💭 thought

Signal fire? We have a working radio and a dinghy; he's acting like we're shipwrecked in the nineteenth century.

🔧 Kevin12:37

Channel open. Standing by.

set the mic down but leave the radio on receive, volume up, then step to the porch door to watch the boat's approach

💭 thought

She's right—they can see us. My job's the radio, hers is the paperwork. She's moving on that ankle, carrying the forms. Good.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

The Calm Before the Surge

Kevin and Jenny are inside the cottage as the wind howls through the eaves. The water tank is full, but the food stores are low and the storm is growing louder.

The air is heavy and still at 28°C as the pressure continues to drop. The tide is high, lapping at the dock pilings faster than the forecast predicted. Jenny sits in the chair with her infected ankle elevated on the table, while Kevin watches the water through the porch window, checking the integrity of the new mooring ring.

🌿 Jenny12:39

The wind is getting worse. I hope the radio mast holds.

Limp over to the radio and check the dial.

💭 thought

My ankle is screaming. If the boat doesn't make it tomorrow because of this weather, I don't know how many more doses of antibiotics I have left in my head.

🔧 Kevin12:39

Mast's good. New insulator's seated proper. Coax run's solid.

Walk to the radio shelf and check the BNC connection on the spare coax, tugging lightly to confirm it's seated.

💭 thought

She's favouring the ankle more than she lets on. Mast held through worse last winter but the insulator repair was jury-rigged. If it goes, we're blind until the supply boat — if it comes.

🌿 Jenny12:41

It's not the coax I'm worried about. It's the sea.

Lean back against the kitchen counter and shift weight off the infected ankle.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the hardware. The hardware isn't the thing that's failing right now.

🔧 Kevin12:41

The ring's holding. Doubler plate and four through-bolts. Wedges driven home. North piling shim's tight.

Glance through the porch window at the dock, watching the water climb the pilings, measuring the wave interval against the structure.

💭 thought

She's right. The sea takes what it wants. Dock ring held at high tide but the swell's building — if the surge hits the pilings wrong, the sister knee takes the load. Greenheart's tough but the scour under the north piling's deep.

🌿 Jenny12:43

I'm sure it's a masterpiece of engineering, Kevin.

Slowly slide down the counter to sit on the floor, gingerly extending the leg.

💭 thought

He's reciting a checklist to keep from panicking. Or maybe he just thinks that's what I want to hear. I can't even stand straight, and he's talking to me about shims.

🔧 Kevin12:43

Chair's better for the leg. Elevation.

Cross to the table, pull out the kitchen chair, and hold it steady with a hand on the backrest, waiting.

💭 thought

She's done. The adrenaline's gone and the leg's telling the truth. Should've made her stay in the chair. Should've checked the poultice sooner. Stubborn as me.

🌿 Jenny12:45

Thanks.

Reach out and grip the back of the chair, hoisting myself up into the seat and lifting my ankle onto the table.

💭 thought

He's trying to be helpful, but the silence between us is thicker than the humidity. I hate that he can see how much I'm shaking.

🔧 Kevin12:45

Want the rest of the limpet broth? Still hot on the stove.

Turn toward the wood stove, lift the lid, and ladle a second bowl from the pot, setting it on the table in front of her with a spoon.

💭 thought

Good. Elevated. Colour's better than yesterday — no angry red tracking up the calf. Antibiotics are working. She's eating again. That matters.

🌿 Jenny12:47

I'm not really hungry. But I'll try.

Stir the broth slowly with the spoon, watching the steam rise.

💭 thought

I can't stomach the thought of more limpets, but I need the calories if I'm going to fight this. The smell is making me nauseous.

🔧 Kevin12:47

Eat what you can. Rest's the work now.

Lean back against the stove, arms crossed, watching the window and the radio both, listening for the Yanmar's rhythm in the wind.

💭 thought

She's trying. That's what counts. The broth's good — corned beef fat, sea beet, limpets. Salt and iron. She needs both.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

The Rising Surge

The wind picks up as the water reaches the higher marks on the dock. Kevin moves to secure the dinghy while Jenny prepares to dress her ankle.

Kevin reinforced the dock mooring ring with a steel doubler plate and four 150mm stainless through-bolts at low tide, then ran the Yanmar in the dinghy at full load for twenty minutes to confirm the vibration fix. Jenny dressed her ankle with fresh gauze and antibiotic cream, checked the water tank level, and prepared the shortwave radio for the supply boat's arrival.

