Day 631

The Storm Arrives, The Ankle Breaks

Dawn thickened overhead as Kevin cleared fallen spruce branches from the garden path, stacking them for kindling. Jenny sat on the low wall, ankle propped on a crate, watching the barometer drop. She examined the trunk and sketched its bark, then attempted sea beet morphology but pain disrupted her focus. Kevin retrieved crushed lime from the shed for tomorrow's soil amendment.

At low tide Kevin broadcast lime across the beds while Jenny hobbled down on her driftwood cane, notebook tucked under her arm. The barometer read 988 hPa. She tried managing sea beet seedlings but her ankle worsened sharply. Kevin ordered her inside; she insisted on finishing the row, then a sharp intake of breath stopped her.

Midday heat stifled the cottage. Kevin lanced the infected ankle, draining pus tracking toward the Achilles tendon, packing it with sea beet poultice and fresh gauze. Jenny went pale and shaking.

Rain fell steady by afternoon. The generator hummed. Kevin warmed the shortwave; Jenny rested on the porch, ankle elevated, notebook closed. He rewrapped the wound — inflammation stubborn but contained. The barometer held at 990. Supply boat due in three days.

Evening light faded to grey purple as rain intensified. In driving rain they inspected the dock: mooring ring held by six oak wedges in splintered mortise, doubler plate bolts seeping but holding, shackle housing cracked at the forge weld with pin seated but eye deformed. Kevin rigged a heavy weather line as backup lashing through the ring and around the north piling, then guided Jenny back.

Night hammered rain on the roof. Kevin sat with coffee and the Yanmar test log; filter whining since Tuesday, housing bore scored from running without lubrication. Jenny wrapped her ankle with the last clean gauze, sea beet transect notebook open beside her. Wind gusts shook shutters. Barometer 990. Three days to the boat.

Scenes

the garden · dawn

The Calm Before the Storm

Kevin is clearing the fallen spruce branches from the garden path while the sky thickens overhead. Jenny sits on the low garden wall, her ankle propped on a crate, watching the barometer needle continue to drop.

Kevin cut and stacked the fallen spruce branches for kindling while Jenny examined the trunk and sketched its bark. Kevin retrieved the crushed lime from the shed for tomorrow's soil amendment. Jenny attempted to sketch sea beet morphology but her ankle pain and swelling disrupted her focus.

🌿 Jenny12:00

Kevin, leave the branches for the morning; the wind is turning south-east.

Jenny pulls the saline bandage from the kit and wraps it tightly around her swollen ankle.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast for the boat to make it, and my leg feels like a hot iron again.

🔧 Kevin12:01

Supply boat's due in three days. Path needs to be clear for the trolley. I'll stack the branches for kindling, trunk can wait.

keep cutting branches with the bow saw, stacking them neatly beside the woodshed, leaving the main trunk where it lies across the path

💭 thought

She's right about the wind. South-east means the big spruce trunk could shift and take the shade cloth anchors with it. But the path needs clearing before the supply boat — if it comes — and I'd rather move wet wood now than frozen wood tomorrow. Her ankle's worse than she'll say. The red line's past her calf now.

🌿 Jenny12:02

The trolley won't matter if the salt gets into the garden walls.

Jenny winces and opens her notebook to sketch the jagged bark of the fallen way trunk.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the path while the island is literally rotting under our feet.

🔧 Kevin12:10

Walls held last blow. Added the deadmen anchors. Salt's not the problem — standing water is. Trench drains if the surge tops the wall.

finish the last low branch, wipe the saw blade on my trousers, walk to the garden wall and check the mortar joints at the seaward base where the last storm chewed the pointing

💭 thought

She's tracking the storm surge in her head — salt kill line, root zones, the tomatoes. Her ankle's throbbing and she's drawing bark patterns. Stubborn as the greenheart.

🌿 Jenny12:11

The trench drains won't help if the soil stays this close. I need to amend it with lime. Kevin, the soil needs lime. Those sea beet glands I studied—they thrive in alkaline pockets.

