Day 540

Rain, Tide, and Quiet Work

Kevin crouched by the dinghy, checking mooring line tension as the tank overflowed. Jenny sat on a crate, propping her ankle while rain lashed the garden wall. They dug a drainage channel to divert overflow from heirloom seedlings, Kevin lining it with filter fabric and pinning edges with stones. Jenny inspected seed trays for damping-off, noting 40% then 50% affected. Kevin sprayed copper on damp cells and fetched limpets from tide pools. Jenny dressed her ankle with antibiotics. A seabird chick fell from the cliff. They ate boiled limpets and stew, then secured the cottage—Kevin checked porch door seal and generator lashings, Jenny tended her ankle and retired. At dusk, they walked to the shrine in grey light, discussing tasks before the supply boat. Heavy rain followed, barometer dropping toward 970 hPa. Inside, damp earth and sea tang filled the air as rain drummed the roof. Jenny noted the mooring held but advised checking the ring bolt tomorrow. Kevin agreed, promising first light inspection.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Rising Tide and Overflowing Tank

Kevin crouches by the dinghy, checking the tension on the mooring lines as the tank overflows. Jenny sits on a supply crate, propping her ankle up on a bucket while watching the rain lash the garden wall.

The steady rain continues as the tide rises, threatening to flood the garden area. Kevin and Jenny work together to dig a drainage channel to divert the overflow water away from the heirloom seedlings, while Jenny assesses the seed trays for damping-off.

🌿 Jenny04:14

The mooring's holding, but we should check the ring bolt tomorrow.

apply antibiotic ointment to ankle wound

💭 thought

The ankle throbs with each thunderclap, red streaking higher. If this spreads to my bloodstream, I won't make it to planting these seeds. Kevin's hands are steady on the lines, but he's not looking at me.

🔧 Kevin04:15

Aye. I'll take a look at first light. You want me to rig something for that overflow? Tank's spilling while we sit.

stand, walk to the overflow pipe at the tank's base, cup hand to feel flow rate, then trace where it's draining uselessly into the rocks.

💭 thought

The ring's solid under load, but she's right to want a daylight check. Rain's steady, tank's full—overflow's wasting good water. I could rig a diversion to the garden, but first I'll confirm the lines aren't chafe-worn.

🌿 Jenny04:15

Divert it toward the garden. The sea beets are parched despite the rain.

sketch the morphology of the sea beet leaf in the margins of the journal

💭 thought

He's letting water hit the salt spray. I could use that runoff for the garden beds, but I can't even move my leg.

🔧 Kevin04:17

On it. I'll cut a channel from the overflow to the beet row. Should give them a steady seep.

walk to the garden wall, pull aside the tarp corner near the overflow's natural path, use the spade to scrape away leaf litter and expose the soil, then start digging a shallow trench downward at a gentle grade toward the sea beet seedlings

💭 thought

She's right—the rain's not soaking in where it counts. Runoff's sheeting off the compacted soil near the wall. I'll rig a simple furrow to guide the overflow to the beet bed. First, check if the ditch needs clearing.

🌿 Jenny04:18

Don't go too deep, Kevin. The soil is loose today.

wrap the ankle in clean gauze

💭 thought

If he digs it too deep, the runoff will just wash the seeds away. I need to watch the drainage. My ankle feels like it's being heated iron.

🔧 Kevin04:18

Just a nick in the surface, like you said. We'll let the water find its way.

continue digging the trench with the spade, keeping it no deeper than two finger widths, following the natural slope from the tank overflow toward the sea beet bed, checking the grade with my boot as I go

💭 thought

She's watching the soil—I can see it in her eyes, the way she's gauging how much give there is. Loose from the rain, yeah. One good scrape and we'll have a gully instead of a furrow. Keep it shallow, follow the contour.

🌿 Jenny04:19

Good. Make sure it doesn't silt up or the water will just pool.

check the seed tray for damping-off

💭 thought

He's actually listening for once. If that channel holds, I won't have to worry about the garden turning to mud.

