← Days

Day 633

Crab Damage and Rising Barometer

At dawn Kevin found the coconut crab had shredded the shade cloth overnight, snapping two oak stakes at ground level and leaving the cloth flapping loose over the tomato rows. The barometer read 991 hPa and rising; the tide was coming in and the supply boat remained thirty-six hours out if the front held. Jenny lay on the porch with her ankle propped on a cushion, a cold damp cloth on her forehead. "Ankle's hotter than yesterday. How's the head?" Kevin asked. "Hotter than yesterday, Kevin. Head's pounding but I need you to grab the spare oak stakes from the woodshed—we're doubling every anchor point with chain before the crabs find the loose corners. The barometer's climbing, but we can't risk another tide wash," she said. "Spruce offcuts in the woodshed, not oak. Chain's in the workshop. I'll get them. You stay put," he replied. He returned with chain and spar clamps, then checked the ankh brace on her boot. "Tight. Both holding. Brace is solid." Rain began falling heavily by midday, drumming the tarp over the cottage roof. The water tank gained about twenty-five litres three times through the day. Kevin cleared the copper spillway hose outlet, confirming steady drainage. Jenny sketched the erosion channels the water carved in the grass slope, her hands trembling slightly. By evening the barometer had dropped four millibars since noon and the wind backed southwest. "Means the center's passing south of us — we'll get the dirty side," Kevin said. Jenny changed the poultice on her ankle. "The barometer is dropping faster than it did this morning," she told him. The radio was working; she asked him to turn it up. "I need to hear a voice."

At dawn Kevin found the coconut crab had shredded the shade cloth overnight, snapping two oak stakes at ground level and leaving the cloth flapping loose over the tomato rows. The barometer read 991 hPa and rising; the tide was coming in and the supply boat remained thirty-six hours out if the front held. Jenny lay on the porch with her ankle propped on a cushion, a cold damp cloth on her forehead. "Ankle's hotter than yesterday. How's the head?" Kevin asked. "Hotter than yesterday, Kevin. Head's pounding but I need you to grab the spare oak stakes from the woodshed—we're doubling every anchor point with chain before the crabs find the loose corners. The barometer's climbing, but we can't risk another tide wash," she said. "Spruce offcuts in the woodshed, not oak. Chain's in the workshop. I'll get them. You stay put," he replied. He returned with chain and spar clamps, then checked the ankh brace on her boot. "Tight. Both holding. Brace is solid." Rain began falling heavily by midday, drumming the tarp over the cottage roof. The water tank gained about twenty-five litres three times through the day. Kevin cleared the copper spillway hose outlet, confirming steady drainage. Jenny sketched the erosion channels the water carved in the grass slope, her hands trembling slightly. By evening the barometer had dropped four millibars since noon and the wind backed southwest. "Means the center's passing south of us — we'll get the dirty side," Kevin said. Jenny changed the poultice on her ankle. "The barometer is dropping faster than it did this morning," she told him. The radio was working; she asked him to turn it up. "I need to hear a voice."

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Crab damage and a rising barometer

Kevin and Jenny are on the cottage porch at dawn, Jenny's ankle propped on a cushion with a cold damp cloth on her forehead. Kevin discovers the coconut crab has shredded the shade cloth anchor points overnight, two oak stakes snapped off at ground level and the cloth flapping loose over the tomato rows. The barometer reads 991 hPa and rising, the tide is coming in, and the supply boat remains thirty-six hours out if the front holds.

The morning air is heavy with the scent of coming rain as the clouds thicken over Sorrel Island. The tide is rising steadily, lapping at the lower dock pilings. Jenny lies in the cottage, her face flushed with fever, while Kevin stands in the garden, where the shredded shade cloth flutters violently in the increasing breeze.

🔧 Kevin16:24

Ankle's hotter than yesterday. How's the head?

Check Jenny's forehead with the back of my hand, then walk to the garden to assess the shade cloth damage and snapped oak stakes.