Jenny reaches into her pocket and pulls out the seed tin, pressing it against her temple. </think> Jenny opens her notebook to the fresh page showing gradient illustrations of salt gland distribution and marks a new section for soil amendme

💭 thought

The mortar is already soft—salt eats stone faster than water ever will. The trench drains won't solve the pH problem—the soil's still holding too much acid for grandmother's seeds.

🔧 Kevin12:12

Lime's in the shed. Crushed and ready. Spread it at low tide tomorrow, work it in before the rain. You're not hauling sacks on that ankle.

walk to the garden shed, pull the burlap sack of crushed lime from the shelf, heft it to check weight, set it back down by the door ready for morning

💭 thought

She's been doing the transects. Knows the elevation bands where sea beet puts on gland density. Lime shifts pH, lets the beets take up water instead of fighting salt. Smart. The tin against her temple — habit, or the headache from the fever?

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the garden · morning

Morning soil amendment and dock work

Dawn breaks under a flat, thickening sky. Kevin stands at the garden shed with the lime sack and a spade, waiting for the tide to ebb. Jenny hobbles down the path on her driftwood cane, notebook tucked under her arm, the ankle wrapped fresh. The barometer reads 988 hPa. The supply boat is due in two days.

Kevin began spreading the lime across the garden beds while the air remained heavy. Jenny attempted to manage the sea beet seedlings, but the pain in her ankle worsened significantly, making it difficult to move effectively.

🔧 Kevin12:13

Morning. Tide's turning.

shoulder the spade and walk to the garden wall, lime sack dragged behind

💭 thought

Pressure's still dropping. Two days to the boat and the sky's building. Need the lime spread before the next rain hits — soil's too acidic for the tomatoes as it is. Jenny's moving better than yesterday but that ankle's not right. She shouldn't be on the cliff path.

🌿 Jenny12:16

I need to get the lime spread before the wind gets too high.

Lean the cane against the stone wall, open the notebook to a blank page, and rub the swollen skin above the bandage.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping again and my leg feels like it's on fire.

🔧 Kevin12:16

You're not spreading lime on that ankle. I'll do it. You sit and sketch.

drop the spade, pick up the lime sack, and walk to the first bed

💭 thought

She's pushing it. The swelling's tracking up past the dressing line. Stubborn as hell but that's not courage, it's denial. Lime can wait an hour. She can't.

🌿 Jenny12:21

way don't dig too deep, the soil is thin enough.

Sit heavily on the garden bench, press the pencil into the paper, and begin drawing the intricate veins of a sea Analysis leaf.

💭 thought

He's being stubborn, but my leg can't take the weight today.

🔧 Kevin12:21

Won't dig. Just broadcast and rake. Surface feed.

slit the burlap with the knife, scatter lime in a slow arc over the tomato row, then work it gentle with the rake teeth

💭 thought

She's right about the soil. Thin over bedrock, salt-scoured. Dig deep and you hit the hard pan where nothing grows. She knows every inch of this garden better than me. Just won't admit she can't work it right now.

🌿 Jenny12:37

Watch the edge, don't let it bunch on the stones.

Watch the white dust settle on the dark earth, shifting my weight to ease the throbbing in my calf.

💭 thought

If the wind picks up, that lime will just be in the sea anyway.

🔧 Kevin12:37

It's not bunching.

feather the rake along the stone edge, sweeping excess back onto the bed, then move to the basil row

💭 thought

She's micromanaging from the bench because she can't stand not being the one doing it. Calf's throbbing — she shifted weight to the good leg. That red line was at the knee yesterday. If it's past that now, the antibiotics aren't holding.

🌿 Jenny12:43

Get some of the sea beet seedlings into pots, they're starting to stretch. Get some of the sea beet seedlings into pots, they're starting to stretch.

Lift the notebook, flip to the page with the salt gland sketches, and trace over my own fever-hot hand. </think>THOUGHT: The infection is spreading faster than the lime. Lift the notebook, flip to the page with the salt gland sketches, and

💭 thought

The infection is spreading faster than the lime.