🔧 Kevin04:21

I'll line it with that filter fabric we salvaged. Keep the silt out, let the water through.

pull the scrap of geotextile from my pocket, lay it along the bottom of the trench, then begin gently backfilling the sides with loose soil to hold it in place, tamping lightly with the spade's edge to secure it without compacting the flow

💭 thought

Silt's the real enemy here—fine stuff from the tank's scour will choke the flow if I don't line it. I've got that scrap of geotextile from the liferaft pack; it'll hold. Lay it in the trench before I backfill.

🌿 Jenny04:21

Make sure the edges are pinned down. The rain will try to lift it up.

apply copper spray to the seedlings

💭 thought

The fabric is a good call. If the silt stays out, the sea beets won't suffocate. My ankle is throbbing with every movement.

🔧 Kevin04:22

Got it. I'll pin it down with stones so the rain can't get under.

walk to the tide line nearby, scoop up three flat, palm-sized stones, return to the trench, place them along the outer edges of the geotextile where it meets the soil, pressing them in just enough to hold the fabric flat against the ground

💭 thought

She's thinking ahead—rain's got lift on that fabric, especially at the edges where the water hits. I'll weight it with those smooth beach stones from the tide line. Handy and they won't roll.

Open this scene on its own page →

the dock · morning

The tide reaches its peak

The rain slows to a drizzle but the tide is high against the dock planks, and the water tank is full.

No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.

🔧 Kevin04:23

Kevin — walk up to the dock and inspect the mooring ring for movement under load, then head to the garden to check the seed trays for damping-off.

💭 thought

The tank’s full—no point hauling more water. Better check if the dock ring’s shifted again with this tide, then see how the seedlings are faring in the damp.

🌿 Jenny04:26

Kevin, check the mooring ring rigging - I need to mark the movement tell-tales.

crawl to the dock edge and press fingers against the water seeping through the rotten planks, then trace the tell-tales with a pencil mark on the joist above.

💭 thought

The tide has breached the dock again. Waterlogged wood beneath the planks, the tell-tales I marked are already slick with rising moisture. My ankle throbs as I watch Kevin's shadow fall across the rot.

🔧 Kevin04:26

Hold still—I’ll brace this plank so you don’t slip.

place my shoulder against the rotting dock plank to stabilize it for Jenny, then watch her mark the tell-tales on the joist above the mooring ring.

💭 thought

She’s marking the tell-tales—smart way to see if the ring’s shifting. I’ll hold the plank steady while she works, then check the rigging tension after.

🌿 Jenny04:27

I've got it. Just watch the line—the tide is higher than yesterday.

make a sharp pencil mark on the joist, then pull back and shift my weight onto my good leg to avoid the swell.

💭 thought

He's too close. The wood is groaning under his weight and my ankle is screaming. I need to finish the sketch before the light fails.

🔧 Kevin04:27

Mark’s down. We’ll check it at low tide—see if it’s crept.

step back from the dock edge, then walk to the workshop to grab the bronze sleeve, through-bolts, and mallet for reinforcing the mooring ring.

💭 thought

The tide’s up—no surprise the ring’s loading. If the tell-tale moves, we know it’s shifting under pressure. Time to reinforce it properly before the supply boat comes.

🌿 Jenny04:29

Right. Don't let the salt get in the bolts.

wipe the pencil graphite off my fingers and limp back toward the cottage to check the seed tray.

💭 thought

He thinks he's helping, but the weight is just making the rot spread faster. My ankle is pulsing in time with the tide. I need to focus on the seedlings now.

🔧 Kevin04:29

Won’t. Epoxy’s waiting.

pick up the bronze sleeve, two 150mm stainless through-bolts with washers and nyloc nuts, the drill with a 12mm auger bit, and the nearly empty epoxy tub, then walk back to the dock to start the mooring ring repair.

💭 thought

She’s right—salt’ll eat the threads if I don’t seal them. I’ve got the bronze sleeve and through-bolts ready. Need to drill clean, drive the bolts, and bed everything in epoxy before the supply boat shows.

🌿 Jenny04:31

Be careful with the drill. The wood is soft there.

crouch over the seed tray and inspect for the white fuzz of damping-off.

💭 thought

If he uses too much epoxy, it won't set in this humidity. My ankle is throbbing so hard I can barely see the seed tray.