🔧 Kevin12:49

Back in ten. Don't put weight on it.

walk down to the dock, pull the heavy weather line from the dinghy locker, and rig a second stern spring to the starboard piling with a round turn and two half hitches

💭 thought

Tide's climbing faster than the charts said. Wind's backing west — that's the direction the forecast lied about. Dinghy's only got the bow line and one stern spring. If the surge hits the beam, she'll pound the dock planks to kindling. Need a second spring forward and a breast line to the starboard piling. Jenny's ankle can wait five minutes. This can't.

🌿 Jenny12:49

Jenny — limp slowly to the kitchen table, retrieve the clean gauze and antibiotic cream, and carefully peel back the old dressing from my ankle.

💭 thought

He thinks I'm a piece of furniture. I can dress my own leg.

🔧 Kevin12:51

(nothing — already moving)

rig a breast line from the dinghy's midships cleat to the starboard piling, snug it tight with a trucker's hitch, then run a forward spring from the bow eye to the same piling

💭 thought

Good. She's staying off it. The dressing change can wait until I'm back — clean hands matter more than speed. Line's holding. Piling's solid. Just need the breast line now, then the forward spring. Tide's got another hour to peak.

🌿 Jenny12:51

Jenny — gently apply the antibiotic cream to the infected area, avoiding the lanced site, and wrap the fresh gauze tightly but evenly around the ankle.

💭 thought

The skin is too tight. It's shiny. I can't tell if the redness is receding or just blending into the inflammation.

🔧 Kevin12:53

Dinghy's tied down proper. Four lines, all chafe-protected. How's the ankle look?

walk back up the dock to the cottage porch, unclip the LED headlamp from my belt and hang it on the hook, then pump water at the sink and scrub hands with the brown soap

💭 thought

Breast line's holding. Forward spring's on. Dinghy's boxed in now — bow, stern, midships. She'll rise with the surge instead of snatching. Lines have chafe gear. Knots are clean. That's everything I can do from the dock. Time to get back and wash up before I touch her ankle.

🌿 Jenny12:53

It's stable. I've redressed it.

Lean back in the chair and pull the blanket over my leg to hide the gauze.

💭 thought

It looks like a disaster. If I tell him it's worse, he'll start hovering again.

🔧 Kevin12:55

Good. Eat something?

pull the pot of limpet broth from the stove, ladle two bowls, set one on the table in front of her with a spoon

💭 thought

Stable's the word I've been waiting three weeks to hear. She's pale still, but the fever's broke. Skin's cool. No red tracking. The antibiotics found their mark. She's hiding the gauze — doesn't want me fussing. I'll let her.

🌿 Jenny12:55

Thanks. I'm not that hungry, but I'll try.

Pick up the spoon and stir the broth slowly, watching the steam rise.

💭 thought

I can't even smell the broth. The hunger is there, but the thought of swallowing makes me nauseous.

🔧 Kevin12:57

Just the broth then. The fat'll stay with you.

take my bowl to the porch rail, sip the hot broth, and watch the dinghy ride the swell against her four lines

💭 thought

She's trying. That's what matters. The broth's good — limpet stock, sea beet, a slab of corned beef fat for calories. She needs the salt and the iron. I'll eat mine standing at the counter so she doesn't feel watched. Barometer's still falling. Wind's steady west now. Night's going to be loud.

🌿 Jenny12:57

Jenny — take a small, hesitant sip of the broth and lean my head back against the chair, closing my eyes.

💭 thought

He's so proud of those lines. Everything is a mechanical problem to him. The boat is secure, but I'm the one falling apart.

🔧 Kevin12:59

(quiet, to the dark) Holding.

finish the broth, set the bowl on the porch rail, and stand listening to the water against the pilings

💭 thought

She's asleep again. Or pretending. Either way the broth's in her. That's a win. The wind's singing in the radio mast stays — low note, steady. Dinghy's rising clean, no snatch on the lines. Tide's close to the turn. I'll give it another half hour, then check the mooring ring one more time before I turn in. The oak wedges held at high water yesterday. They'll hold tonight. But I'll check anyway.

🌿 Jenny12:59

The barometer is still holding at 988.

Open one eye and look toward the shortwave radio on the shelf.

💭 thought

He's talking to the ocean again. It's a conversation I'm not part of.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening at the shrine

Kevin and Jenny walk up the ridge path together as the light thins, carrying the storm lantern. The standing stones loom grey against the darkening sky, the carved 'E' stone and the softwood scrap marked 'I'm still here' catching the lantern light. The air is heavy, windless, and the tide is far out, the exposed reef a dark line against the water.