🔧 Kevin12:44

Sea beet can wait. You're coming inside. Now.

set the rake against the wall, walk to the bench, and crouch to slide an arm under her shoulders

💭 thought

She said it twice. Voice thin. The pencil's shaking on the paper. That red line was at the knee yesterday — if it's tracking up the thigh now, she's got hours, not days. Supply boat's two days out if the channel holds. Need to get her back to the cottage, leg up, last of the metronidazole down her. And the radio — Tom's frequency was quiet last night but the barometer's dropping. Storm's building. She won't let me carry her.

🌿 Jenny12:45

I just need to finish this row, before the wind turns.

Let the pencil fall into the dirt, lean my weight against his chest, closing my eyes against the salt.

💭 thought

He's right, the heat is making my head swim anyway.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

The Midday Heat

The still air grows stifling inside the cottage as the sun peaks. The barometer continues its slow descent.

Kevin lanced Jenny's infected ankle, draining pus and packing the wound with sea beet poultice and fresh gauze. The procedure was quick but left Jenny pale and shaking.

🌿 Jenny12:47

(A sharp intake of breath)

Reach for the saline bottle and the gauze, wincing as the movement pulls against the swelling.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the pulse; if that red reaches my knee, I'm calling for the medevac myself.

🔧 Kevin12:47

Let me do it. Sit back.

walk to the porch and fill the galvanized bucket with seawater from the tank spigot, then bring it back to the cottage and set it on the floor beside her chair

💭 thought

The red line at her knee hasn't faded. She's running out of gauze and the antibiotics are gone. I need to check the wound again and get more seawater for soaking — the poultice helps but it's not enough on its own.

🌿 Jenny12:50

I've got this." "Just... let me work.

Move to the kitchen table, open the medical kit with the left hand, pull out the sterile scalpel. </think>THOUGHT: The infection's edge is clearer than I'd hoped—too clear. Sit upright, unwrapping the sterile gauze while the seawater bucket

💭 thought

He means well, but they're all watching my failure instead of fixing it.

🔧 Kevin12:50

You can't see the top edge from there. Hand me the scalpel.

step up behind her chair, right hand out for the scalpel, left hand braced on the table edge

💭 thought

She's trying to lance it herself with one hand and a mirror. The angle's wrong, she can't see the full spread, and if she nicks the saphenous vein we've got a bleed we can't stop. I've done this on ships — held men down while the bosun cut. She won't let me, but I can't watch her try it blind.

🌿 Jenny12:51

(Quiet, tight-lipped) "I can see fine."

Grip the scalpel tighter, looking down at the red bloom on my skin.

💭 thought

If I give him the blade, he'll see how deep it's actually gone.

🔧 Kevin12:52

Jen. Look at me.

hold her gaze, not reaching for the scalpel, not backing down

💭 thought

Pride's going to cost her the leg. The red line's at her knee — that's lymphangitic spread, not local infection. She needs the pus out clean, not a poke hole. I've drained abscesses in rolling seas with a headlamp and a drunk bosun holding the light. She's got one good hand, a tin mug for a mirror, and stubbornness.

🌿 Jenny12:53

(A long silence) "I'm not fine."

Set the scalpel down on the table, away from his hand.

💭 thought

He's looking at me like I'm a way failing.

🔧 Kevin12:54

I know. Lean back.

pick up the scalpel, flame the blade blue over the stove burner, let it cool on sterile gauze, then kneel beside her chair with the seawater bucket and clean cloth ready

💭 thought

Three words. First time she's said it in eleven months. The scalpel on the table sounds louder than the storm did. Now I can work.

🌿 Jenny12:55

(A way breath) "Be quick."

Lean my head back against the chair, closing my eyes as the rain hits the roof.

💭 thought

The heat in my ankle is going to sting more than the blade will.

🔧 Kevin12:56

Kevin — clean the skin in widening circles with seawater and cloth, locate the fluctuant center by feel, make a single clean incision at the lowest dependent point, let the pus drain into the bucket, pack with sea beet poultice and fresh gauze, wra

💭 thought

She trusts me with a blade near her femoral artery. After everything — the storm, the silence, the letter I didn't send — she closes her eyes. Don't waste it.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening check and radio watch

Rain falls steady on the cottage roof. The generator hums. Kevin sits at the table with the shortwave, warming up, while Jenny rests on the porch cushions, ankle elevated, notebook closed beside her. The barometer holds at 990. The supply boat is due in three days.

