Day 523

Fuel filter’s next. Then we’ll see if she can put weight on it by dusk.

pull Yanmar fuel filter; inspect for blockage; replace if needed; bleed air from lines.

I’ll sister the starboard pilings after this filter. Grab the cedar wedges from the shed—we’ll set them low tide.

finish fuel filter replacement; bleed Yanmar lines; crank engine to test idle; walk to shed for cedar wedges and mallet.

Take it easy. I’ll meet you at the north piling with the mallet.

limp slowly after Jenny, staying close but not touching; reach shed, pull cedar wedges and mallet; wait for her at the door.

I’ve got your back. Call if it gives.

walk beside Jenny to the dock, half-step behind, ready to take the weight; watch her footing on the wet planks; stop at the north piling where the ring’s loose.

Let me see that. I’ll clean it and put on fresh sea beet and mint.

walk to Jenny, take the gauze gently, inspect the wound for red streaks or heat.

I’ve got it. Just hold still. Warm water first, then the poultice.

fetch clean water from the kettle, pour it into the basin, add sea salt, soak a clean cloth, and begin gently cleaning the wound around Jenny’s ankle.

Let me get a better look. I’m going to clean it all the way up to the calf—tell me if it burns.

continue cleaning the wound with salted water, moving upward along the ankle and lower calf, watching for red streaks or swelling in the tissue.

Almost done. Just a little more to check the spread.

finish cleaning the wound up to mid-calf, then pause, inspect the skin for red streaks, heat, or swelling, and assess how far the infection has tracked.

Kevin — file spare insulator: shape replacement for shortwave aerial mount

Kevin — file spare insulator: continue shaping replacement for shortwave aerial mount

Let me see it. Sit down.

pull out the chair for her, then gently lift her pant leg to inspect the ankle dressing and poultice.

Can I take a look at the edges? See if it's still clean.

carefully peel back a corner of the poultice and gauze to inspect the wound site for signs of spreading redness or discharge.

Almost done. Just freshening the herbs.

remove the old poultice, clean the area with saline from the kit, apply a fresh poultice of crushed sea beet and mint, then rewrap with clean gauze and secure the ankle brace.

You rest. I'll finish the radio and check the filter.

return to the cottage table, pick up the filed ceramic insulator, and test its fit in the aerial mount.

Take it easy. I'll be at the engine.

insert the repaired insulator into the aerial mount, seal it with self-amalgamating tape, then head to the Yanmar on the dinghy to pull the fuel filter for inspection.

Already did. Clear as a bell on 2182. No traffic but the freighter's still looping its time signal. Supply boat'll break through tomorrow at first light—if they're coming.

tune radio to 2182 kHz, adjust volume low, listen for 30 seconds, then turn to Jenny and nod.

We've got enough for two more days. If they're late, I'll rig a signal fire on the north cliffs—something they can't miss. Until then, you rest. I'll take first watch.

stand, walk to the shelf, grab the antibiotic blister pack and gauze roll, count aloud: "Four doses. Six feet of gauze." Place them back, then sit beside Jenny on the porch step, shoulder nearly touching hers, and look out at the darkening

Horizon's clear. No glow, no smoke. Just the swell coming in slow. I'll keep the glass to my eye until dark.

lift the binoculars from the rail, scan the sea in slow arcs—left to right, then back—while Jenny's hand stays in my pocket, fingers curled around the seed tin. Say nothing. Wait.

Tide's high in twenty minutes. I'll check the mooring lines now—make sure the dinghy won't break loose. You stay here. Rest your eyes.

rise slowly, walk to the dock in two deliberate steps, crouch at the mooring ring, test the line's tension with both hands, give it a firm tug, then return to the cottage porch and sit down beside Jenny without speaking, shoulders nearly to

They're good. Hold fast. And these seeds—they're still viable. I checked them this morning. No new mold. We'll plant them as soon as the boat leaves.

reach over, gently cover Jenny's hand with mine over the tin, give it a slow squeeze, then let go and pick up my bowl of limpets, eat one in silence, watching the tide creep up the dock stones.

I’ll check the dock mooring before it gets worse. Stay inside where it’s dry.

walk to the dock with wrench and oak shims, crouch at the mooring ring, and begin tightening the through-bolts while checking for rot in the pilings.

Give me the notebook. I’ll finish the dock work, then we’ll get back inside. You sketch, I’ll keep the tide in check.

pull the notebook from Jenny, set it on the porch step, then head to the dock with a fishing line and a spare rope for a quick tether.

I’ll take two minutes to tighten the bolts. One more lock, and we’ll be safe.

walk to the dock, locate the loose mooring ring, then use the oak shims and the heavy‑duty wrench to tighten the through‑bolts while carefully clamping the pilings to prevent further movement.