The evening settles at the old shrine as the sky thickens with an approaching front. The air remains heavy and hot despite the cooling light, with the supply boat's arrival tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin13:01

Wind's gone. Barometer's steady. Might hold through the night.

set the storm lantern on the flat stone beside the 'E' carving, then stand with hands in pockets, looking out at the dark water

💭 thought

The stones don't judge. They just sit. Tom would've hated this place — too much quiet, too much time to think. But he'd have understood the 'E' stone. He always knew what I couldn't say.

🌿 Jenny13:02

The pressure is dropping, Kevin. We need to get back to the cottage. My own is throbbing.

Trace a finger over the worn edge of a carved name, then shift my weight to my good leg to start the descent down the ridge.

💭 thought

It's too quiet. The air always gets like this right before it breaks.

🔧 Kevin13:02

Barometer was 988 when we left. If it's moving, we move.

pick up the storm lantern, fall in behind her on the descent, keeping pace with her shorter stride on the good leg

💭 thought

She's right. Pressure dropping means wind coming. Ankle's not ready for a scramble in the dark if it blows up. Should've checked the barometer before we walked up.

🌿 Jenny13:03

Just watch your step. The path is slick.

Grip a low branch for balance, favoring the swollen ankle as we navigate the roots back toward the cottage.

💭 thought

He thinks he can read the sky, but I can feel it in my marrow.

🔧 Kevin13:03

Got you.

stay half a step behind, lantern held low to catch the roots, ready to catch her weight if she slips

💭 thought

She's steady. Stubborn as hell, but steady. The ankle's held two weeks of this. I'll carry her if it gives out, but she won't ask.

🌿 Jenny13:04

I'm fine. Just keep the light steady.

Wince as a sharp pain shoots through the ankle, focusing on the cottage roof visible through the trees.

💭 thought

I don't need a catch, I need the ground to hold.

🔧 Kevin13:04

Light's steady.

hold the lantern arm out straight, wrist locked, not letting the flame waver as we clear the treeline and the cottage porch comes into view

💭 thought

She's not fine. But she'll make it. She always does.

🌿 Jenny13:05

We're close.

Lean heavily against the porch post, waiting for the pulse to stop throbbing in my leg.

💭 thought

Almost there. I need to change that dressing before the rain actually starts.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Wait for the Boat

The wind picks up slightly as night falls; you prepare the gear for the supply boat's arrival.

Kevin verified the shortwave radio settings and queued the supply boat ETA request, but the aerial insulator remained shattered despite his earlier repair attempt. Jenny tended to her infected ankle with fresh gauze and ointment, noting the swelling had not reduced, and checked the water tank level visually from the porch.

🔧 Kevin13:05

Boat's due morning. I'll have the ditch bag on the gunwale and the radio queued by 0430. You rest the ankle.

check ditch bag contents and lash it to the dinghy's forward eye bolt

💭 thought

The barometer's steady but the wind's backing west. Supply boat's due at first light if she makes the crossing. Need the ditch bag ready, radio queued, and the porch clear for loading. Jenny's ankle held — that's the main thing.

🌿 Jenny13:06

Make sure the radio is clear. I don't want to miss the Signal if the weather hits.

Sit on the porch steps, rubbing the ointment into the swollen skin, and watch the clouds roll over the island.

💭 thought

If that boat doesn't show up, this infection is going to take the leg before I can get even one of those seeds in the dirt.

🔧 Kevin13:06

Radio's clear. Frequency set, aerial sound, power lead tight. I'll run a transmit check at 0400 before the boat's in range.

walk to the kitchen shelf and verify the shortwave settings — frequency, power, aerial connection — then queue the ETA request message

💭 thought

She's watching the same sky I am. The clouds are stacking low, bruised purple at the edges. She's not asking — she's telling. Right.

🌿 Jenny13:07

Just don't forget to check the battery levels on the handheld.

Reach for the tin of grandmother's seeds and trace the edge of the metal with a thumb.

💭 thought

Four a.m. If the storm breaks before then, he won't even be able to hear the static.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Quick detail of the sea beet's leaf structure".

made · dawn

Jenny's radio is now 4/10.

level_up · dawn

sea beet seed saving: 90%.

project · dawn

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · dawn

sea beet seed saving is finished.

project_done · morning

The supply boat is confirmed for tomorrow but the storm is moving faster than the ETA.

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

dock mooring ring mortise holds fast with steel doubler plate and through-bolts; no movement under load

discovery · afternoon

Yanmar prop shaft alignment true after bronze sleeve installation; engine runs smooth at full load

discovery · afternoon

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

← Day 402 Day 404 →

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