The air in the cottage has grown thick and humid as the barometer continues its drop. Kevin has finished rewrapping Jenny's ankle with a fresh sea beet poultice and gauze, noting the inflammation remains stubborn but contained. Jenny sits on the porch, watching the first heavy drops of rain hit the dry garden soil, thinking of the coordinates marked in her notebook.

🔧 Kevin12:58

Radio's warming. I'll give the trust a call at sunset, see if the boat's still on schedule.

check Jenny's ankle dressing and rewrap with clean gauze

💭 thought

The barometer's stuck at 990. Three days to the supply boat if the channel holds. Jenny's ankle is hot to the knee — she's out of augmentin and the metronidazole's done. I need to check the dressing again before dark, and the Yanmar needs that collar plate bolted before the next swell.

🌿 Jenny12:59

Kevin, the poultice needs changing - the edges are catching. And I need you to take the north ridge coordinates to the mainland with the tin. The sea beet morphology study is complete - I've mapped the salt-gland gradients across all elevation zones.

Rise slowly from the porch cushions, wincing as the ankle twists. Walk to the kitchen table where the notebook lies open, flip to the sea beet sketches, then to the map page with the north ridge coordinates marked.

💭 thought

The poultice is holding but the infection is tracking deeper - I can see the erythema margins expanding despite the antibiotics. Three days until the supply boat, and the barometer's dropping another point. I need to get those coordinates to Kevin before he calls the trust, but my ankle feels like it's filling with lead.

🔧 Kevin12:59

The tin stays in the dry bag. You're not walking the north ridge on that ankle.

peel back the poultice dressing, examine the wound edges, reapply fresh sea beet and gauze

💭 thought

She's putting the study in the dry bag for the mainland. Means she expects to leave. Or expects me to. The coordinates are for Tom's cache — she knows. She's not saying it straight.

🌿 Jenny13:43

I'm not walking it again, Kevin. The data is in the book. Just make sure the trust gets the coordinates when the boat arrives.

Sit back heavily on the porch, breathing through gritted teeth as I watch his hands work on my leg.

💭 thought

He thinks he's protecting me, but he's just limiting me. If those coordinates don't get to the trust, the survey of this island remains incomplete. My own is throbbing in time with the rain.

🔧 Kevin13:43

The trust gets the coordinates. You keep the book.

secure the fresh gauze with tape, set the used poultice wrap in the burn bag, sit back on the porch step with the mug of limpet broth

💭 thought

She's handing off the work like she won't be here to finish it. The coordinates, the study, the tin — she's clearing the deck. I'll bolt the collar plate, run the Yanmar, call the trust. But I'm not taking that tin to the mainland without her.

🌿 Jenny13:53

Three days. If the boat doesn't show, we know.

Take a slow sip of the broth, watching the rain hit the half-weeded garden bed.

💭 thought

The broth is salty and weak, but it's warm. I can feel the heat radiating from the ankle even through the layers. It is winning.

🔧 Kevin13:53

Boat'll show. Channel's clear.

drink the rest of the broth, set the mug down, stand and walk to the radio shelf to check the shortwave gain

💭 thought

Three days. If the boat doesn't show, we know — she means the medevac forms, the letter to Tom, the dry bag under the floorboard. She's saying it straight now. The barometer's still falling. I should've bolted that collar plate yesterday.

🌿 Jenny13:55

We'll see.

Reach for the notebook, tracing the sketch of the sea beet gland density with a shaky finger.

💭 thought

He's always so certain of the schedule. The barometer doesn't care about his confidence. My ankle is a pulsing weight.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening as the storm sets in

The light fades to a deep grey purple as the rain intensifies into a downpour. The wind begins to howl around the cottage.

Kevin and Jenny inspected the dock mooring ring and shackle housing in driving rain, finding the ring held by oak wedges but the shackle housing cracked. Kevin rigged a heavy weather line as a backup lashing through the ring and around the north piling, then guided Jenny back to the cottage porch.

