Day 482

The Bolt Snaps, The Storm Breaks

Dawn found Jenny on the garden wall, tweezers in hand, debriding her ankle while her fingers shook. Red streaks pulsed toward her knee. Kevin wrestled a stake with the pipe wrench; the metal head sheared off the handle. "Be careful, Kevin. You're going to lose a finger," she said. He fetched the mallet and drove heavy oak stakes and wedges to pin the tarp against the rising north wind. "Check the far edge. I don't want the wind catching it," Jenny told him. "On it."

They moved to the seed trays, Kevin bearing her weight. The coconut crab had torn through pepper and lettuce cells overnight, scattering damp packets. Kevin shored the dock mooring ring with fresh cedar and oak while Jenny inspected the heirloom seed tin for mold. At midday they ate limpet broth at the garden table, barometer 989 hPa, tide high and slack. Kevin forked the south bed; Jenny watched, ankle propped, throbbing in time with the tide. Rain fell in sheets by afternoon, cooling 30°C air. Kevin marked the spreading redness with pen — infection past the ankle to mid-calf despite antibiotic and poultice. "It's wider than this morning," Jenny said. A squall slammed the cottage at 979 hPa. Kevin tuned the shortwave through static, applied warm broth compresses. "It's getting worse. My heart is racing like the rain," Jenny said. "I'm right here. Breathe slow. I'll keep watch," Kevin replied. Pressure climbed by nightfall.

Scenes

the garden · dawn

The Snapped Bolt

Jenny sits on the garden wall while de-briding her ankle wound with the tweezers. Kevin attempts to pry a stubborn stake loose with the pipe wrench to secure the tarp, but the metal head shears off the handle under the pressure.

Kevin finishes securing the garden tarp with heavy oak stakes and wedges to prevent the rising wind from catching the corners. Jenny, leaning against the stone wall, manages to debride her swollen ankle with the tweezers despite her shaking hands and the visible red streaks pulsing toward her knee.

🌿 Jenny17:16

Be careful, Kevin. You're going to lose a finger.

Jenny winces as the tweezers pull a piece of darkened tissue from the throbbing wound, her breath hitching through grit teeth.

💭 thought

Another tool broken. The salt is eating the iron and it's eating my patience.

🔧 Kevin17:17

Sorry. Let me get the mallet from the shed. You keep going—I’ll have this tarp down in a minute.

walk to the garden shed, retrieve the mallet, return to the tarp corner, and begin driving the oak stake back into the ground with steady blows.

💭 thought

The wrench broke just trying to hold the tarp down—this wind’s getting meaner. Jenny’s digging into her own flesh without a sound, and I can’t even keep the garden covered. I should’ve brought the mallet instead of yanking with the pipe wrench. Now I’ve got a useless handle and a stake still in the ground. She’s in worse shape than she lets on—streaks up her calf, fever climbing. I need to get that poultice fresh, check the antibiotic pack, and make sure the radio’s ready for the supply boat’s call in two days. If it doesn’t come, we’re on our own with what we’ve got.

🌿 Jenny17:17

way make sure it's deep. The wind is picking up from the north.

way focuses on the tweezers, her hands shaking slightly as she clears debris from the swollen skin.

💭 thought

He's always trying to fix the world with more force while the foundation is rotting away.

🔧 Kevin17:19

It's set. Getting the oak wedges for weight.

walk to the workshop, retrieve the remaining oak wedges, return to each tarp corner, and drive a wedge deep over the secured edges with the mallet.

💭 thought

She's right—the north wind means weather coming in hard. The tarp's already shredded at two corners from the coconut crab. If this stake pulls, the whole cloth sails. She's shaking. Trying to hide it. I've seen that shake before—hands on a wrench in a rolling engine room, bolts backing out, no time to think. She's debriding her own ankle on a garden wall because I couldn't get the medical kit open one-handed while holding her down. That's my failure, not hers. Stake's seated now. Need to weight the corners proper this time.

🌿 Jenny17:19

Check the far edge. I don't want the wind catching it.

Jenny drops the tweezers into the dirt and leans back against the stone wall, watching the clouds dark over the island.

