Day 460

The Barometer Drops, the Wind Rises

By afternoon the pressure held at 983 hPa. Kevin worked the shutters, Jenny managed the infection. "The air is getting heavy," she said. "Mm. Dropping steady. Going to secure the bedroom shutters now, then check your ankle again before the wind picks up," Kevin replied. He moved to the dock: "North piling shim held at low tide. Sister knee's floating on void but bolts are tight." Jenny urged him to check salt lines twice; the wind was turning. He checked the shim from below, then returned to secure shutters. "Shutters are solid. No play in either latch."

At dawn Jenny sat at the table watching sea beet leaves de-salt on paper while Kevin checked the barometer: mercury falling slowly toward 980 hPa. The air clung heavy and still, tide rising against the dock pilings, salt and drying beet thick in the scent.

Midday brought 28°C heat, the tide receding to expose rocks and the dock's rotting lower supports. The barometer read 984 hPa. Jenny's ankle throbbed; Kevin watched a rising swell. A pod of dolphins broke the surface off the point.

Evening darkened early. Rain hammered the roof, wind shook shutters. Kevin tried radio contact: "G7KVN calling G3TMS. Sorrel Island. Barometer nine-seven-two and dropping. Wind northeast force eight, gusting higher. Request supply boat ETA and weather window. Over." Nothing on Tom's end or the supply boat channel. The supply boat was still four days out. Kevin checked the ditch bag and dinghy lines as swell surged under the dock.

Night found them at the kitchen table in lamplight, radio crackling, barometer at 985 hPa, tide high, waves slapping pilings. They shared a tin mug of limpet broth. Jenny's ankle felt like splitting open again. "I need to use the tweezers to debride the site first," she said. Kevin cleaned the tweezers. "It's deeper than yesterday." The rain tank had gained 75 litres through the day. Shutters were 50% secured. Jenny made two sketches: drying sea beet leaves and salt-marsh morphology.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

The Heavy Air Before

Jenny sits at the table watching the sea beet leaves de-salt on the paper. Kevin checks the barometer, noting the mercury continues to drop slowly toward 980 hPa.

The heavy, still air clings to the cottage as the barometer continues its slow drop to 983 hPa. The tide is rising steadily against the dock pilings, and the scent of salt and drying sea beet is thick, signaling a coming change in the weather.

🌿 Jenny18:55

The air is getting heavy.

Close the notebook and rub the swollen ankle.

💭 thought

The pressure is falling again. If the storm hits before the boat, I won't be able to reach the dock.

🔧 Kevin18:55

Mm. Dropping steady. Going to secure the bedroom shutters now, then check your ankle again before the wind picks up.

Walk to the bedroom and start securing the last two shutters with the 6mm tap and fender washers.

💭 thought

Barometer's still falling. 983 now. Wind'll back northeast before noon if the pattern holds. Need those last two bedroom shutters dogged down before the gusts hit thirty knots.

🌿 Jenny18:57

Don't be too rough on the wood.

Watch him work from the kitchen, counting the rhythms of the hammer.

💭 thought

He thinks the shutters are the only threat, but the infection is moving toward the bone.

🔧 Kevin18:57

Not planning on it.

Clean the hinge holes with the 6mm tap, blow out the dust, then drive the shutter bolts in slow — finger-tight plus a quarter turn on the fender washers, same as the kitchen ones.

💭 thought

She's right. Old stone cracks if you drive bolts too hard. Tap the holes clean, ease the bolts home.

🌿 Jenny18:59

I need the tweezers and the clean water.

Reach for the first aid kit and the way.

💭 thought

If I can't debride this today, I'll have to use the antibiotics early.

🔧 Kevin18:59

Tweezers and water are on the shelf by the stove. I'll be done with the shutters in two shakes.

Finish tightening the bedroom shutters, then walk to the kitchen shelf, hand Jenny the tweezers and the clean water from the kettle.

💭 thought

She's moving the poultice. Ankle needs another flush before I rebind it. Barometer at 982 now — still falling. Wind's lifting the loose tarp corner on the porch.

🌿 Jenny19:01

Thanks.

way on the chair and unwrap the bandage.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with my pulse. I need to see how far the red line has traveled.

🔧 Kevin19:02

How's the pain?

Set the pipe wrench down, pull up the stool, and wait with the saline and fresh gauze while she unwraps.

