Day 534

On it. I’ll run the lines and double the wedges. You stay low and keep that wrap tight—I’ll have it done before the tide turns.

grab the coil of half-inch three-strand from the porch rack and sprint to the dock, looping it tight around the mooring ring and piling, then drive two fresh oak wedges into the mortise with the mallet until the ring stops shifting under lo

Lines are doubled and wedges seated. I’m going to check the epoxy’s set—give it a light tap with the mallet handle. If it’s firm, we’re as good as we can get. You keep that wrap on and breathe slow.

walk back to the dock, crouch low against the wind, and tap the oak wedges with the mallet handle—listening for a solid ring, not a dull thud. Watch for any shift in the mooring ring as the tide starts to turn.

I’ll make a fresh poultice—sea beet and mint, cool and clean. Lie back and let me do this right. No rushing.

go to the cottage kitchen, rinse a handful of fresh sea beet leaves in the seawater bucket, chop them fine with the pocket knife, crush three sprigs of wild mint with the mortar, mix into a cool paste, spread it on a clean gauze square from

On it. I’ll check the ridge and the eastern slope where the wind’s hitting hardest.

walk to the cottage roof, crouch low to inspect shingles and flashing along the ridge and east face, feeling for loose nails or lifted edges, then return to Jenny and say: "No new leaks. Flashing’s tight, shingles are seated.

I’ll stoke the stove and put water on for tea. Let me know if you need anything else.

walk to the wood stove, add two splits of dry kindling and a small log, blow on the embers to get it going, then fill the kettle with water from the rain tank and set it on the stove to heat.

I’ll check the shortwave for any updates and make sure the aerial’s still tied down. Won’t be long.

walk to the radio shelf, pick up the shortwave, check that the self-amalgamating tape on the insulator is intact and the aerial wire is secure, then turn the dial to the weather band and listen for a moment before setting it back down.

Storm’s moving in faster than I thought. I’m going to check the dock lines and the garden tarp—make sure nothing’s going to tear loose. You stay put and keep that ankle elevated.

walk quickly to the dock, grab the mooring line where it’s tied to the ring, give it a firm pull to test the hold, then check the storm anchor warp on the dinghy bow to ensure it’s clear and ready to deploy, then move to the garden and pull

Aye. I'll hit the tide pools while it's still low. Boil up some limpets, maybe stretch it with that corned beef.

walk down to the tide pools, bucket in hand, scan the rocks for limpets attached to the kelp beds.

Thanks, Jenny. I'll be back in a minute.

head to the tidal flats, bucket ready, and start picking limpets from the exposed kelp beds.

Kevin — walk back up from the tide pools to the cottage, bucket of limpets in hand, step onto the porch and through the door to the kitchen.

Aye. Just in time. I'll put these on to boil.

set the bucket of limpets on the counter, fill the kettle with water from the tank, and place it on the wood stove to heat.

I’ve got the pot. Sit down, keep that foot up.

take the pot from the stove, set it on the counter to cool slightly, then help Jenny back to her chair on the porch, supporting her weight as she moves.

Alright. I’ll ladle out the broth. Want some limpets in yours, or just the broth?

lift the lid off the pot, check the limpets are cooked through, then ladle hot broth into two tin mugs, adding a few limpets to each before handing one to Jenny.

Tastes of the sea. Hope it settles your stomach.

sit down beside her on the porch, shoulders almost touching, stare out at the rain-lashed garden while I sip my own broth, letting the silence stretch between us.

Silence is fine. Just… listen to the rain.

sit back, close my eyes for a moment, and listen to the steady patter of rain against stone.

We’ll get that shutter fixed proper when the rain lets up. No more drips on the bandage.

stand up, walk to the shutter leak, and slip my hand under the floorboard to feel where the water’s coming in, judging how bad it’s gotten.

It’s tracking sideways. I’ll sister the joist with greenheart and lay a strip of tarp under the sill to throw it clear.

pull the greenheart plank from the stack by the shed, carry it back, and slide it alongside the rotted joist beneath the leak, then drill pilot holes through both timbers.

Tastes like the sea gave up its salt and kept the good parts.

ladle broth into two tin mugs, hand one to Jenny, then stir the pot slow with the spoon, watching the limpets sink to the bottom.

You're welcome. Drink it slow.

lean back in the chair, boots propped on the stove's edge, and stare at the rain-streaked window until the drizzle fades to nothing but a damp shine on the glass.

Eat up a little. A full stomach lets the body brace for the next few waves.

stir the pot one more time, ladle a little more into their mugs, then set the second mug back on the stove so they can keep dipping.

Good. I’ll keep it hot.

slide the kettle onto the back of the stove to keep the broth simmering, then wipe my hands on my trousers and stand to check the shutter leak—just a quick look, just to see if the rain’s found a new path.

You're right. I'll sit.

sit back down on the chair, set the kettle aside, and press my eyelids against the warm stream of steam from the pot, letting the silence settle.

Good sign. Means the wind’s backing off and the sea might lay down.

reach for the notebook on the table, flip it open to the weather log, and jot down today’s pressure: 993 hPa, rising, with a note: drizzle ended, air damp but clearing.

Me too. Ten days out, give or take. If it doesn’t, we’ve got enough to wait another ten.

close the notebook, set it gently on the table, and wrap both hands around my mug, letting the heat seep into my palms while I stare into the broth’s slow swirl.

The rats are restless. I'll keep the pantry closed tight, maybe set a trap. Can't have them eating the tins.

set a rat trap in the pantry, close the pantry door shut.

Got it. I'll lift it up and check the floorboards again.

lift the grandmother's seed tin onto the highest shelf in the kitchen, then inspect the floorboards for water entry points.

Kevin — stand still while Jenny applies the mint poultice to my ankle.