Day 484

The North Piling Holds

Dawn found Kevin and Jenny crouched at the north piling as the tide pulled back, exposing barnacled greenheart. Kevin probed the shim with a crowbar. "Shim's tight. Piling's the problem now. Whole structure's rocking on its socket," he said. Jenny watched the water, ankle braced against stone. "Don't force the bar, Kevin. If you snap the wood, we lose the whole dock." She pointed at the base near the shim. "The wood looks darker than it did yesterday." Kevin scraped. "Fresh wet or rot?" "It's rot. The salt has gotten through the heart of the timber." He nodded. "It's gone through. We're borrowing time on a lie."

They sistered the piling at low water, bolting a greenheart plank to the sound side. By midday the tide surged higher than charts predicted, swells hammering the dock. "The north piling is shifting! Look at the gap!" Jenny called. Kevin drove three oak wedges into the mortise. "Last wedge. Tap it in slow — don't split the shim." The structure steadied.

Jenny harvested limpets and sea beet between swells, sketched erosion patterns on the piling, the water pulling under the jetty, the view from the table. Her ankle throbbed in the humidity. Kevin tested the rain tank — twenty-five litres gained, pH 7.2, clean. A tree had fallen across the wood path. The supply boat came and went. They ate twice. Night fell with rain drumming the roof, the tide retreating, the dock holding.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Low Tide Inspection

Kevin and Jenny crouch by the north piling as the tide recedes to expose the barnled wood. Kevin uses a crowbar to probe the greenheart shim while Jenny watches the water, her ankle braced against the stone.

Kevin inspects the dock structure as the tide recedes, checking for rot in the submerged north pilings. Jenny prepares the harvested limpets and sea beet for breakfast, managing the swelling in her ankle while working.

🔧 Kevin19:11

Shim's tight. Piling's the problem now. Whole structure's rocking on its socket.

probe deeper with the crowbar at the piling base, feeling for the extent of the socket rot

💭 thought

The shim's holding. I can feel it through the crowbar — solid bite into the scour void. But the piling itself moves a hair when I lever against it. Not the shim. The whole tooth.

🌿 Jenny19:12

Don't force the bar, Kevin. If you snap the wood, we lose the whole dock.

Shift weight to my good leg, wincing as the movement throbbed in my knee.

💭 thought

If that piling goes, the dinghy goes with it, and I'm stranded here with a leg that's rotting.

🔧 Kevin19:13

Not forcing. Just feeling.

ease the crowbar out slow, set it aside, crouch lower to sight along the piling at waterline for the telltale flex point

💭 thought

She's right. Greenheart's dense but brittle when it's been soaked and dried this many cycles. One bad lever and the piling snaps at the mudline.

🌿 Jenny19:13

Look at the base near the shim. The wood looks darker than it did yesterday.

Reach into my pocket for the notebook, tracing the damp edge of the sea beet sketch.

💭 thought

He's looking for a flex, but I'm looking at the rot eating the grain.

🔧 Kevin19:14

Fresh wet or rot?

press the blade of my knife into the dark wood at the shim line, testing resistance, watching for crumble or spring

💭 thought

Darker. That's either fresh saturation from the last tide cycle or rot blooming fast. Could be both. Need to know which before the supply boat tries to tie up.

🌿 Jenny19:15

It's rot. The salt has gotten through the heart of the timber.

Lean forward, squinting at the grain where the wood meets the water.

💭 thought

It's soft. I can see the way the fibers are giving up already.

🔧 Kevin19:16

It's gone through. We're borrowing time on a lie.

mark the rot zone with chalk from my pocket, then step back to measure how much solid timber remains above and below the decay line using the tape from my belt pouch

💭 thought

Heart rot. Not surface. The shim was buying time, but the piling's compromised inside. We can't trust it to hold the ring under load — not with a boat coming.

🌿 Jenny19:17

We don't have enough wood to own the whole thing out like this.

Wipe the grit from the knife on my jeans, feeling the pain spike in my ankle.

💭 thought

If the dock doesn't hold the boat, I can't get to the mainland.