💭 thought

At least the tarp is holding for now. If the infection stops before it reaches the bone...

🔧 Kevin17:21

On it.

walk the full perimeter of the garden tarp, pull each corner and edge taut, drive additional oak stakes where the cloth lifts, and secure every point with wedges and timber strips.

💭 thought

She's done. Can't do more on her own ankle today. The clouds are stacking low and flat—nor'easter building, not passing. Barometer was rising but that was yesterday. She's watching the sky like she's reading it better than the glass. Far edge of the tarp lifted last storm; lost three tomato seedlings to salt burn. Won't happen again. Wedges are in. Need to check the whole perimeter, then get the honey-garlic poultice remade. Her ankle's hot through the gauze. Antibiotics are down to four metronidazole, five doxycycline. Supply boat in two days—if it comes. If not, I'll need to stretch what we have.

🌿 Jenny17:21

I'm going inside. I need to boil those.

Jenny pulls her leg up toward her, wincing at the red streaks pulsing high toward her knee.

💭 thought

The sky is going to break. If that storm hits before the boat, the garden is lost anyway.

🔧 Kevin17:23

I'll get the poultice ready and start the beet leaves. Lie down—I've got it.

go to the kitchen shelf, take honey and crushed garlic, mix into a fresh poultice, return to the garden, carefully remove the old gauze from Jenny's ankle, apply the new mixture, rewrap with clean strips from her shirt, then proceed to the

💭 thought

She's pulling away—pain's getting ahead of her. "Boil those"—the sea beet leaves from the bucket, still need de-salting. She can't stand at the stove, but she'll try. I should've made the poultice first. Instead I was wrestling stakes and wind. She's hiding how bad it is—streaks to the knee, pulse jumping in the wound. I need to get that poultice on *now*, then tend the leaves. She'll rest inside; I'll handle the stove.

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the garden · morning

Morning Preparation and Treatment

The sky thickens as the wind picks up from the north. Kevin returns to the garden with the fresh poultice while Jenny waits for the next dose to be administered.

Kevin and Jenny moved from the garden wall to the seed trays, Kevin supporting Jenny's weight as she hopped on her good leg. They found the coconut crab had torn through the pepper and lettuce cells overnight, leaving deep tracks in the mud and scattering damp seed packets. Kevin shored up the dock mooring ring with fresh cedar and oak wedges while Jenny inspected the heirloom seed tin for mold.

🌿 Jenny17:23

Don't wrap it too tight, Kevin. I need to feel the pulse.

Jenny winces as she reaches for her notebook to sketch a quick, shaky outline of the sea beet morphology in the margin.

💭 thought

If the fever doesn't break after this dose, I'm not going to be able to hold the tweezers, let alone the seeds.

🔧 Kevin17:25

Wouldn't dream of it.

kneel beside her and carefully apply the honey-garlic poultice to her swollen ankle, securing it with clean gauze wrapped loose enough for her to feel the pulse point

💭 thought

She's tracking the infection spread herself. Smart. The pulse at her ankle tells her more than any thermometer. I'll leave the wrap loose enough for her to monitor but tight enough to hold the poultice.

🌿 Jenny17:26

The boat is in two days. I need to be walking when it arrives.

Jenny leans her head back against the cold stone and closes her eyes, letting the wind hit her face.

💭 thought

He's so careful, it's like he's handling a glass way instead of a rotting leg.

🔧 Kevin17:26

Two days. We'll see.

sit back on my heels, watching her face in the grey light, the wind catching the edges of the gauze wrapping

💭 thought

Two days. The antibiotics need more time. She's stubborn enough to walk on a leg that shouldn't bear weight, and we both know it.

🌿 Jenny17:27

I don't have time for "seeing." I have seeds to plant.

Jenny opens her eyes and stares at the half-reclaimed garden, counting the pulses of throb in her ankle.

💭 thought

"We'll see" is what people say when they're afraid of the answer.