🔧 Kevin04:31

Low speed. Pilot first.

set up at the mooring ring mortise, drill a 12mm pilot hole through the softened timber at the marked bolt position, blow out the dust, then test-fit the bronze sleeve and first through-bolt.

💭 thought

Soft wood means go slow, let the bit do the work—don’t lean on it. I’ll drill clean, blow the dust, then bed the bolts in what epoxy’s left.

🌿 Jenny04:33

Move the sleeve a fraction to the left. It's fighting the grain.

reach out to touch the edge of the seed tray, checking the soil for the infection.

💭 thought

He's actually listening for once, but the wood is like wet cardboard. My ankle feels like a hot iron. I need to see those seedlings before the light dies out completely.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin inspected the seed trays, sprayed copper on the damp cells, and fetched limpets from the tide pools. Jenny dressed her ankle with antibiotics and watched the rain, while a seabird chick fell from the cliff.

🔧 Kevin04:34

Jenny, I'm going to look at the seed trays and test the copper spray. Want me to bring you a limpets while I'm out?

walk to garden, inspect seed trays for damping-off, check copper spray bottle contents and pressure

💭 thought

The damp in Jenny's seed tin worries me—mold could ruin the whole batch if it spreads. I should check the copper spray mix and see if it's still viable after the rain.

🌿 Jenny04:35

Just bring the enoughets if they're not too old. I'm staying.

Sit on the kitchen chair, rubbing the swollen area around the bandage, and watch the way drop.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the rain. He's being nice, but I'm too tired to engage.

🔧 Kevin04:36

On it. Be back soon.

check seed trays: 3 pepper, 2 lettuce cells show fuzz; mix copper spray (1 tsp per litre, shaken); spray affected cells lightly; harvest 6 fresh limpets from tide pool bucket, rinse in seawater, wrap in clean cloth; return to cottage

💭 thought

She’s in pain but won’t admit it. The bandage is tight, and she’s watching the rain like it might bring answers. I’ll move quick—get what she needs and get back.

🌿 Jenny04:37

Thank you.

Lean back in the chair and close my eyes, listening to the rain hit the tin roof.

💭 thought

I can hear him moving outside. The copper spray might not be enough if the humidity stays this high, but it's all we've got.

🔧 Kevin04:39

They’re warm. Eat while they’re hot.

place limpets on chipped plate beside Jenny, check Jenny’s seed tin for mold spread, wipe condensation with dry cloth, note: mold limited to one corner, seeds inside still dry and viable

💭 thought

The limpets are still warm from the sun on the rocks. She didn’t open her eyes, but she took them. Rain’s steady—good for the garden, bad for the damp in the seed tin. I’ll check that next.

🌿 Jenny04:39

I'm eating.

Pick up a limpet, feeling the salt and heat, and watch the steam rise in the cold kitchen.

💭 thought

He's being careful with the tin. I don't have the energy to tell him how much that scares me.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening Meal and Rest

You and Jenny return to the cottage, sit at the kitchen table, and share the boiled limpets and a simple stew. The rain continues to fall, and you both prepare for the night.

Kevin and Jenny finished their evening meal and secured the cottage against the weather. Kevin checked the porch door seal and generator lashings while Jenny tended to her ankle and retired to bed. The barometer continues to rise as night falls.

🌿 Jenny04:43

The water is holding for now, but check the tank in morning.

Lean back, taking a slow sip of water, and reach out to touch Jenny's hand on the table.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the rain. I hope the antibiotics hold until the boat comes; I can't lose this leg.

🔧 Kevin04:43

Yeah. I’ll check it at first light. Tank’s holding.

squeeze Jenny’s hand gently, then let go and pick up my bowl to finish the limpets.

💭 thought

The limpets taste of salt and seaweed, simple and clean. Jenny’s hand is warm, her skin dry where the poultice was. I don’t say much, but I’m glad she’s eating, glad the rain hasn’t broken through yet. The tank’s at 391 — enough for tonight, but I’ll check it first thing. The barometer’s rising, but the sky’s still low. I keep thinking about the mooring ring — it held through the storm, but I know it’s not truly fixed. I’ll need to pull the wedges and reset the bolts before the supply boat comes. For now, though, I just want to sit here, quiet, with her.