🔧 Kevin19:19

We sister it. Bolt a greenheart plank to the pile's good side, take the load off the rotten core.

scan the dock for the nearest usable greenheart offcut, then move to the wood pile by the shed to check length and soundness of what's stacked there

💭 thought

She's right. We've used the greenheart offcuts on the transom and the north brace. The dock's eating itself. We need a way to transfer the load — not replace the piling, but bypass it.

🌿 Jenny19:19

We need something long enough to overlap past the rot. Check the shed for the scraps.

Rub the swollen skin of my ankle, trying to ignore the throbbing.

💭 thought

If we sister it, it has to be perfectly level or the tension will shear it off.

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the tide pools · morning

Low Tide Harvest

Kevin and Jenny meet at the shore as the tide reaches its lowest point, exposing the rocky floor of the pools.

Kevin and Jenny head to the tide pools while the tide is still fully out. Kevin attempts to inspect the dock's structural pilings, while Jenny focuses on gathering limpets and sea beet for their meal.

🔧 Kevin19:21

Morning. You staying close to the rocks? I’ll probe the piling—see if that void’s opened up since yesterday.

Walk toward the north piling, crowbar in hand, keeping Jenny in sight as I step onto the exposed rock shelf.

💭 thought

The tide’s out far today—good chance to check the north piling void before it floods. Jenny’s ankle’s worse; she’s moving slow but she’s here. I won’t let her push it.

🌿 Jenny19:21

I'm staying put. Don't take too long, the clouds are turning fast.

Squat down on a flat rock, wincing as the ankle shifts, and pull out my own to sketch the sea beet.

💭 thought

He's looking at the wood while I'm looking at the red line on my skin. If I slip on this algae, I'm done.

🔧 Kevin19:23

Won't be long. Shout if the water comes up sudden.

Jam the crowbar into the joint where the north piling meets the crossbeam, levering gently to test for give, eyes on the bolt heads for movement.

💭 thought

She's hurting but won't say it. The sky's bruising purple at the horizon—weather's moving faster than the barometer said. I'll check the piling quick and get back.

🌿 Jenny19:24

I have eyes. Just watch the bolts.

Press the pencil to the paper, focusing on the salt glands of the sea beet leaf.

💭 thought

He's too aggressive with that iron. The wood doesn't care about his strength.

🔧 Kevin19:25

Rot’s deep in the piling, but the bolts haven’t pulled yet. I’ll put a shim in the void to take the load till we can sister it.

Cut a greenheart shim with the knife, tap it into the scoured void under the piling toe where the wood’s softest, then step back to sight along the piling for lean.

💭 thought

The wood’s spongy where the bar stabbed—rot’s advanced past the surface. Bolts are still seated but the mortise is eating away. If the swell lifts, this could go fast.

🌿 Jenny19:25

Just make sure it's tight. The tide is already turning grey.

Trace the red streaks on my ankle with a finger, checking if they've moved toward the knee.

💭 thought

A shim is just a band-aid on a broken leg, just like that poultice.

🔧 Kevin19:27

Shim’s tight. Tide’s coming hard—we move now.

Offer a steady arm, turn toward the cottage at a pace that matches her limp, scanning the waterline as we go.

💭 thought

Shim’s seated solid. The tide’s pushing in faster than I’d like—grey chop on the horizon. Her streaks haven’t spread past the mid-calf, but the heat radiating off that ankle’s bad. Need to get her back to the cottage and check the antibiotic course.

🌿 Jenny19:27

I'm coming. Don't let me slip.

Lean heavily on the good leg, keeping the swollen ankle high as we walk across the black rock.

💭 thought

He's being careful today. Maybe it's the clouds or maybe me.

🔧 Kevin19:28

I’ve got you. Step where I step—keep the ankle clear of the spray.

Plant my feet wide on the slick rock, take her weight as we move, eyes fixed on the incoming swell, ready to brace if she stumbles.

💭 thought

Her grip’s like iron on my forearm. Every step she’s swallowing pain. The first wave’s already licking the lower rocks—we’ve got minutes before the shelf floods.

🌿 Jenny19:29

I'm almost there. Just a few more.