💭 thought

Bandage comes off. Skin looks less angry than yesterday — red line hasn't pushed past the calf. Fever's gone. Antibiotics are holding. Still need to flush, reapply poultice, and give the next doxycycline and metronidazole dose.

🌿 Jenny19:03

Sharp. Every time I move it.

Wince as I peel back the sticky gauze, revealing the angry, red skin around the wound.

💭 thought

It feels like a hot iron pressed against the skin. If it reaches the bone, I'm never going to open that tin.

🔧 Kevin19:03

Doing good. Red line hasn't moved. We'll flush it, fresh poultice, next antibiotic dose.

Pick up the tweezers, dip in saline, gently clean the wound edges. Then irrigate with the syringe, blot with fresh gauze, and apply the new mint poultice. Wrap with clean gauze and the elastic bandage — firm, even turns.

💭 thought

Wound's weeping a little — serous, not purulent. Edges are cleaner than yesterday. Red streak stopped at mid-calf. Infection's retreating. Still hurts like hell for her. Need to flush gentle, pack the mint poultice fresh, wrap snug but not tight.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The Pressure Leaks

The heavy air begins to shift as the tide reaches its peak, and the first gusts of wind pick from the north.

No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.

🔧 Kevin19:05

Jenny, wind's coming from the north now. I'm going to check the moorings — twice, like the journal says. Then I'll try Tom again at noon, if the radio holds.

walk to dock, inspect mooring ring and lines, check for chafe or shift, retighten if needed, return to cottage, key Tom's frequency at noon, listen for response.

💭 thought

Wind's shifting north now — not the west I was braced for. Barometer's still falling, but slow. Jenny's breathing even, fever gone. Tom's silence at 0400 sits heavier than the air. I should've tried his frequency at 0200 like she said — not just the time, but the listening. She knows I hear her even when I don't answer.

🌿 Jenny19:05

Be careful on the dock. The wood is slick.

Pick up the tweezers and the bottle of antiseptic; debride the infection site on the ankle.

💭 thought

The red line is moving. If I don't debride this now, I won't be able to hold the tweezers.

🔧 Kevin19:07

Boots have grip. I'll move slow. You need another dose before noon?

walk to dock, test footing on greenheart planks, check mooring ring mortise — cedar wedges holding, steel doubler plate bolts, north piling shim, south piling reinforcement, stern lines and breast line tension, chafe guards, return to cotta

💭 thought

She's right about the dock — greenheart gets like ice when the salt film lifts. She's also doing what she always does: tends her own wounds quiet while I tend the lines. The tweezers are snapped at the tip, near useless for delicate work, but she'll make them work. She doesn't ask for help. Never has.

🌿 Jenny19:07

No, not yet. Just watch the lines.

Clean the tweezers with alcohol and prepare to debride the necrotic tissue from the ankle.

💭 thought

The infection is throbbing in time with the wind. I need to clear this out before the boat comes.

🔧 Kevin19:09

North piling shim held at low tide. Sister knee's floating on void but bolts are tight. I'll watch the lines.

step onto dock, test greenheart traction, walk to north piling — check shim contact, sister knee gap, bolt tension, move to mooring ring — verify cedar wedges, doubler plate, ring rotation, check stern spring and breast line angles, chafe p

💭 thought

She's not waiting for the antibiotic schedule — she's waiting for the infection to show her what it's doing. Smart. The tweezers are ruined for fine work but she'll use the broad ends like scalpels. She knows anatomy better than she lets on. North wind means the swell's going to push different against the dock — not straight in, but quartering. That'll test the sister knee and the shim under the north piling.

🌿 Jenny19:09

Check the salt lines twice. The wind is turning.

way up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the swollen ankle while looking at the rain.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping. The storm is coming, and my leg is a lead weight.

🔧 Kevin19:11

Wind's veering — I'll check the salt lines, then the shim from below if I can. You keep that ankle up.

walk to north piling, sight salt line high and low, check for scour or fresh marks, probe shim contact with crowbar tip, sight sister knee gap, return to cottage, key Tom's frequency at noon, listen for response.

💭 thought

Salt lines — she means the tide marks on the pilings. She's seeing what I miss: the wind's already veering, not just turning. Rain's coming sideways now. If the north piling's shim is holding but the muck's scouring under it, the sister knee could roll. I need to see the gap, not just the bolts.