🌿 Jenny04:45

Don't stay up too late. The barometer is dropping.

Finish the last of the stew and push the bowl to the center.

💭 thought

He's being good, but the silence is too heavy tonight. I need to focus on the seeds tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin04:45

Won't. Just the porch door and the genny straps. Then I'm down.

collect both bowls and the kettle, carry them to the sink, and set them in the basin without running water — just let them sit.

💭 thought

She's right. The barometer was 975 and rising when I checked earlier, but she's been watching it closer than I have. If it's dropping again, the front's not done with us. I should secure the porch door properly and check the generator lashings before I turn in. The radio aerial's still shattered — if the wind picks up, the coax could whip loose. But she's already heading to bed, and I know she won't sleep well if I'm clattering around. I'll move quiet.

🌿 Jenny04:47

Goodnight.

Stand up slowly, wincing as the weight shifts, and head toward the bedroom.

💭 thought

The heat in my ankle is pulsing again. If it gets worse, I won't even be able to walk to the garden.

🔧 Kevin04:47

Night.

walk to the porch door, lift the latch, pull it tight against the weatherstripping, and drop the heavy timber bar into its brackets; then step to the generator shed, pull the ratchet straps taut on the hold-downs, and cinch the loose end.

💭 thought

She's trying to hide the limp, but I see it. The ankle's better than yesterday, but it's not right. She won't let me carry her, won't let me make a fuss. I'll check the door and the generator, then I'll sit with the radio a while — listen for the supply boat's schedule, maybe catch Tom's frequency if the skip's right. But not tonight. Tonight I just want to hear her breathing slow down in the next room.

🌿 Jenny04:49

(Quiet)

Sit on the bed, propping the leg up on a pillow, and watch the shadows of the rain on the ceiling.

💭 thought

The air is so thick I can taste the salt. I need to check that ankle in the morning before the red lines move further.

🔧 Kevin04:49

Kevin — fill the kettle from the tank tap, set it on the stove, strike a match to the kindling, and wait for the whistle; pour two mugs, carry one to the bedroom doorway and set it on the floor beside the bed without stepping in, then return to the

💭 thought

The rain's steady now, no wind. Just the hiss on the roof and the occasional drip from the porch eave into the bucket. The generator's quiet. The door's barred. I could sit at the radio, but the static's thick tonight and Tom's frequency's been dead for weeks. I'll make tea instead — one mug for the nightstand, one for me. Then I'll sit in the kitchen chair until the house settles.

🌿 Jenny04:51

Thanks.

Reach for the mug on the cold floor, wrap both hands around the warmth, and close my eyes against the pulse.

💭 thought

The steam from the tea is the only thing moving in the room. I'm so tired of even thinking about the seed tray.

🔧 Kevin04:51

Kevin — lean the doorframe, cradle my own mug, and stand there a moment longer — just watching the steam rise from hers, the rise and fall of her shoulders — before turning back to the kitchen.

💭 thought

She's holding the mug like it's the only solid thing in the world. The pulse in her ankle's keeping her awake — I can see it in the way her jaw's set, the way her thumb rubs the ceramic. I should've brought the ibuprofen from the med kit. But she didn't ask, and I didn't offer. We're both bad at that. I'll leave the mug here, go drink mine at the table, and listen to the rain until it changes.

🌿 Jenny04:53

(Soft exhale)

Take a sip of the tea, let it warm my throat, and try to sleep through the rain.

💭 thought

The swelling is going to break the skin. If the boat doesn't come in four days, I'm out of options.

🔧 Kevin04:53

Kevin — pull out the kitchen chair, sit heavy, wrap both hands around the tin mug, and stare at the grain of the table — letting the quiet fill the space where words don't go.

💭 thought

The kitchen's cold. The radio's silent under its tarp. I should check the barometer again, log it in the notebook, maybe sketch the dock repair I'll do tomorrow — through-bolts, new wedges, epoxy in the mortise. But the tea's good, hot and bitter, and the rain's a steady hiss on the roof. No wind. The barometer can wait. The sketch can wait. I'll sit here until the mug's empty, then I'll bank the stove and go lie down beside her. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the heat off her skin.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening at the shrine

Kevin and Jenny walk the ridge path together in the grey dusk, the barometer rising behind them. The shrine's weathered stones loom ahead, the carved 'E' stone and the softwood scrap marked 'I'm still here' faintly visible. The air is heavy, salt-thick, and the tide is low below the cliffs. They carry no lights, only the porch glow fading below.

