Day 510

On it. I’ll start at the south corners and work upwind.

walk to the garden, grab the timber strips and extra rope from the shed, then move to the south corner of the tarp where it’s lifting and begin re-staking it with the oak stakes, pulling the tarp tight and securing it with the strips and ro

Going deep this time. Mallet’s in the shed.

return to the shed for the mallet, then drive each oak stake at the south and southeast corners at least 30 centimeters into the soil, angling them slightly away from the tarp to resist uplift, then lash the tarp securely with the timber st

North side’s loose—coming now.

run to the north side of the garden, grab the tarp where it’s lifting, pull it tight toward the ridge beam, and re-stake it with the remaining oak stakes, driving them deep and securing with the timber strips and rope, then double-check all

Aye. I’ll go round the mast and lash the tarp down proper. You keep that water boiling—limpets’ll wait.

walk to the radio mast, inspect the guy wires and storm lashings, then secure the porch tarp with timber strips and weight it with the tool bag.

Won’t be long. Just tying down the mast and the porch tarp—then I’m in.

jog to the mast base, loop the spare ratchet strap through the ground stake and tighten it, then run to the porch and re-stake the tarp’s windward corner with a timber strip, weighting it with the spade and hammer.

Kevin — start the Yanmar engine on the dinghy, advance to half throttle, and listen for vibration while holding a hand on the motor mount.

Kevin — shut down the engine, disconnect the fuel line, and remove the injector from cylinder one for inspection.

Radio’s clear on Tom’s frequency. Still nothing but the hum.

I slide the notebook toward her, spine cracked open to a blank page, and push the pencil across the wood toward her hand. Not asking. Just leaving it there.

Tank’s at 397. We’re good for now. But I’ll check the inlet at first light — make sure no debris’s blocking it after the tide.

I stand slow, stiff from kneeling at the dock, and take the empty limpet shells to the sink. Rinse them under the tap, watch the water swirl pink with residue before it goes clear. Then I set them to dry on the windowsill beside the radio.

I’ll reroute the overflow tonight. Dig it deeper, line it with the old planks we saved — the sound cores. Let it carry past the root line, away from the stone.

I pull on my boots, already scuffed from the dock, and grab the spade leaning by the garden wall. Without another word, I step off the porch and head toward the trench where the water’s been pooling, the sky dimming overhead.

Taste alright?

I lift a limpetshell to my lips, chew slowly, and watch Jenny stir the sea beet in the pot without looking up.

Let me take a look. It’s been a while since I changed the dressing.

I set my plate down, push back from the table, and move toward Jenny with slow, careful steps, keeping my weight off my bad leg as I reach for the poultice on her ankle.

We need to start the doxycycline now. Tonight.

I gently lower Jenny’s leg back onto the stool, turn to the shelf where the antibiotic blister pack sits, and tear open the foil with my thumb, exposing one white tablet. I hold it out to her with a glass of water from the kettle.

I’ll redo the poultice after this. Fresh sea beet and mint. It’ll help draw it out.

I stand, move to the counter, and begin tearing clean strips from the gauze roll while Jenny watches the steam rise from the pot, her eyes fixed on the red lines creeping up her leg.

I’ve got it. Fresh mint’s in the damp cloth by the sink. I’ll crush it fine this time.

I turn to the bundle of damp cloth, lift out the mint sprigs, pinch off the leaves, and begin crushing them between my fingers on a clean spoon, letting the green juice and scent rise as I work.

I’ll check the traps now. You keep that poultice on—it’s doing good work.

walk to pantry, inspect snap trap, reset with corned beef bait, place second trap nearby, return to cottage, sit by radio, listen for static, watch Jenny’s ankle as she wraps it.

I won’t be long. I’ll check the generator and the dock mooring—then I’m back. You rest.

walk to porch, grab wrench and spare line, check generator fuel level (low—top off from drum), inspect dinghy stern line and dock mooring ring for chafing, tighten any loose bolts with wrench, return to cottage, hang lantern on nail, sit be