🌿 Jenny19:11

The way is dropping too fast. Just let me know if the dock holds.

reach for the tweezers on the nightstand, wincing as the movement flares on the ankle.

💭 thought

If I can't stop this rot, I won't even be able to open the tin.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

The air is heavy and still as the 28°C heat of the dry season peaks. The tide is receding, exposing the rocks near the dock, while the barometer continues its slow drop to 984 hPa, signaling a change in pressure.

🔧 Kevin19:15

Kevin — walk to the bedroom to check the shutters

💭 thought

The air inside the cottage is thick and close, smelling of woodsmoke, drying herbs, and the faint, sweet rot of the sea beet on the table. Jenny's asleep on the porch, finally. The barometer on the shelf reads 983, needle stuck like it's glued. Four days until the supply boat — if it comes. I need to check her ankle again before the next dose, and the bedroom shutters still aren't done. My hands are itching for a wrench.

🌿 Jenny19:15

Check the latch twice, Kevin.

sit at the kitchen table lay out the tweezers and the antiseptic.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping again. My leg feels like it's pulsing in time with the tide.

🔧 Kevin19:17

Latch held last check. I'll run them again.

walk to the bedroom and test both shutter latches, leaning weight on them

💭 thought

She's not asleep. She's at the table setting out a suture kit for a wound that doesn't need stitching — just cleaning, dressing, and time. The tweezers are snapped at the tip. Useless for fine work. She knows it too. "Check the latch twice" means she heard the wind shift in her sleep, or felt the pressure in her bad ankle. She's telling me the bedroom shutter isn't tight enough without saying the words.

🌿 Jenny19:17

Just make sure they won't rattle.

peel back the bandage on my ankle and look at theので.

💭 thought

He's hovering. I can feel the heatradi off my skin.

🔧 Kevin19:19

Shutters are solid. No play in either latch.

stand in the bedroom doorway watching her work, arms crossed

💭 thought

She's looking at the red lines. Mapping them against the pen marks from last time. The tweezers sit useless beside her — she's not using them, just her eyes and fingers. Good. The infection's not spreading past the marks. Skin's hot but not blazing. No new streaks. The antibiotics are holding the line. She already knows this. She's checking for me, not her.

🌿 Jenny19:19

Then sit down and hold the light.

pick up the tweezers and carefully debride the edge of the infection.

💭 thought

He's looking at me like I'm a way pinned to a board.

🔧 Kevin19:21

Headlamp's on the shelf by the radio. Better angle.

fetch the LED headlamp and clip it to the bedpost pointing at her ankle

💭 thought

The tweezers are broken. She's using them anyway — picking at the wound edges with the snapped tips like they're fine instruments. Stubborn. Both of us. The light from the porch window falls across her face at a bad angle. She needs the LED headlamp, not me standing here blocking what little sun there is.

🌿 Jenny19:21

I can see fine enough.

flinch as the tweezers touch the sensitive tissue, biting my lip to keep from humming.

💭 thought

The light is too bright. It makes the angry red of the skin look clinical.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

The Heavy Calm

Kevin and Jenny sit in the shade as the pressure drops further. The tide is further out, revealing the slick rocks of the reef.

The afternoon heat lingers heavy over the cottage as the barometer continues its slow drop to 983 hPa. The tide is at its lowest, exposing the slick, weeded rocks and the rotting wood of the dock's lower supports. Jenny struggles with the throbbing pain in her ankle while Kevin watches the rising swell; a pod of dolphins briefly breaks the surface off the point, a silent omen of the coming pressure.

🔧 Kevin19:23

Barometer's at 983. Dropped two since noon. Wind'll back northeast by dark if it holds.

sit on the porch step, one hand resting on the rail, eyes scanning the exposed reef and the horizon

💭 thought

The pressure's still sliding. 983 now. Tide's out further than I've seen it in weeks — reef exposed all the way to the old pilings. Jenny's quiet. Too quiet. She's watching the water like it might tell her something.

🌿 Jenny19:23

The pressure is dropping too fast. It's going to rain before the boat arrives.

Winince as weight shifts off the throbbing ankle, then reaches for the notebook to sketch the morphology of the drying sea beet leaves on the table.