Clutch the notebook to my chest, wincing as the first wave hits our ankles.

💭 thought

The water is moving fast. I need to get back to the cottage.

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the dock · midday

The Rising Tide Returns

Kevin and Jenny meet at the dock as the water begins to lick the lower pilings. The sky remains a flat, oppressive grey.

The tide is rising faster than the charts predicted, sending swells to lap at the lower planks of the dock. Kevin heads to the water to check the stability of the mooring ring before it becomes fully submerged, while Jenny stays in the cottage to manage the boiling limpets and keep an eye on her throbbing ankle.

🌿 Jenny19:31

The tide is coming in faster than the charts predicted. We should get the limpets off before they get submerged.

Jenny shifts her weight to her good leg, wincing slightly, and wipes salt spray from her notebook with her palm.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the tide, and I can feel the heat radiating off the skin.

🔧 Kevin19:31

Aye, limpets first. Then we'll check the mooring ring—it's shifting again with this tide.

Walk to the tide pool edge where Jenny is gathering, take the bucket of fresh limpets from her hands, and carry it toward the cottage kitchen door, stepping carefully over wet rocks.

💭 thought

The water's rising faster than expected—need to secure the dock and get those limpets inside before they're lost. Jenny's ankle is bothering her again; I can see it in the way she favours her leg.

🌿 Jenny19:33

The ring is loose in the mortise; I need to sister the beam before the supply boat arrives.

Jenny watches him go, her hand hovering over her swollen ankle, then she begins to limp toward the way to retrieve her sketches from the table.

💭 thought

If that ring pulls out, the dinghy drifts and I'm stuck on this rock forever.

🔧 Kevin19:34

I'll sister the beam at low water tomorrow. You sit. Ankle needs the weight off.

Set the bucket of limpets on the kitchen table, then turn and walk back toward the dock, unhooking the crowbar from my belt as I go.

💭 thought

She's right about the ring—mortise is chewed out and the wedges won't hold forever. But she shouldn't be limping on that ankle with the tide coming in. The sketches can wait.

🌿 Jenny19:35

I'll check the salt streaks while the water boils. Just watch out for the swell.

Jenny sits heavily in the chair, stretching her leg out on a stool, and opens the notebook to the sea beet morphology sketches.

💭 thought

He thinks sitting down stops the infection, but the red lines are moving faster than the tide.

🔧 Kevin19:35

Kettle's on. I'll be back before it whistles.

Walk down the dock to the north piling, wedge the crowbar into the mortise gap beside the mooring ring, and lever gently to test how much play remains in the ring with the tide rising.

💭 thought

She'll work herself raw if I let her. Salt streaks, sketches, limpets—she's got the notebook open already. At least she's off the ankle.

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the dock · afternoon

The Rising Swell

The tide has reached the level of the submerged dock planks, and the swell is beginning to hammer against the structure.

The tide has surged higher than expected, sending waves to lap at the underside of the dock. Kevin and Jenny have successfully driven three oak wedges into the north piling's mortise, stabilizing the structure against the relentless pull, but the air remains heavy with the scent of salt and damp wood as the barometer continues to rise despite the overcast.

🌿 Jenny19:37

Kevin! The tide is higher than we thought! Check the mooring lines!

Jenny stands up, wincing as her ankle shifts, and moves to the window to watch the waves hit the jetty.

💭 thought

The water is coming up too fast. If those rotten planks go, the dinghy is lost.

🔧 Kevin19:37

On it. Stay off the ankle.

walk to the dock edge and brace the crowbar against the mooring ring mortise, feeling for movement as the surge hits

💭 thought

The swell's hitting the lower planks already — tide's running an hour ahead of the charts. If the mooring ring shifts now, the whole north piling goes with it.

🌿 Jenny19:39

The north piling is shifting! Look at the gap!

Jenny grabs her notebook and pencil, her hands shaking slightly as she sketches the way the water is pulling under the jetty.

💭 thought

He thinks a crowbar is going to stop the ocean. The whole wood is screaming.

