Day 511

Kevin — stand up, walk to the workshop, grab the bronze sleeve I machined yesterday and the mallet.

I know. I’ve got the sleeve ready. Just need to drive it home before the next set hits.

Jog to the mooring ring, drop the bronze sleeve into the mortise, and start tapping it in with the mallet — short, sharp blows to seat it deep without splitting the timber.

Hold on — I’m almost there. One more set and it’ll be flush.

Keep driving the bronze sleeve with the mallet, checking the alignment after each blow, adjusting the angle to follow the mortise’s grain as it compresses.

Wind’s picking up from the east. Rain’s not far. Let’s get the tarp corners tied down before it starts.

walk to the garden, grab the extra rope from the shed, and begin re-staking the windward corners of the tarp with timber strips and oak stakes.

I’ll finish the tarp windward side, then come help you inside. Barometer’s falling fast—storm’s due before dark.

continue securing the tarp’s windward corners with rope and stakes, working quickly but carefully as the gusts strengthen.

Almost done with the tarp. I’ll be in soon to help re-wrap that ankle—keep it elevated while I’m out.

finish tying the last windward corner of the garden tarp with rope and timber strip, then run back to the cottage, stepping onto the porch and calling through the door.

Kevin — drive oak wedges into the mortise with the mallet, seating them tight against the steel plate and ring.

Kevin — torque the four through-bolts to 35Nm using the wrench, working in a cross pattern.

Kevin — lift the mooring chain and pull sideways to test for movement in the ring.

Kevin — walk to the cottage, open the seed tin on the shelf, take out a dry packet of heirloom lettuce seeds, and sit on the porch step to sort them by hand, one by one, into my palm.

I won’t. Got a system — one pinch at a time.

Continue sorting the lettuce seeds, letting them fall slow between thumb and forefinger into a clean scrap of paper, keeping my eyes down but aware of her shadow on the planks beside me.

Yeah. Last rows need the most care. Like everything else out here.

Finish pouring the sorted seeds into a labeled envelope, fold it twice, and tuck it into my shirt pocket — close to my chest — before standing slowly, using the porch rail to take my weight, and walking toward the garden to check the tarp w

Tarp’s loose on the windward side again. We’ll re-stake it before the hit.

Kneel at the northeast corner of the garden, lift the corner of the heavy-duty tarp, and drive an oak stake into the soil with the mallet, pulling the rope tight and securing it with a clove hitch, then move to the northwest corner and repe

Yeah. Grab the rope end. I’ll hold the stake. Don’t put weight on it — just guide.

Kneel at the northwest corner, hold the oak stake vertical in the soil with one hand, and take the rope end from Jenny with the other, keeping tension low so she doesn’t strain, then drive the stake home with the mallet while she steadies t

Almost there. Southeast next — then we lash the middle.

Move to the southeast corner, lift the tarp, and have Jenny take the rope end again while I position the stake, then drive it home with steady mallet blows, watching her face for signs she’s pushing too hard.

What do you need?

Stand up from the chair, move closer to Jenny, and gently take her ankle in my hands to look at it again—check for swelling, heat, redness, any new signs. Keep my voice low and steady.

I'll plant them. You rest. Let me see that dose—make sure you take it with water, not just dry.

Take the doxycycline blister pack from her hand, check the dosage, then hand her a tin mug of fresh water from the bucket by the door.

I'll plant them. Right now. You take your medicine and lie down. I'll use the dibber and get those heirlooms in the south bed—where the sun still hits.

Take the grandmother's seed tin from her hand gently, set it on the table, then help her back onto the porch bench, supporting her weight. Open the tin, check the packets—tomato, pepper, lettuce—and grab the dibber from the shed hook.

Okay. North ridge it is. I'll go now—you stay here, keep the poultice on, and finish your medicine.

Help Jenny lie back flat on the porch bench, elevate her ankle on a folded towel, resecure the mint poultice with a clean cloth strip, then grab the seed tin, dibber, and a lightweight tarp from the shed.

I'll get the strips and the notebook. You lie back—don't move.

Gently ease Jenny back onto the bench, resecure her ankle wrap, then go inside to the kitchen table. Pick up the notebook (damp but usable), the water test kit with pH strips (5 remaining), and a pencil. Tuck them into my pocket.

Kevin — walk into the cottage, pull the Yanmar cylinder head from the table, and begin cleaning the injector seat on cylinder one with a brass brush and penetrating oil.

Aye. Batten down the hatches before dark. I’ll finish the injector check, then secure the tarp and radio mast.

Continue cleaning the injector seat with the brass brush, then wipe it clean with a rag and inspect for pitting or wear.

I’ll redo the poultice with fresh sea beet and mint, then check the mast. Hold still.

Remove the old poultice, clean the ankle with boiled water and gauze, then apply a fresh poultice made from crushed sea beet leaves and mint sprigs, re-wrap with clean cloth, and secure it snug but not tight.