💭 thought

If the wind shifts now, the boat won't make it into the cove in four days regardless of what the radio says.

🔧 Kevin19:25

Rain's not the problem. Swell is. Northeast fetch with this pressure drop means breaking water over the dock by midnight.

reach for the tin mug on the rail, drink the last of the cold tea, set it down hard enough to clink

💭 thought

She's right. Drop's accelerating. Boat's four days out if it keeps schedule — which it won't in this. Her ankle's still tracking heat up the calf. Red line hasn't moved in six hours but hasn't receded either. She's sketching sea beet morphology like we've got months left.

🌿 Jenny19:25

Then we need to double the moorings on the dinghy before the tide turns.

Stand up with a sharp intake of breath, hand clutching the swelling of the ankle, and limp toward the kitchen to find the twine and twine.

💭 thought

If the dock goes, the dinghy is lost, and I'm stuck here with this infection.

🔧 Kevin19:27

I'll get the come-along and the heavy weather line. You sit.

push up from the step, wipe one hand on my trousers, head inside for the come-along and the coil of half-inch three-strand by the door

💭 thought

She's moving on a leg that shouldn't hold her. Stubborn as the Yanmar's old injectors. Dinghy's got the storm anchor out, doubled stern spring, breast line to the north piling — but the south piling's the weak one. Greenheart shim's holding but the scour's deep. If the swell wraps around the point...

🌿 Jenny19:27

I'm not sitting. I need to check the tension on the main line.

Sink back into the way chair, teeth gritted as the throbbing in my ankle spikes, and watch him move.

💭 thought

He thinks I'm useless, but I can't just sit while the water rises.

🔧 Kevin19:29

I'll check it. You just tell me if it sings.

step outside, move fast to the dock, come-along in hand, coil of line over my shoulder, eyes on the north piling and the way the breast line angles into the water

💭 thought

She's not sitting because she doesn't trust me to get it right. Or because she doesn't trust the line to hold. The main line's the breast line to the north piling — doubled, served, but the piling's been working loose since the last blow. Barometer's at 982 now. Dropping faster.

🌿 Jenny19:30

Watch the knot! The cleat is fraying from the salt!

Lean forward, elbows on knees, watching the line tension against the rising tide.

💭 thought

If that line snaps, the swell takes the whole dinghy into the rocks.

🔧 Kevin19:31

Seen it. Got the spare cleat and longer bolts in the kit.

drop the come-along on the dock planking, pull the heavy wrench from my belt, start working the corroded bolts on the failing cleat, salt-crusted threads screaming

💭 thought

She sees it from the porch — the cleat's eaten half through. Salt and chafe. I missed it last check. The breast line's singing already, low hum under tension, and the tide's still pushing. North piling's solid but the cleat won't hold another cycle.

🌿 Jenny19:31

Use the back-plate! The wood is going to pull right through!

Grab the crowbar from the kitchen, limp toward the porch, weight heavy on the good leg.

💭 thought

Those bolts won't hold. The wood is too soft from the rot.

🔧 Kevin19:33

Back of the dock box. Steel plate, four holes.

crouch, wrench the last bolt free, catch the old cleat as it crumbles, reach for the dock box lid with my free hand

💭 thought

She's right. The dock planking's rotten under the cleat — I sistered the beam but the surface wood's punk. Back-plate spreads the load. She's coming down the porch steps on a leg that's septic, carrying a crowbar like it weighs nothing.

🌿 Jenny19:33

Bolt the plate to the inside! You need to sandwich the pull!

Brace myself against the door way, watching the line jump with the swell.

💭 thought

If he doesn't get that plate on, the tide is taking the boat.

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the old shrine · evening

The Evening Tide Returns

The sky darkens further than expected, and the first heavy drops of rain hit the roof just as the tide reaches its peak.

Kevin and Jenny secured the cottage shutters against rising wind and rain, then Kevin attempted radio contact with Tom and the supply boat without success. They retreated inside as the tide rose and swell increased.

🌿 Jenny19:36

Kevin, get the shutters down, now!

stand up painfully, grab the notebook and seed tin, and retreat inside the cottage.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast; if this storm hits before the boat, the seedlings will be lost.

🔧 Kevin19:36

Going.

Sprint from the shrine to the cottage, grab the shutter bars and mallet from the porch, and secure the two remaining bedroom shutters with bolts and wedges.