🔧 Kevin17:29

Then let's get you to the seed trays. One slow step at a time.

slide my shoulder under her arm, bracing her weight as she pushes up from the stone wall, ready to help her hop toward the garden bed on her good leg

💭 thought

She's using the garden as a distraction. Counting pulses instead of counting days. The seeds won't wait, and neither will she.

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the garden · midday

Midday meal and seed planting

Kevin and Jenny sit at the garden table under the deployed shade cloth. A pot of limpet broth steams between them. Jenny's ankle is propped on a crate; Kevin has the seed potato layout sketch spread out, weighing which beds to plant before the supply boat arrives. The barometer reads 989 hPa, still rising. The tide is high and slack.

Kevin heads to the shed with the garden fork to break up the hard-packed soil of the south bed. Jenny remains by the cottage wall, watching him work while managing the throbbing pulse in her ankle which seems to sync with the pull of the high tide.

🔧 Kevin17:29

Plant the potatoes in the north bed. Deeper soil, less salt blow. We’ll get two weeks before the boat—enough to hill them up.

Push the sketch toward Jenny, point to the north bed with a finger still damp from the broth.

💭 thought

The broth smells clean, but Jenny’s silence is heavier than the steam. She’s watching the sketch like it might tell her something I can’t say. I keep thinking about the mooring ring—how the wedges hold but the beam still floats. We’re both patching things that won’t stay patched.

🌿 Jenny17:32

The north bed is too dry right now. I need to move the stakes closer to the wall or the salt will kill the sprouts.

Jenny reaches for the pencil, traces the outline of the north bed, and begins a quick, precise sketch of the sea beet morphology in the margin of the map.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come in two days, the seeds will rot in the tin and I'll be eating limpets for eternity.

🔧 Kevin17:33

Then we shift the bed south. Use the wall as a windbreak. I’ll move the stakes after we eat—cedar’s dry, won’t split.

Take the spoon from the broth, blow on it once, then hand it to Jenny. Wait for her to take it before reaching for my own.

💭 thought

She’s drawing sea beet again—root zones, salt glands—like if she understands it deep enough, she can outgrow the fever. I don’t know if it helps. But I know she needs to feel useful.

🌿 Jenny17:34

The south wall has too much runoff from the last rain. We'll have to level the soil first.

Jenny takes the spoon, winces slightly as the weight shifts on her ankle, and begins to eat the broth in silence.

💭 thought

He thinks the wood is the only thing splitting while the infection is moving an inch up my calf.

🔧 Kevin17:34

I’ll level it. Break up the clods, slope it slow to the drain. You rest. We’ll plant when you can stand on it.

Set my spoon down, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then stand and walk to the shed for the spade and a tamper.

💭 thought

She’s eating slow, spoon trembling just a little. Every bite costs her. I can level the soil—done it before—but she shouldn’t have to think about runoff while her leg’s burning. I’ll do it after. No debate.

🌿 Jenny17:35

Don't overexert yourself. The soil is packed hard, you'll need the fork for that.

I lean back against the cottage wall, watching him go, and feel the throbbing pulse in my ankle in time with the tide.

💭 thought

If he works the soil now, he'll tire himself out before the boat even shows on the horizon.

🔧 Kevin17:37

Fork’s in the shed. I’ll use it.

Pick up the garden fork from where it leans against the shed wall, test its balance in one hand, then walk toward the south bed.

💭 thought

She’s right—the fork’s better. Made it myself, spruce handle, tines bent from last season’s rocky ground. I’ll use it. She thinks I don’t know the soil by now. I do. I just don’t say.

🌿 Jenny17:37

Just watch out for the stones. The salt wash likes to collect near the wall.

I pull my sketchbook from my lap and begin to draw the way the weeds are choking the stone edge, my pencil moving fast despite the heat in my leg.

💭 thought

He's going to ruin his back trying to turn that clay-heavy earth.

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the garden · afternoon

Preparing for planting

The soil is leveled and the air remains heavy with midday heat. Kevin waits for the tide to subside or for Jenny's pain to dull while the cedar remains dry and ready to be used once they can move the stakes closer to the protection of the wall.

