Day 499

Mind if I take a look at that tin? I’ll hold it steady while you check.

walk over to Jenny on the cottage steps, lower myself to sit beside her, and gently take the heirloom seed tin from her lap to examine it more closely while keeping it level and protected from the damp.

Let’s get it out of this mist and into the kitchen where it’s drier. I’ll re-seal the seam with tape while you pull the wedges and check the shutter frame for rot — we’ll need to epoxy it proper this time.

stand, take the seed tin from Jenny, and carry it into the cottage kitchen, placing it on the wooden table away from the damp wall, then retrieve the self-amalgamating tape from the radio shelf and begin wrapping it tightly around the lid s

Sorry. I’ll go easy. You keep checking the shutter — I’ll watch the tin for any new spots while I work on the frame.

return to the porch, kneel beside Jenny, and carefully inspect the lower edge of the shutter frame for soft or discolored wood, probing gently with the tip of my pocket knife to test for rot beneath the surface.

You’re right — I was pulling too hard. Let the tape breathe. I’ll pull the hinge apart, cut out the soft wood, and let it air before we re-seal it. No shortcuts this time.

remove the self-amalgamating tape from the seed tin lid, hand the tin back to Jenny, then use my pocket knife to carefully remove the shutter hinge pin and begin separating the shutter from the frame to expose the rotted wood behind the hin

I see it. I’ll follow the grain back until the wood’s solid, no matter how much I have to take out.

continue removing the shutter from the frame, then use my chisel to carefully strip away the softened wood along the grain, checking frequently with the blade of my knife to find where the rot ends and sound timber begins.

Kevin — walk down to the dock, inspect the mooring ring mortise, and begin chiseling out the rotted wood to prepare for a bronze sleeve install.

Yeah. I’ll use the rainwater. Thanks.

Rinse the rotted wood in the mooring ring mortise with fresh water from the rain tank using a bucket and cloth, then let it air-dry in the sun before proceeding with the bronze sleeve install.

Alright. I’ll leave it be then.

Stop working on the dock. Walk back to the cottage, fill the kettle from the rain tank, and set it on the stove to boil for tea—no sugar, just how she takes it.

On it. I'll get the corner stakes and pull it tight.

walk to garden shed, grab oak stakes and mallet, head to garden, secure loose tarp corners with stakes and twine, weight down edges with stones and tool bag.

Going deep. Won't let it go.

drive oak stakes deep into soil at each tarp corner, lash with heavy twine, pull tarp taut, weight edges with stones and damp sandbags from spring runoff.

I'll walk the dock. See if the ring's shifted since this morning.

walk to dock, inspect mooring ring for movement, test with hand pressure, check cedar and oak wedges in mortise, note any shift or play.

I'm on it. Won't be long.

walk carefully along dock, test mooring ring for play by pushing and pulling, check if wedges are still seated, note any gap or shift in the ring's position.

Kevin — walk to the dock, watch the mooring ring as the tide lifts and falls, hand on the steel doubler plate to feel for movement.

I’ll hold the line. You watch the sky.

move to the dock’s edge, plant my feet wide on the wet timbers, grip the mooring chain where it meets the ring, brace against the incoming tide’s pull.

On my way.

sprint the last few steps to the mooring post, throw my weight into the chain to take the slack, then heave hard on the dock line to snub the dinghy tight against the pilin — using the boat’s mass to dampen the ring’s load as the surge hits

Kevin — release the dock line, step back from the edge, run for the cottage porch, yank the door open, and step inside, shaking rain from my sleeves as I close it softly behind me.

Kevin — pull off my soaked jacket, hang it on the peg by the door, wipe my boots on the mat, then move to the stove and hold my hands out over the kettle’s steam, letting the heat drive the chill from my fingers.

Kevin — lower myself onto the bench by the stove, stretch my legs out, and watch the flame grow in the firebox, the orange light flickering on the wet streaks still on my jeans.