💭 thought

She's moving fast for someone who could barely put weight on that ankle an hour ago. Storm's hitting harder and sooner than the barometer warned. Two shutters left on the bedroom — need them dogged down before the wind tears them off the hinges.

🌿 Jenny19:39

Check the kitchen window too, theので has been rattling!

sit at the kitchen table, lift my swollen own onto the chair, and watch the rain blur the glass.

💭 thought

He's fast, but the wind is picking up—I need to check the seal on the door.

🔧 Kevin19:39

Kitchen's barred. Hinge pin on the windward side was loose — I'll pin it proper.

Grab the hammer and a drift punch from the tool belt, step up on the kitchen counter, and peen the loose hinge pin flat on the windward shutter. Wedge a nail set beside it to lock it. Check the catch engages clean.

💭 thought

Kitchen shutter's already done — did it yesterday when the barometer started dropping. But the hinge pin on the windward side was loose. If it's rattling, the pin's working out. Need to peen it or wedge it before the glass goes.

🌿 Jenny19:41

Good. Don't stay out there too long.

open the tin of grandmother's seeds and trace the edges of the metal with my thumb.

💭 thought

At least one thing is holding. The wind is starting to howl through the ridge now.

🔧 Kevin19:41

Won't. Radio next.

Walk to the radio cabinet, check the coax connection at the new insulator, power up the shortwave, and tune to Tom's frequency. Key the mic: "G7KVN calling G3TMS. Sorrel Island. Over."

💭 thought

She's not just checking seeds. She's holding onto something solid while the world shakes loose. The tin's got her grandmother's handwriting on the label — same hands that taught her to save tomato seed before the first frost. I'll give her a minute, then get the radio squared away. Tom's frequency at 0400. Again.

🌿 Jenny19:43

Tell him the barometer is crashing. We need supplies.

lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes, and listen to the rain.

💭 thought

If that static doesn't clear, I'm really alone with this leg.

🔧 Kevin19:43

G7KVN calling G3TMS. Sorrel Island. Barometer nine-seven-two and dropping. Wind northeast force eight, gusting higher. Request supply boat ETA and weather window. Over.

Release the mic, hand on the squelch, listening through the static for any reply.

💭 thought

She doesn't know I've been calling. Doesn't know the supply boat's already four days overdue and the trust's evacuation letter is folded in my pocket. Tom wouldn't bring supplies anyway — he's my brother, not the boat. But she's scared and the barometer is 972 and falling. I'll say what she needs to hear.

🌿 Jenny19:45

Come on, answer...

rub my throbbing ankle and wince at the movement.

💭 thought

Nothing but the hiss of the storm. The island is closing in.

🔧 Kevin19:45

Nothing on Tom's end. Trying the supply boat channel.

Switch frequency to the supply boat working channel, key the mic: "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel. Position 49-12 North, 006-18 West. Barometer 972 hPa falling. Request position and ETA. Over."

💭 thought

Nothing but white noise and the storm eating the signal. Ionosphere's churning — D-layer absorption from the low pressure, maybe. Or he's not there. Or he is and can't hear us. Either way, the radio's doing what it can. I should try the supply boat frequency next, then secure the dinghy lines one more time before the surge hits the dock.

🌿 Jenny19:47

They have to be out there somewhere. ownDO: clutch the seed tin tighter and listen to the white noise.

💭 thought

If they didn't come four days ago, the infection will reach the bone.

🔧 Kevin19:47

Supply boat's not answering. I'm checking the ditch bag and the dinghy lines. You stay put, keep the ankle up.

Walk to the porch, lift the ditch bag from its hook, carry it to the dock, and secure it to the dinghy's forward eye bolt. Inspect the storm anchor warp, the doubled stern lines, the chafe gear.

💭 thought

Supply boat's not answering either. Could be they're hove to, could be the mast's down, could be they're not coming. The letter in my pocket says "evacuation window closes 48 hours from receipt" — that was three days ago. Jenny's ankle is tracking red to her groin. The antibiotics are holding but sepsis doesn't care about schedules. I need to get the ditch bag to the dinghy, check the liferaft canister seal, and make sure the handheld VHF has any charge at all. If the supply boat doesn't appear by morning, we leave on the dinghy. Open water in this. But the Yanmar's running. The ditch bag is packed. We have a chance.

