Day 536

Barometer’s at 991 and rising. Wind’s still NE though—don’t trust it yet. Let me see your ankle.

walk over to Jenny on the porch, crouch beside her, and gently take the damp cloth from her hand to inspect the swelling and warmth around her ankle.

Show me. Take the wrap off slow.

carefully unwrap the damp cloth from Jenny’s ankle, turning her foot in the morning light to examine the swelling, skin color, and any tracking lines up the calf, while palpating gently for heat and tenderness.

Let’s get you inside. I’ll clean it proper—boiled water, gauze, the antibiotic cream. We’ll see how deep it goes.

support Jenny’s arm as she stands, guide her slowly into the cottage, and help her sit on the kitchen chair by the table where I can lay out the first aid kit, boiled water, and clean cloths.

I’ll take it easy. Tell me if I’m too hard.

pour boiled water over the tweezers and gauze to sterilize them, then begin gently cleaning the ankle wound with saline-soaked gauze, working from the center outward to check for pus, dead tissue, or foreign matter, while watching Jenny’s f

It’s supposed to sting—means it’s cleaning. Bear with me.

continue cleaning the ankle with sterile gauze and boiled water, lifting the edges of the swelling carefully to inspect for any puncture wound, embedded debris, or signs of fluctuance beneath the skin, while speaking low to keep Jenny focus

Storm’s proper now. I’ll check the trench backfill before it washes—see if the gravel holds.

walk to the garden, kneel at the trench edge, press a boot into the backfilled soil to test compaction

Aye. I’ll nail the tarp over the shutter gap—keep the rain off the sill till the wind drops.

grab the heavy-duty tarp from the porch, fold it to fit the shutter opening, haul myself up to nail the corners into the window frame with the hammer and copper nails (salvageable ones, bent but usable for temporary hold)

Double hem it, then. Grab the fist-sized stones from the south wall—keep it from ballooning.

fold the tarp’s bottom edge over twice, crease it tight, then walk to the garden wall, lift three fist-sized stones, and lay them along the tarp’s hem where it meets the sill, pressing them into the soft soil to anchor it against the wind

Base stones. Right.

walk back to the south garden wall, pry two flat base stones loose with the crowbar, carry them back, and set them flush along the doubled tarp hem where the wind hits hardest, pressing them down hard into the mud

I’ll get the sea beet. Fresh batch for the poultice.

walk to the tidepools at the south beach, cup both hands under the falling rain to rinse a fresh bunch of sea beet leaves, then return to the cottage and pound them in the mortar with the pestle until pulpy, mixing in a few dried mint sprig

Kevin — walk to the tide pools and start collecting limpets into a bucket, working the sheltered side of the rocks where they’re fattest and easiest to pry.

I’ll be quick. Hand me the bag when I’m back—I’ll rinse them in the bucket before I come up.

Keep working the pools, using the knife tip to loosen each limpet before it clamps down, dropping them into the bucket. Move fast but steady, eyes on the water’s edge where the first ripple will show the tide’s return.

It’s zipped. Go on with your ankle—I’ll be back before the water touches the rock.

Pry the last few limpets from the deepest pool, drop them in, then grab the bucket and start walking back up the beach toward the cottage, boots sinking in wet sand.

Hold on—I’ll rinse them first. Outside tap, quick.

Turn toward the side of the cottage where the rainwater tap drips into a bucket, set the limpet bucket down, and pour fresh water over them, swirling to wash off sand and shell fragments before lifting them out by hand.

Right behind you.

Scoop the rinsed limpets into the bowl I brought, carry it through the door, and set it on the far end of the table—clean edge, no grit—then turn back for the pot.

Nearly. Just needs a minute more. Lean back, I’ll hold the cloth.

ladle hot water from the kettle into the pot to bring it to a boil, then turn to Jenny and gently re-wrap her ankle with the vinegar-soaked cloth, keeping it snug but not tight.

I know. It’s supposed to sting. Means it’s working. Breathe slow.

press the cloth firmly but gently against her ankle, then move to the stove and stir the limpets in the boiling water, skimming off the foam that rises to the top.

Then let it try. We’re not going anywhere. Not today.

lift the lid off the pot, check the limpets—they’re curled and red, almost done—then turn off the stove, pour a little of the broth into a tin mug for Jenny, and hand it to her with both hands.

Drink it while it’s hot. I’ll get more limpets on if you want another round.

set the mug down carefully on the table beside her, then return to the stove, relight the burner under the empty pot, and start heating fresh water for a second batch.

Alright. I’ll sit with you then. No cooking. Just… here.

pull the stool from under the table and sit beside Jenny on the porch step, shoulder almost touching hers, and look out at the darkening water without speaking.

Looks like it. Should cool things down. I’ll check the shutter later—see if it needs another wedge.

shift slightly on the step to face the cottage, watch the corner where the shutter leaks, and wait for the first drops.

On it.

Walk back to the garden drainage outlet and check water flow, then inspect the cottage foundation where the trench meets the wall.

Already moving.

Clear leaves and silt from the drainage pipe mouth with hands, then run a stick through to break any clog, testing flow with a handful of gravel to see if it carries away.

Jenny — tide’s rising fast at the shrine. I’m heading back now. Keep the poultice on and stay off that ankle.

walk back to the cottage via the ridge path, keeping to higher ground as the water advances.

I’ve got you. Lean on me if it’s too much. We’ll make the cottage before the water cuts the low path.

slow my pace to match hers, shoulder ready to support her weight as we move down the ridge toward the cottage.

(nothing — just match her pace, keep my shoulder firm under her weight)

walk with Jenny down the ridge, watching our footing on the wet grass, ready to steady her if she stumbles, eyes on the cottage roof ahead.

(nothing — breath steady, presence firm)

continue walking beside Jenny, slowing slightly as we reach the cottage threshold, prepared to take her full weight if her good leg gives out on the final steps.