Kevin and Jenny met at the old shrine as the warm rain intensified and the tide began to rise. They discussed the tasks ahead before the supply boat arrives, though the damp air continues to stress the garden seedlings.

🔧 Kevin04:55

Barometer's holding. Wind'll stay west.

walk the ridge path to the shrine, hands in jacket pockets

💭 thought

The path's familiar underfoot — every loose stone, the dip where the spring crosses. Jenny's stride shortened on the climb but she didn't stop. Good. The shrine stones catch the last grey light differently each time; tonight the 'E' stone throws a shadow long enough to touch the softwood scrap. Eleven months and I still don't know if she put it there for me or for herself.

🌿 Jenny04:55

I hope the boat comes on time, Kevin.

Jenny leans a hand against the weathered stone of the shrine, tracing the worn edge of a carved name with her thumb.

💭 thought

The infection is deep, but the antibiotics are holding for now. I have to survive for the seeds in that tin.

🔧 Kevin04:56

It'll come.

stand beside her at the shrine, shoulders almost touching, eyes on the carved initials LB worn into the stone

💭 thought

She's said it three times this week. The boat comes when it comes — trust knows that. But she's not asking about the boat.

🌿 Jenny04:57

Four days is a long time right now.

Jenny shifts her weight, wincing as a sharp spike of pain shoots through her swollen ankle.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come, I'll run out of antibiotics before the infection is truly gone.

🔧 Kevin04:58

Three if the wind holds west. Two if it backs southwest.

shift weight to the bad knee, reach out and steady her by the elbow — light, brief, gone before she can shrug it off

💭 thought

She won't ask for help. Won't say the ankle's worse than she let on this morning. Four days means four more nights of generator hum, four more tide cycles at the dock, four more mornings checking the seed trays alone if she can't walk the garden rows. The bronze sleeve for the mooring ring sits finished in the workshop. The Yanmar still shivers above half throttle. I could fix both before the boat arrives. If my back holds.

🌿 Jenny04:59

The barometer is dropping, Kevin. I can feel it.

Jenny pulls her arm away slowly, looking down at the rain-slicked stones where the names are disappearing into the lichen.

💭 thought

He's always optimistic about the weather. The sea doesn't care about his schedule.

🔧 Kevin05:00

It's not. 990 and steady. Checked at noon.

turn toward the cliff edge, scan the horizon for whitecaps, wind direction — anything that contradicts the gauge

💭 thought

She's wrong. Barometer's been rising since dawn — 976 to 990 by noon, holding steady since. I checked it three times. But she feels what she feels, and the stones are slick, and the names are vanishing. LB. The others too worn to read. She put the 'E' stone here. She carved the softwood scrap. She's the one who remembers.

🌿 Jenny05:01

The air is changing. Look at the clouds.

Jenny reaches into her pocket, fingers the cold, rough surface of the 'E' stone.

💭 thought

He trusts the machine more than his own gut. The air is too heavy.

🔧 Kevin05:02

Clouds are high. No rain in them.

step closer to the cliff edge, hands on hips, breathing the salt air — checking, verifying, because she deserves the truth

💭 thought

Clouds look the same as yesterday — high streaks, no tower. Wind's still west. But her fingers on that stone in her pocket, the way she won't meet my eyes... she's not talking about weather. Four days. The boat. The trust letter folded under the floorboard. The garden half-built. Me.

🌿 Jenny05:03

They're moving in. way.

Jenny turns away from the shrine, watching the first dark line of rain break across the water.

💭 thought

High clouds are just the beginning of the front. The pressure is dropping in my bones.