The rain begins to fall in heavy sheets from the west, cooling the 30°C air rapidly. Jenny sits against the stone garden wall, her ankle propped on a flat rock as she watches the storm clouds. Kevin marks the edge of the spreading redness with a pen, noting the infection has moved further since the morning while the tide was falling.

🔧 Kevin17:39

Water break. Back in five.

walk to the cottage, fill two tin mugs from the tank, return to garden wall

💭 thought

Should've brought water out here. Sweat's stinging the cut on my knuckle from the injector pump housing. Jenny's ankle — those red streaks weren't there yesterday. Or I didn't look close enough.

🌿 Jenny17:39

Don't get the salt in the water this time.

Take the mug from Kevin, wincing as I shift weight off the throbbing ankle, and take a long drink.

💭 thought

If the infection reaches the knee, I won't be able to walk to the boat in two days.

🔧 Kevin17:40

Sorry. Fresh from the tank this time.

hand Jenny the second mug, keep mine full but untouched for now

💭 thought

She's right — last batch tasted like brine. Forgot to rinse the dipper after soaking the oarlock bracket.

🌿 Jenny17:41

Thanks.

Lean back against the stone wall, propping my ankle up on a flat rock, and watch the rain clouds gather over the west.

💭 thought

I need to check those seeds before the humidity gets any worse; mold own ruin grandmother's legacy.

🔧 Kevin17:43

Barometer's 988 and steady. Front's slowing.

lean the garden fork against the wall, sit on my heels beside her, sip water

💭 thought

She's tracking the weather without looking at the barometer. Ankle propped, breathing steady — she's masking it. Red streaks past the knee by now, I'd bet.

🌿 Jenny17:43

It's too hot anyway.

Trace the edge of the swelling on my ankle with my fingers, feeling the heat radiate through the skin.

💭 thought

If the pressure doesn't drop, the humidity will just sit here and cook the seed tin damp.

🔧 Kevin17:44

Finish the mug. I'll check the leg when you're done.

set my mug on the wall, reach for the first aid kit pouch at my belt

💭 thought

Heat radiating through skin means the infection's still active. Antibiotics should've knocked it back by now. Metronidazole's for anaerobes — if it's mixed flora we're chasing the wrong bug. Or the dose isn't reaching it. Blood flow compromised by the swelling.

🌿 Jenny17:45

Be careful with the tweezers.

Drink the rest of the water, set the mug down, and slowly unwrap the poultice from my ankle.

💭 thought

If he doesn't debride it properly, I'm going to lose the leg before the boat.

🔧 Kevin17:47

Hold still.

peel back the last of the gauze, examine the wound and streaks in the harsh light, pull the pen from my pocket to mark the leading edge of the redness

💭 thought

Poultice comes off — smell hits first. Sweet rot under the honey-garlic. Skin underneath: angry red, shiny tight, streaks branching like lightning up the calf. Two lancing sites weeping. This isn't improving.

🌿 Jenny17:47

It's wider than this morning.

Watch the pen tip against the skin, jaw way tight against the sharp throb in my ankle.

💭 thought

The line is moving. If it crosses that mark, I'm calling for medevac.

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the old shrine · evening

The storm breaks in

The rain is now a downpour, turning the garden soil into mud. The wind is picking up, rattling the shade cloth.

The air is heavy and still as the pressure begins to dip, signaling the approaching storm. Kevin works quickly to secure the garden's shade cloth before the wind picks up, while Jenny retreats to the cottage, her ankle throbbing in the dim light of the fading sun.

🌿 Jenny17:49

Kevin! Get the tarp down! The stakes aren't going to hold!

Jenny pushes herself up using the stone wall, wincing as she shifts weight, and limps toward the cottage.

💭 thought

This ankle is going to be my ruin if I don't get inside, and the garden is turning to soup.

🔧 Kevin17:49

Coming!

sprint across the garden to the shade cloth frame, release the tension lines at each corner, and bundle the cloth down against the tomato rows before the wind shreds it

💭 thought

She's right — the oak stakes won't hold in this mud with the wind rising. The shade cloth will act like a sail and tear the whole frame apart. Need to drop it now before it takes the tomato stakes with it.