💭 thought
She's burning. The red line's past the knee now, tracking up the thigh. Two doses of augmentin left. Boat's thirty-six hours out if this front holds — barometer's rising but 991 isn't safety, just a pause. The shade cloth's the least of it, but the tomatoes won't survive another day of full sun and salt spray with roots that shallow. Crabs got the stakes. Chain next time. If there's a next time.
🌿 Jenny16:29

Hotter than yesterday, Kevin. Head's pounding but I need you to grab the spare oak stakes from the woodshed—we're doubling every anchor point with chain before the crabs find the loose corners. The barometer's climbing, but we can't risk another tide wash.

Feel the fever spike against Kevin's palm, then immediately shift focus to the practical crisis. Walk to the garden edge where the shredded shade cloth flaps in the morning wind, pointing to the snapped oak stakes.

💭 thought
The infection's spreading faster than I thought—I can feel the fever crawling up my spine. The coconut crabs have already eaten through the anchor stakes overnight; I should have doubled them with chain like I noted in the shared notebook. But right now, the immediate threat is the rising tide and whether the ankh brace can hold another day.
🔧 Kevin16:30

Spruce offcuts in the woodshed, not oak. Chain's in the workshop. I'll get them. You stay put.

Walk to the woodshed, grab four spruce offcuts and the coil of 6mm galvanized chain, then return to the garden.

💭 thought
She's directing traffic with a fever that'd put a man in a bunk. Two doses left and she's worrying about tomato rows. The stakes are in the woodshed — dry spruce offcuts, not oak, but they'll drive. Chain's in the workshop, half a coil of 6mm galvanized from the dock repair. Need to work fast before the tide pushes the path.
🌿 Jenny16:41

Wait—chain's heavy, I need you to hand me the spar clamps from your belt. And Kevin? The ankh brace—it's loose at the heel. Check the nyloc nuts while you're here. (My voice cracks slightly from the fever.) Good, but Kevin—stay. Check the ankh brace. It's loose at the heel, and I need you to tighten the nyloc nuts. (My voice comes out raspier than I intended, but he won't hear the hesitation.)

Press the cold cloth harder against my forehead, then start counting the tomato seedlings that are already showing salt stress from the overnight exposure.

💭 thought
Spruce will do—I have enough oak stakes for the north ridge already. But he's taking the chain without checking if we have enough. My hands won't stop shaking, and I can feel the infection tracking down my leg like the sea beet poultice isn't even touching the right tissue.
🔧 Kevin16:42

Chain and clamps first. Then the brace.

Hand her the spar clamps from my belt, drop the chain coil and spruce offcuts at the garden edge, then crouch at her ankle to check the brace heel plate and nyloc nuts.

💭 thought
Ankle brace. Not ankh. She's burning hot and her tongue's thickening. The nylocs on the heel plate — I tightened them yesterday after the vibration test. Shouldn't be loose. But she felt it. She feels everything. Chain and clamps first, then the brace. If the heel's working loose, the transom's taking load wrong.
🌿 Jenny16:43

Just check the tension. If those nyloc nuts are stripped, I'm not making it to the boat when it arrives.

Flinch slightly as he touches the ankle, my eyes tracking the swelling around the bandage. Watch the skin for new red streaks.

💭 thought
He's moving too fast. If that brace isn't secure, the whole thing will shift when I try to walk to the dock tomorrow.
🔧 Kevin16:43

Hold still.

Check the two nyloc nuts on the brace heel plate with a 19mm wrench, feeling for play or stripped threads, while watching the red line on her thigh.

💭 thought
She's looking at her own leg like it's a gauge she can't trust. The brace heel plate — two 10mm nylocs on stainless through-bolts through the transom doubler. I torqued them to 35Nm three days ago. If they're stripping, the transom's flexing more than the bronze sleeve repair held. Or the infection's eating bone. Either way, the boat's thirty-six hours out and she's got two doses left.
🌿 Jenny16:45

Are they tight? I need to be able to walk to the radio if the way actually shows up.

Bite my lip to keep a groan escaping as he adjusts the brace. Watch the barometer through the window.

💭 thought
The metal is cold, but my skin is burning. If those threads don't hold, I'm stuck on this porch until the infection wins.
🔧 Kevin16:45

Tight. Both holding. Brace is solid.