🔧 Kevin05:04

Rain front. Southwest. Moving.

turn back toward the cottage path, stride lengthening — one hand up to shield eyes against the first fat drops

💭 thought

There it is — a smudge on the horizon, southwest, moving fast. Not in the barometer yet. She saw it before I did. Always does. Three days if we're lucky. Two if that front hits the dock hard. The mooring ring won't take another pounding with just oak wedges. The bronze sleeve needs installing. The Yanmar needs its sea trial. The seed trays need covering. She needs the ankle wrapped and elevated. I need to stop standing here like the stones have answers.

🌿 Jenny05:05

We need to get inside before it pours.

Jenny starts to walk, each step a sharp reminder of the throbbing in her ankle.

💭 thought

He's right for once. The smell is turning to ozone and wet stone.

🔧 Kevin05:06

Slow down. The path's slick.

fall in half a step behind her, close enough to catch her if she goes, far enough to let her pretend she doesn't need it

💭 thought

She's walking too fast for the ankle. Won't slow down. The path drops steep here — loose shale, wet gorse roots. One wrong foot placement and she's down. I could carry her. She'd never let me. The rain's hitting the ridge now, heavy drops kicking up dust on the track. Cottage lights show yellow through the porch window. Generator hum carries on the wind. Four days of supplies if the boat doesn't come. Three weeks of antibiotics if the infection flares. A lifetime of things not said between us.

🌿 Jenny05:07

I'm fine. Just tired.

Jenny shifts her weight to the good leg, gritting her teeth as she starts the descent down the ridge.

💭 thought

He's always hovering. My ankle is screaming, let him know.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Shelter from the evening downpour

The rain turns into a heavy squall as they retreat to the cottage. The barometer continues to drop.

The rain lashes against the cottage roof with a relentless rhythmic drumming, drowning out the sound of the surf. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of damp earth and the metallic tang of the sea. The barometer continues its slow descent toward 970 hPa, signaling that the west front is not merely passing, but settling in.

🔧 Kevin05:09

Kevin — walk to the porch and check the generator storm lashings, then inspect the porch door weather seal.

💭 thought

Barometer's still falling. Squall's got teeth. Need to check the generator lashings and porch door seal before the wind shifts west.

🌿 Jenny05:09

The wind is shifting, Kevin. Check the heavilyings again.

Sit at the kitchen table, wrap the ankle tightly with gauze, and sketch the morphology of the sea much's salt glands.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast; if this storm breaks harder than yesterday, the garden will be soup by morning.

🔧 Kevin05:12

On it.

Hurry to the porch, grab the ratchet strap on the generator lashing, and tighten it by cranking the handle until the strap is taut and the generator won't shift.

💭 thought

She's right—wind's backing. If the lashings slip, the generator goes in the drink. And the porch door's already strained.

🌿 Jenny05:13

Watch the door frame too, the wind is whistling through the stone.

Lean over the sketchbook, pencil shading in the intricate cellular structure of the sea beet's leaf.

💭 thought

He's always so thorough with the hardware, but the rain doesn't caring how tight a bolt is.

🔧 Kevin05:14

Kevin — step to the porch door, feel the draft with my hand along the jamb, then drive the cedar wedge deeper into the hinge mortise with the mallet until the whistling stops.

💭 thought

Frame's shifted before. Stone doesn't move but the timber does. Need to wedge it proper this time.

🌿 Jenny05:15

That's better. Don't let the water get under the frame.

Rub the poultice onto the throbbing skin and check the damp tin of grandmother's seeds for more mold.

💭 thought

At least the door is holding for now. way tackle is screaming in time with the thunder.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Morphology of the sea beet leaf in the margins of the journal".

made · dawn

A tangle of driftwood and flotsam has washed up on the beach.

driftwood · dawn

No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.

quiet_transition · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

A seabird chick has fallen from the cliff ledges.

chick_fallen · midday

a seabird chick has fallen from the cliff ledge

discovery · midday

A fish run is moving through the shallows off the dock.

fish_run · afternoon

A fish run is moving through the shallows off the dock at low tide

discovery · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

A sudden squall sweeps through — wind first, then a wall of rain.

squall · evening

seed tray damping-off inspection: 40%.

project · evening

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Morphology of the sea much's salt glands".

made · night

Kevin made a diagram: "With my hand along the jamb,".

made · night

seed tray damping-off inspection: 50%.

project · night

← Day 539 Day 541 →

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.