🔧 Kevin13:57

Wind's shifting northeast. Going to check the dock lines and the dinghy warp.

pull on oilskin jacket and boots, grab the LED headlamp from the shelf, step out onto the porch and head down the path toward the dock

💭 thought

Storm's settling in proper. Barometer at 990 and steady but the wind's got teeth. Need to check the dock lines before the swell builds — if the mooring ring shears now, the dinghy goes with it.

🌿 Jenny13:59

Be careful out there. The dock's taking water.

grab flashlight and head to dock

💭 thought

The dock lines are the least of it—if the barometer keeps dropping I need to secure everything or we'll be writing our names in the mud instead of the notebook.

🔧 Kevin13:59

Stay on the cottage side of the gangway. Don't step on the south planking.

walk down the slick path toward the dock, headlamp beam cutting through rain, watching the mooring ring and the doubled stern spring where it bites the north piling

💭 thought

She shouldn't be on that ankle in this weather. But she knows the dock better than I do — felt the movement under her boots yesterday when the ring held. Two pairs of eyes.

🌿 Jenny14:03

The ring's tight but that south planking's rotting through—don't put weight there. The ring's tight but that south planking's rotting through—don't put weight there.

check mooring ring bolts </think>THOUGHT: The mooring ring's already compromised from that storm surge—those oak wedges are the only thing keeping it from sliding off into the surf. check mooring ring bolts

💭 thought

The mooring ring's already compromised from that storm surge—those oak wedges are the only thing keeping it from sliding off into the surf.

🔧 Kevin14:03

Doubler plate bolts — are they weeping?

crouch on the sound centre planks, lamp on the four 150mm through-bolts through the steel doubler, checking for water tracking or nut movement

💭 thought

She's right about the south planking — saw the rot line myself two days ago. The ring's holding on borrowed time and oak wedges. Need to see if the doubler plate's still fast to sound timber or if the whole assembly's working loose.

🌿 Jenny14:05

They're seeping but holding. Check the shackle housing while you're up there. They're seeping but holding. Check the shackle housing while you're up there.

check shackle housing for compromise </think> check shackle housing for compromise

💭 thought

Bolts are holding but I can see saltwater staining around the lower threads—time is running out with this storm. Bolts are holding but I can see saltwater staining around the lower threads—time is running out with this storm.

🔧 Kevin14:05

Housing's cracked. Pin's seated but the eye's deformed. Need a lashing backup.

run fingers over the shackle housing, feeling the hairline crack in the forge weld, then secure the heavy weather line as a secondary through the ring and around the north piling base

💭 thought

The shackle housing was compromised last month — pin freed but housing cracked. We lost the replacement overboard. If that housing fails under this swell, the dinghy's adrift.

🌿 Jenny14:07

Double it up then. I can't trust that bolt tonight.

wrap the heavy line around the ring and tension it to the piling.

💭 thought

The metal is tired, just like my ankle. If that ring snaps, the dinghy goes with the tide.

🔧 Kevin14:07

Good. Stay off the south gangway getting back.

take the bitter end from her, cinch a round turn and two half-hitches on the north piling iron, snug it hard with a marlinspike hitch so it won't slip, then coil the tail clear

💭 thought

She's moving on that ankle — bad idea, but she's not wrong. The shackle housing won't take a shock load. Doubling the warp gives us a second path to the piling.

🌿 Jenny14:09

I'm staying inside. If this storm breaks us, I want to map what's left.

secure the heavy line to the north piling with the marlinspike hitch.

💭 thought

The north piling's holding but the south gangway's already flexing under the wave pressure.

🔧 Kevin14:09

Come on. Nothing else to check.

take her arm under the elbow, guide her back up the path toward the cottage porch, headlamp sweeping the planking ahead of her boots

💭 thought

Mapping what's left. She's already writing the ending. The line's holding, the ring's fast, the doubler plate bolts are weeping but seated. Nothing more to do here tonight.

🌿 Jenny14:20

I've got the coordinates marked. If I don't make it back to that ridge, someone needs to know what's there. I've got the coordinates marked. If I don't make it back to that ridge, someone needs to know what's there.

support Jenny's weight on the gangway. </think> support Jenny's weight on the gangway.

💭 thought

The south planking's already compromised—he knows the risk.