Set the wrench down, peel back the top of the bandage just enough to check the red line at her groin, then re-wrap it clean and tight.

💭 thought
Both nylocs hold. No play in the heel plate, threads clean. The brace isn't the problem — her leg is. The swelling's pushed past the calf into the thigh, hot through the bandage. Red line's faint but visible at the groin crease. She knows what that means. So do I. Two doses augmentin. Thirty-six hours if the front holds. She won't walk to the radio. She won't walk to the dinghy. If the boat comes, I carry her.
🌿 Jenny16:53

"Check the barometer again for me. If it keeps dropping, we need to have the medevac forms fully ready before the rain hits for real."そもそもDO: Let out a long, shaky breath, feeling the throb in my leg. Look out at the horizon, staring at the clouds thickening over the island.

💭 thought
The line is moving. If it hits the knee, the poultice isn't going to cut it anymore. I need that boat to come tomorrow, or I need to be gone before.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Dawn of the rising tide

The tide reaches the midpoint of the dock pilings as the first heavy drops of rain hit the dust-dry soil.

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

🔧 Kevin16:55

Jenny — storm's building faster than the glass said. I'm battening the garden and the dinghy. You stay put, keep the leg up.

grab the 6mm galvanized chain coil and heavy-duty twine from the workshop, then move to the garden to reinforce shade cloth anchors and tie down tomato stakes

💭 thought
The barometer lied — 993 and rising my arse. That's a proper low rolling in, not a passing shower. Tide's already halfway up the pilings and the wind's backing southwest. If the supply boat was coming, it would've shown by now. Need the garden tied down and the dinghy warp doubled before the fetch builds.
🌿 Jenny16:56

Check the south wall—the water is rising too fast. And don't go out on the dinghy if the swell turns.

Jenny reaches for the tin of seeds, her fingers trembling as she traces the edge of the sea beet sketch, then winces, clutching her throbbing ankle against the pillow.

💭 thought
If the wind picks up any more, the garden soil will be mud before the boat even arrives.
🔧 Kevin16:56

South wall first. Then the dinghy from the dock. Not getting in her till the swell drops.

walk to the south garden wall and inspect the base where water's pooling, checking for undermining or breach

💭 thought
She's right about the south wall — spring runoff plus storm surge plus high tide means water where it shouldn't be. And she's not wrong about the dinghy either. Swell's already stacking against the dock. I'll check the wall first, then secure the boat from the dock side. No need to be on the water to double the warp.
🌿 Jenny16:57

Watch the lime-washed stones—if they shift, the whole terrace goes.

Jenny sits up painfully, a sharp hiss escaping her teeth, and reaches for the scalpel to check if the poultice is holding through the heat.

💭 thought
He's going to work himself into the ground if he doesn't stop when the rain gets heavy.
🔧 Kevin16:58

Seen it. Base course is taking the hit. I'll brace it with the greenheart offcuts and the come-along before the next high tide pushes harder.

move to the dock shed, retrieve the greenheart offcuts and come-along, then return to the south garden wall to shore up the base course with timber and tension

💭 thought
She knows that wall better than I do — built half of it herself stone by stone. The lime wash hides the cracks but not the movement. If the terrace goes, the garden goes with it. Water's already chewing at the base.
🌿 Jenny16:59

Be careful with the tension—the mud is getting slicker than it looks.

Jenny leans back against the headboard, watching the grey light on the windowpane, her hand resting over the swollen heat of her ankle.

💭 thought
If that wall doesn't hold, the salt will leach into the seeds before I even plant them.
🔧 Kevin17:01

Won't crank it hard. Just enough to take the pressure off the stones while I drive stakes behind for deadmen. The offcuts'll span three courses.

drive two greenheart stakes deep into the bank behind the wall, then lay the offcuts horizontally against the base course and secure with light come-along tension — just holding, not pulling

💭 thought
She's not wrong. The clay behind the wall turns to grease when it's saturated. Too much pull on the come-along and the whole face rotates out. Need to spread the load — deadmen back into the bank, not just leverage on the face.
🌿 Jenny17:02

Make sure the stakes are deep. If they pull, the whole south face slides into the sea.