🔧 Kevin19:40

Grab the oak wedges and mallet from the workshop. Toss them down.

lean over the seaward side, crowbar jammed under the piling head to take the weight off the mortise while the surge passes

💭 thought

She's right — the gap's widened since low tide. Greenheart shim's holding the toe but the head's working loose. Need to drive wedges before the next set.

🌿 Jenny19:41

I'm going! Just don't let go!

Jenny limps quickly toward the workshop, favoring her good leg, and gathers the oak wedges and mallet.

💭 thought

He's risking a fall for a few inches of timber. My leg is throbbing, but I can't let him hold that weight alone.

🔧 Kevin19:41

Three wedges. Landward face. Drive them home.

hold the crowbar steady under the piling head, timing the pressure between surges, ready to shift weight the moment she starts driving

💭 thought

Good. She's moving. The piling head lifts on each surge — maybe three millimetres. Wedges need to go in tight on the landward side to pin it.

🌿 Jenny19:43

I'm here! Hold it steady!

Jenny reaches the edge of the dock, breathing through the pain, and begins tapping the first wedge into the gap in the wood.

💭 thought

If that wood splits now, the whole thing collapses. I need to be fast before the next wave hits.

🔧 Kevin19:43

Good. Second. Then the top one.

shift weight on the crowbar as the surge lifts, keeping the piling head from bouncing, watching the mortise for fresh movement

💭 thought

First wedge seating. She's driving it true — vertical grain, won't split. Two more and the head's locked.

🌿 Jenny19:45

It's moving! Keep it!

Jenny drives the second wedge home, the vibration jarring through her arm and up to her swollen ankle.

💭 thought

The wood is so soft. If I don't lock these in now, the tide will take the jetty.

🔧 Kevin19:45

Last wedge. Tap it in slow — don't split the shim.

ease pressure on the crowbar as the surge drops, letting the wedges take the load, then drive the third wedge home with Jenny's mallet while I steady the bar against sudden kickback

💭 thought

Second wedge set. The piling head's holding for now, but the gap's still open underneath — water's scouring the toe. Third wedge and we need to check the mortise after this set.

🌿 Jenny19:47

It's in. Get the bar out.

Jenny hammers the final wedge home, leaning heavily against the dock as she watches the water ripple around the new brace.

💭 thought

It's holding. For now. But the wood is like mush and my leg is on fire.

🔧 Kevin19:47

Coming free.

slide the crowbar out gently, watching the piling for any shift as the next surge hits the braces

💭 thought

Third wedge seated. Piling head's locked. Now pull the bar slow and see if the mortise holds without me.

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the dock · evening

The rising tide holds

The water is at its peak, and the sound of the ocean lapping the dock is the only noise as the pair waits for the tide to turn.

The tide continues its retreat, exposing the slick, algae-covered wood of the north pilings. The warm rain tapers to a humid drizzle, leaving the scent of salt and damp earth heavy in the air. Jenny heads back toward the cottage, her weight favoring the injured ankle as the water drops from the dock.

🌿 Jenny19:49

The tide is coming in faster than own. I'll be back at the cottage in ten minutes.

sketch the erosion patterns on the north piling.

💭 thought

If the water gets any higher, those rotten planks are going to go. My ankle feels like it's being in a vice.

🔧 Kevin19:50

Be careful. I'll keep an eye on the ring from here. Shout if it starts to give.

walk to the end of the dock, crouch low, and press my palm against the mooring ring to feel for shift or play in the mortise as the tide laps at the planks.

💭 thought

The tide's moving faster than the charts—those wedges won't hold long if the current keeps pushing. I should check the mooring ring again before it's underwater, make sure it's not going to tear free and take the dock with it. Jenny's ankle's bad, but she's stubborn; I'll let her go, but I'll watch from here.

🌿 Jenny19:51

Just watch the tension. I'm moving slow.

check the ankle for new red streaks.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the wood, he doesn't see the skin throbbing. I need to check if there are new red lines.

🔧 Kevin19:51

Ring's steady for now. Take your time.

keep one hand on the mooring ring, feeling the load pulse with each swell, eyes on the north piling where the greenheart shim sits, watching for any movement or water spitting from the joint.