🌿 Jenny17:51

Hurry! Just get inside, the limpets are getting cold!

Jenny reaches the porch, leaning heavily against the doorframe, and watches him through the rain while her ankle pulses.

💭 thought

If he doesn't hurry, the whole crop is buried, and I can't climb the ridge again.

🔧 Kevin17:51

Right behind you.

secure the bundled shade cloth with the heavy twine around the tomato stakes, then limp up the porch steps into the cottage behind Jenny

💭 thought

She's pushing harder than she should. The ankle's getting worse and she's still moving. Tarp first, then get her off that leg and the antibiotics down her.

🌿 Jenny17:53

Close the door. Please. The rain is getting everywhere.กว่าDO: Jenny pulls the door shut, blocking out the wind, and collapses into the kitchen chair, clutching her swollen ankle.

💭 thought

Finally inside, but the air is still damp and my leg feels like it's on fire.

🔧 Kevin17:53

Eating in a minute. Pills first.

pull the chair closer, set the tin mugs on the table, and fish the doxycycline blister pack from the medical kit

💭 thought

Door's shut. Warmth returning. She's shaking — cold and pain and fever all at once. Get the limpets hot, get the meds in her, get her warm.

🌿 Jenny17:55

Give them to me. I can't wait anymore.

Jenny reaches out a trembling hand to take the pills and swallows them with a swig of lukewarm water.

💭 thought

I'm shaking so hard I can barely hold the water, and the heat is killing me.

🔧 Kevin17:55

Limpets are hot. Eat.

slide a tin mug of steaming limpet broth across the table to her, then pour the second for myself

💭 thought

Good. That's one dose down. Four more days of this if the boat comes on time. If it doesn't... don't think about that. Food now. Warmth. Rest.

🌿 Jenny17:57

I'm not even hungry. My leg is screaming.

Jenny wraps both hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into her palms, and watches the steam rise.

💭 thought

The warmth is nice, but I can't lose focus over the throbbing.

🔧 Kevin17:57

Drink the broth. All of it.

take a slow sip from my own mug, watching her over the rim

💭 thought

She needs calories whether she's hungry or not. The infection's burning through her. Broth first, solids if she can manage. The warmth helps.

🌿 Jenny17:59

I know.

Jenny takes a small sip of the salty broth, wincing as the movement makes her ankle send a sharp spike of pain.

💭 thought

If I don't get some protein, I won't have the strength to walk to the boat tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin17:59

Good. Keep drinking.

finish my mug in two swallows, then rise to fetch the mint and honey from the shelf

💭 thought

She's fading fast. The fever's eating her. Once the broth's down, fresh poultice, rewrap tight, get her horizontal. The antibiotics need time.

🌿 Jenny18:01

It's getting worse, Kevin.

Jenny leans her head back against the wall, eyes closed, as she feels the pulse throb in her skin.

💭 thought

The smell of the infection is starting to cut through the salt. It's deep.

🔧 Kevin18:01

The meds need time. Drink.

mix fresh honey-garlic poultice in the small bowl, hands moving quick

💭 thought

I know. Red streaks past the knee yesterday. Heat radiating off the skin. The antibiotics should've started turning it by now. If they don't in twelve hours... the boat's two days out. Maybe less if the weather holds. Maybe more if it doesn't.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Arrival of the Storm

The first heavy drops of rain hit the tin roof with a loud roar, drowning out the sound of the ocean. The wind howls through the gaps in the newly-patched door frame.

A squall slammed the cottage with driving rain and northeast wind as the barometer bottomed at 979 hPa. Kevin kept the shortwave tuned through static while tending Jenny's infected ankle with warm broth compresses. The storm front passed overhead, pressure beginning to climb again by nightfall.

🔧 Kevin18:03

Jenny, storm's hitting. Come inside now—I'll get the kettle on and check the radio for any break in the static.

move to cottage door, pull Jenny inside by the elbow, shut and brace the door with the oak wedge, light the stove, fill kettle with rainwater from the tank, tune shortwave to Tom's frequency and key mic: "Still here. Storm's on us.