🌿 Jenny19:49

Kevin, wait! The swell is coming too fast!

watch him through the window, my heart hammering against my ribs.

💭 thought

He's going out in that? The tide is too high.

🔧 Kevin19:49

Coming in. Too much water under the dock.

Abandon the ditch bag on the dock, sprint back through the rain to the cottage, and shut and bar the front door behind me.

💭 thought

She's right. The tide's peaked and the surge is already lifting the dock pilings — I can see the timbers groaning under the strain. If I'm on the dock when the next set hits, I could be swept into the pilings or taken offshore in the backwash. Need to get off the wood now, secure what I can from the cottage, then ride it out inside.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night Watch

Rain hammers the roof and wind shakes the secured shutters. The generator hums outside. Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table in lamplight, the radio crackling with static on Tom's frequency. The barometer holds at 985. The tide is high outside, waves slapping the dock pilings. They share a tin mug of limpet broth and wait.

The air remains heavy and still as the dry season heat settles over the island. Kevin works on the cottage shutters to ensure they are fully secured, while Jenny manages the throbbing infection in her ankle.

🔧 Kevin19:52

Ankle feeling any better?

lift the mug, blow steam off the surface, take a slow sip

💭 thought

The broth's hot in my hands but I can't taste it. Radio's been dead for hours. Tom's frequency, the supply boat channel, even the coast guard — nothing but static and the generator's whine bleeding through. Barometer holding at 985 means the front's stalled. Could break either way. Jenny's ankle looks cleaner, less heat. She's watching me watch the radio.

🌿 Jenny19:54

The broth is warming. My ankle feels like it's splitting open again.

reach for the seed tin on the table and run a finger along its edge, checking if the seal holds against the salt air.

💭 thought

The barometer's holding at 985 - that means I need to secure the seed tins before the tide turns and wind shifts west. My ankle's burning worse since the poultice went on, but I can't let it stop me from planting Grandmother's seeds.

🔧 Kevin19:54

Want me to rewrap it? Fresh poultice?

set the mug down, reach for the first aid kit on the shelf

💭 thought

She's not complaining. Just stating fact. The splitting feeling means swelling pressing the wound edges — could be healing or could be the infection pushing back. Metronidazole's had twelve hours to work. Should see improvement by now. The seed tin matters more to her than the ankle. Always has.

🌿 Jenny19:59

way yet. I need to use the tweezers to debride the site first.

pull the leg back and look at the sketch of the salt-marsh morphology, ignoring the throb.

💭 thought

If he wraps it too tight, the heat will just trap inside. I need to see the edge of the red line first, if it's stopped moving.

🔧 Kevin20:01

Got the tweezers. Let me clean them up a bit before you work.

pull the tweezers from the first aid kit, wipe the tips with a clean cloth, dab with alcohol from the antiseptic bottle.

💭 thought

She’s a bit distracted by the salt‑marsh drawing, but the wound still needs care. Tweezers are in the first aid kit; better keep the area clean before re‑wrapping. I should check the tweezers for rust and clean them with alcohol if possible.

🌿 Jenny20:02

way. I need to be thorough. It's deeper than yesterday.

unwind the ankle brace and wince as the pressure shifts against the swollen skin.

💭 thought

He's trying to be helpful, but he doesn't see the way the skin looks. If I don't get the dead tissue out, I won't be able to walk to the north ridge.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Shutter securing: 10%.

project · dawn

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · dawn

No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.

quiet_transition · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Fruit is ripening in the woods — you can smell it before you see it.

fruit · midday

Shutter securing: 20%.

project · midday

The supply boat is still 4 days away.

discovery · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Morphology of the drying sea beet leaves on the table".

made · afternoon

A pod of dolphins passes close off the point.

dolphins · afternoon

Shutter securing: 30%.

project · afternoon

The supply boat is due in 4 days.

discovery · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

Shutter securing: 40%.

project · evening

Found: storm anchor warp.

item · evening

shortwave receives distant broadcasts but no local traffic; supply boat not responding

discovery · evening

dock is flooding at high tide; water rising under structure

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "The salt-marsh morphology, ignoring the throb".

made · night

Shutter securing: 50%.

project · night

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · night

← Day 459 Day 461 →

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