💭 thought

She's moving slow because she has to, not because she wants to. The red streaks were climbing yesterday—if they've crossed the knee, the antibiotics aren't enough. I should've keyed the coastguard back. Too late now. The ring's holding for the moment, but the water's rising fast. One good surge and those wedges walk out.

🌿 Jenny19:53

It's throbbing more because of the humidity.

apply mint poultice to the ankle.

💭 thought

The swelling is hot, and the skin is tight. If this infection spreads, I won't be able to walk to the tide pools tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin19:53

The ring just moved. Hair's breadth. I'm driving two more wedges before the water covers the mortise.

pull the two remaining oak wedges from my pocket, set one at the heel of the mooring ring mortise, and drive it home with the heel of my palm, then the second beside it, wedging the ring tight against the greenheart sister plank.

💭 thought

Humidity doesn't make infection spread. Heat does. Swelling does. She's minimising. The poultice helps the surface but the deep tissue's already compromised. If the fever spikes again tonight, I'll have to lance deeper or run the last metronidazole. The ring just shifted—microscopic, but I felt it. Another wedge or two before the tide peaks, or the whole mortise tears.

🌿 Jenny19:55

Good. I'm coming back to the cottage.

wrap the ankle tightly with clean way.

💭 thought

It's holding, for now, but the wood is as tired as I am.

🔧 Kevin19:55

I'll be right behind you. Keep the poultice on till you're inside.

fall in behind Jenny, matching her pace, one hand loose on the oarlock bracket at the dock end in case I need to catch her, eyes on the cottage door as she reaches it.

💭 thought

The wedges are set. Ring's locked for now—no play I can feel. Jenny's moving slow but she's making it. Wrapping the ankle tight will help the swelling, won't touch the infection. I need to get those antibiotics into her before dark. If the supply boat's late, we're on our own. I'll key Tom's frequency again at 1800—just in case he's listening.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The evening shelter

Jenny sits at the table to elevate her leg while Kevin follows her inside, the rain still drumming on the roof.

The morning air is heavy and still, the dry season heat beginning to settle over the island. The tide has fully retreated, exposing the slicked rocks of the tide pools and the base of the dock. Inside the cottage, the smell of boiling limpets and sea beet fills the air as the pair prepares for the day.

🌿 Jenny19:57

The limpets are done. Check the water.

reach for the notebook to mark the height of the red streaks moving up the calf.

💭 thought

He's looking at the ankle again with that frantic look, like I'm a specimen starting to wilt.

🔧 Kevin19:57

"On it." (I grab the water test kit from the shelf, strip in hand, and move to the sink.)

Test the water: dip the strip, wait for colour change, compare to chart.

💭 thought

The rain’s steady, the barometer’s climbing—good sign, but the infection’s still creeping. I need to test the water now, before it’s too late to act. She’s watching the streaks; I can’t afford to miss anything.

🌿 Jenny19:59

What does it say? Is it still safe?

lean back against the chair, watching the pulse throb in my ankle.

💭 thought

If the pH is off, I can't even trust the water for the garden, let alone my skin.

🔧 Kevin19:59

Clean. pH seven-two. No nitrates, no chlorine. Tank’s good.

Set the used strip aside, pull a tin mug down, fill it from the tap, and set it on the table in front of her.

💭 thought

The strip’s turning. Green to yellow—pH’s holding. Chlorine’s zero. Nitrates low. It’s clean. But she’s watching me like I’m the barometer.

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What changed

The supply boat came.

supply_arrived · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A fish run is moving through the shallows off the dock.

fish_run · dawn

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

fruit · dawn

shade cloth anchor repair: 90%.

project · dawn

North dock piling has significant internal rot below the waterline

discovery · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Sea beet".

made · morning

shade cloth anchor repair is finished.

project_done · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "From the table".

made · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the water is pulling under the jetty".

made · afternoon

the north piling rot is accelerating due to the high tide surges

discovery · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Erosion patterns on the north piling".

made · evening

A tree has come down across the path in the wind.

tree_down · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

North piling rot is deeper than expected near the waterline.

discovery · night

← Day 483 Day 485 →

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