Jenny reaches for the notebook on the nightstand, noting the pressure drop to 988 hPa, her hand shaking as she turns the page.

💭 thought
He's right about the deadmen; the soil is too saturated for just stakes to hold.
🔧 Kevin17:02

Driving them to the clay. Not the mud.

use the crowbar to punch pilot holes through the saturated soil until hitting firm clay, then drive the greenheart stakes full depth with the mallet, checking each with a hard kick before laying the offcuts

💭 thought
988 and still falling. That's not a storm — that's a proper blow. Five millibars since I looked last. The stakes need to be in the clay, not the mud on top. Two feet minimum. And I should've done this three weeks ago when the ground was dry.
🌿 Jenny17:03

Watch the top edge. If it starts to bulge, the garden is gone.

Jenny pulls the sheets up to her chin, the throb in her ankle matching the rhythm of the rain hitting the tin roof.

💭 thought
If he hits the clay, the wall might actually survive the night. I just need this fever to stop climbing.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

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

🔧 Kevin17:06

Kevin — walk to the kitchen, fill a tin mug with water from the tank, drink. Set the mug down. Go to the porch door, pull on oilskin jacket. Step out onto the porch. Watch the rain drive sideways across the garden.

💭 thought
The rain hammers the roof. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of boiled limpet broth, antiseptic, and old diesel from my hands. Jenny's asleep on the bed, the blanket pulled to her chin. Her ankle's wrapped clean, the red line gone. Two doses of augmentin left. The barometer's at 987 and falling. Supply boat's due tomorrow. The channel will be white water. I need to check the dinghy's seacocks again, secure the seed tin, and key the radio at 1400. Tom's frequency. This time I speak.
🌿 Jenny17:09

Kevin, get over here. I need you to check something.

limp to the kitchen doorway, lean against the frame for support

💭 thought
The rain is coming in from the west, 26°C and driving sideways. My ankle is throbbing despite the poultice - infection is tracking past the margin. I need to debride and add pine resin to the sea beet paste. The barometer's still at 993 hPa, steady enough for now. Kevin's out there in the storm, probably wondering why I didn't come out to help secure the garden.
🔧 Kevin17:10

Right here.

Turn from the porch, cross the main room in two steps. Stop at the kitchen doorway, shoulder against the frame. Look at her ankle, her face, the way she's holding the doorframe.

💭 thought
She's up. Moving. That's something. But the limp's heavier than this morning, and her face has that grey undertone. Fever's back or the infection's tracking. I'm at the porch door, rain blowing in. Two strides to the kitchen.
🌿 Jenny17:11

Look at theので. It's moved higher than it was this morning.

peel back the damp bandage on the ankle with trembling fingers

💭 thought
He's looking at the streaks. I can see it in his eyes—the fear he's trying to hide with silence. If the boat doesn't come tomorrow, I'm going to lose this leg, and I'm definitely losing the seeds.
🔧 Kevin17:11

Hold still.

Crouch down. Pull the bandage back further with careful fingers. Look at the skin, trace the angry red streak upward with my eyes. Compare to where I marked it in pen this morning. Feel for heat with the back of my hand.

💭 thought
She means the red line. The tracking. This morning it was at the groin. If it's higher —
🌿 Jenny17:13

It's spreading, Kevin. The honey is barely working.

reach for the scalpel on the kitchen table

💭 thought
He's touching it. He knows. The heat is radiating off the skin like a stove. If I don't get those antibiotics tomorrow, the island is going to swallow me.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

The rain has intensified into a heavy downpour, drumming against the heavy-duty tarp over the cottage roof. The water tank is filling rapidly, but the overflow channel is clear thanks to Kevin's work. Jenny sits on the porch, nursing her ankle while the pressure increases the throbbing pain in the infection.

🔧 Kevin17:14

Kevin — walk into the cottage kitchen, set the kettle on the wood stove, and check the barometer on the shelf.

💭 thought
The rain's getting heavier. Need to check Jenny's temperature and get the last augmentin dose ready. The supply boat's due today but with this weather and the barometer falling... I should have the radio on, listening.
🌿 Jenny17:20

Barometer's holding at 993, but the water's rising fast. I need you to check the overflow channel - there's been seepage near the west foundation.