💭 thought

The storm's here early. Jenny's inside, ankle on fire. I need to get her dry and warm before the rain soaks through the walls. Barometer's falling fast—this could blow hard.

🌿 Jenny18:04

I'm coming, Kevin. way... watch the step on the way.

Sit in the kitchen chair, prop the swollen ankle on a stool, and watch the water boil on the stove.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast; my ankle feels like it's being squeezed in a fist, and I can't stop the shaking.

🔧 Kevin18:05

Sit still. I'll make the broth. You need heat in you.

ladle limpet broth into two tin mugs from the pot on the stove, set one on the table in front of Jenny, blow across my own mug, check the bandage on her ankle without touching—red line's moved another centimetre since morning, press the bac

💭 thought

She's favouring it hard. Red streaks still tracking above the bandage. Fever heat radiating off her from here. Radio's just static—Tom's frequency, supply boat, coastguard, all dead. Storm's cutting us off clean.

🌿 Jenny18:05

It's too hot. I can't even hold the mug yet.

Wrap both hands around the warm ceramic, hiss through my teeth, and watch the steam rise toward the ceiling.

💭 thought

If that line reaches my knee, I'll never be able to climb the north ridge to finish the transect.

🔧 Kevin18:07

Let it cool. Drink when you can. I'll check the radio again—maybe the storm front's bouncing skip.

take the mug from her before she drops it, set it on the table, pull the shortwave closer, spin through the bands slow—Tom's frequency, coastguard, supply boat channel, any voice at all—static on all of it, barometer at 983 now and dropping

💭 thought

Hands shaking. Not just the cold. The infection's eating her from the inside out. Antibiotics are five doses left—maybe three days if she keeps them down. Supply boat's two days out if it comes. If it doesn't... Don't think that. Fix what's in front of me.

🌿 Jenny18:07

There's nothing but noise. Just the wind.

Lean back against the stone wall, closing my eyes to block out the flicker of the oil lamp, focusing on the heat in my ankle.

💭 thought

The static is just screaming back. If the boat doesn't come in two days, I'm going to lose the leg.

🔧 Kevin18:09

I'm right here. Breathe slow. I'll keep watch.

lay a clean cloth soaked in warm limpet broth over her ankle through the bandage, replace it as it cools, keep one hand on her knee to feel for trembling, monitor the shortwave with the other ear, barometer now 979—wind's shifting northeast

💭 thought

She's fading fast. Eyes closed, breathing shallow through the pain. The storm's wrapping the island in white noise—no voices, no help coming through the air. Barometer's at 981 and still falling. If it hits 980 with northeast wind, I need to double-check every line—but I can't leave her. Not now.

🌿 Jenny18:09

It's getting worse. My heart is racing like the rain.

Reach out for the mug, fingers trembling, and take a small sip of the broth.

💭 thought

The heat of the cloth is nice, but the throb underneath is like a hammer.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A tool has broken from wear.

tool_break · dawn

Yanmar injector replacement: 90%.

project · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Quick, shaky outline of the sea beet morphology in the margin".

made · morning

A new project: shade cloth anchor repair.

project_started · morning

sea beet salt glands excrete visible crystals at mid-morning sun angle

discovery · morning

coconut crab foraging in garden overnight; deep tracks in soft mud near garden edge; shade cloth anchors shredded

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Kevin made a sketch: "Toward Jenny, point to the north bed with a finger still damp from the broth".

made · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "The sea beet morphology in the margin of the map".

made · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the weeds are choking the stone edge, my pencil moving fast despite the heat".

made · midday

Yanmar injector replacement is finished.

project_done · midday

shade cloth anchor repair: 20%.

project · midday

Found: sketchbook.

item · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

shade cloth anchor repair: 30%.

project · afternoon

disturbed garden overnight, leaving deep tracks in the soft mud

discovery · afternoon

shade cloth anchor repair: 40%.

project · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

A sudden squall sweeps through — wind first, then a wall of rain.

squall · night

barometer at 987 hPa and steady after storm passage; wind shifted northeast, tide rising

discovery · night

infection has spread past ankle to mid-calf despite first antibiotic dose and poultice

discovery · night

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