🔧 Kevin14:20

You're making it back. Both of us.

tighten grip on her elbow, pace slow to match her stride, boots finding the sound planks by feel, headlamp cutting a tunnel through rain back to the porch steps

💭 thought

She's not talking about the storm. She's talking about Thursday. The medevac forms. The cache coordinates Tom sent. She thinks she's not getting off this island.

🌿 Jenny14:21

Then we start the soil prep at first light. I marked the elevation zones for the sea beet—north ridge coordinates are logged. then we start the soil prep at first light. i marked the elevation zones for the sea beet—north ridge coordinates are logged.

lean against the porch post, letting the rain wash over my face while I trace the coordinates in the notebook one more time. </think> lean against the porch post, letting the rain wash over my face while i trace the coordinates in the noteb

💭 thought

He's right—we're making it back. But I need to start the soil amendment tomorrow before this rain washes the lime away completely.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · night

Storm watch and engine check

Rain hammers the cottage roof. The generator runs steady. Kevin sits at the table with coffee and the Yanmar test log. Jenny wraps her ankle with the last clean gauze, the sea beet transect notebook open beside her. The barometer holds at 990 hPa. Wind gusts shake the shutters. The supply boat is due in three days.

Heavy rain lashes the cottage from the west, forcing the pair indoors as the pressure continues to drop. The garden soil amendment sits ready, waiting for tomorrow's low tide to be spread.

🌿 Jenny14:37

The pressure's holding. We've got three days before the front breaks.

Clean the generator air filter with a strip of cloth from my shirt.

💭 thought

The barometer's holding at 990 - that's the front stalling. Three more days of this rain before it shifts. My ankle's throbbing but I can work through the pain.

🔧 Kevin14:37

Filter's been whining since Tuesday. Good catch.

set down coffee mug, pick up notebook, flip to Yanmar test log page, write: '0631-2000: raw water pump whine persists at idle. bronze adapter test-fitted, not installed. injector pump timing holds at 1800rpm.

💭 thought

She's reading the same barometer I am. Three days of this before the boat can cross the bar — if it comes at all. The generator filter's been choking on salt dust for weeks; she's doing it quiet so I don't have to ask.

🌿 Jenny14:41

The housing bore's scored from running without proper lubrication. I'll machine it tonight. The housing bore's scored from running without proper lubrication. I'll machine it tonight.

Take the bronze adapter from the workbench and check for scoring marks. </think> Take the bronze adapter from the workbench and check for scoring marks.

💭 thought

The whine's coming from the raw water pump housing - it's scored. I see the bronze adapter is test-fitted but not installed. That's the problem right there. The whine's coming from the raw water pump housing - it's scored. I see the bronze adapter is test-fitted but not installed. That's the problem right there.

🔧 Kevin14:41

The bore's scored, yeah. Adapter's fit to the gearbox flange, not the pump housing. Different centreline. You run that lathe tonight with your ankle like that and you'll put the tool through your hand.

stand, walk to workbench, pick up bronze adapter, turn it in fingers, set it back on the clean rag

💭 thought

She's not a machinist. The bronze adapter took me four days to get running true on the lathe — she'll wreck the bore, the adapter, or both. But her ankle's burning and she's still thinking in tenths of a millimetre. That's the part that tightens my chest.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

The season has turned dry.

season · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · dawn

A new project: garden soil amendment.

project_started · dawn

Found: crushed lime sack.

item · dawn

Something goes wrong in the middle of the work — a slip, a cut, a wrenched ankle.

injury · morning

garden soil amendment: 20%.

project · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

abscess was deeper than surface erythema suggested; tracked toward Achilles tendon

discovery · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "The sea beet gland density with a shaky finger".

made · afternoon

garden soil amendment: 30%.

project · afternoon

Sea beet morphology study is complete with elevation gradients mapped.

discovery · afternoon

shackle housing has hairline crack in forge weld; pin seated but eye deformed — cannot trust shackle alone

discovery · evening

doubler plate bolts seeping water but holding; mooring ring retained only by six oak wedges in splintered mortise

discovery · evening

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

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

driftwood · night

garden soil amendment: 40%.

project · night

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · night

← Day 630 Day 632 →

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