Check the copper spillway channel for leaks and verify the overflow is clear.

💭 thought
The barometer's still dropping, and I need to finish the poultice prep while the fever spikes.
🔧 Kevin17:20

On it.

Grab the headlamp from the shelf, pull on the oilskin jacket, and head out the porch door to the west side of the cottage where the copper spillway runs.

💭 thought
She's been watching the water while I was out. The overflow's been a problem before — if the tank's full and the ground's saturated, it finds the foundation. Need to check the copper pipe run and the hose extension.
🌿 Jenny17:42

Good. I'll check the generator's fuel filter while you're out there - might as well make sure the Yanmar's running smooth for when we need it.

Check Yanmar fuel filter for clogs and clean if necessary, then prepare fresh sea beet-mint poultice for afternoon application.

💭 thought
The seepage near the west foundation could mean the overflow's compromised. Should I wait to see if he finds anything before starting the next poultice cycle?
🔧 Kevin17:42

Generator's in the shed. Filter's the brass bowl under the carb. Spare diaphragm's on the shelf if the bowl gasket's gone.

Crouch at the west foundation where the copper pipe exits the tank overflow. Follow the 1.2m copper run to the hose extension, check the bamboo stakes holding it, and look for water pooling against the stone.

💭 thought
She's doing the work I should've done. The generator filter's been catching silt from the drum. And she's making the poultice herself — her ankle's still bad but she won't stop.
🌿 Jenny17:43

Check the bamboo stakes and the hose extension. If it's clogged with silt, we'll lose the garden in the runoff.

Inspect the copper spillway for debris and clear the path to ensure the water drains away from the cottage.

💭 thought
If that pipe is blocked, the whole tank will overflow the foundation. My ankle is throbbing in time with the rain.
🔧 Kevin17:44

Kevin — pull back the grass at the hose outlet, clear any silt blockage with fingers, then check each bamboo stake — drive them deeper with the mallet if they're loose. Trace the hose back to the copper joint, feel for leaks at the connection.

💭 thought
She's telling me what I'm already looking at. The hose extension's buried in grass slope — if the outlet's silted, the water backs up into the pipe and finds the foundation cracks. The bamboo stakes have been loose since the last blow.
🌿 Jenny17:45

Make sure that hose joint is tight. If it's weeping, we'll have to wrap it in' once the rain lets up.

Check the bamboo stakes and secure the hose-to-copper connection.

💭 thought
If the stakes are loose, the pressure will tear the whole line out. I need to see if the joint is holding.
🔧 Kevin17:46

Joint's tight. Outlet was half-silted. Cleared it. Stakes were loose — drove them in.

Stand up, wipe mud off hands on oilskin, and walk back toward the porch. Pause at the tank to glance at the water level sight tube.

💭 thought
The joint's been weeping since I ran the extension. Self-amalgamating tape held last time but the hose flexes in wind. She's right — needs a proper clamp or a wired wrap when the weather breaks.
🌿 Jenny17:47

Good. I'm going to change the poultice. The ankle is starting to throb again with the pressure

Walk to the porch, sit on the chair, and lift the leg onto the stool. Unwrap the bandage.

💭 thought
The water level is too high. If the boat doesn't come tomorrow, we'll be rationing more than just food.
🔧 Kevin17:48

Fresh poultice on the table. Clean gauze beside it.

Step onto the porch, go to the kitchen table where the sea beet leaves, mint sprigs, and honey jar sit. Crush the leaves and mint together with the back of the tin mug, stir in honey, spread on clean gauze.

💭 thought
The pressure drop's hitting her wound. Barometer at 993 and falling — she feels it in the bone and the infection pocket. I should have the fresh poultice ready when she unwraps. The mint's drying on the porch rail. Sea beet in the basin. Honey in the pantry.

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the old shrine · evening

The Rising Tide and Falling Pressure

The rain continues to lash the island from the west. Inside, the cottage is warm with the smell of damp wood and sea beet. The barometer continues to drop.

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

🔧 Kevin17:49

Kevin — walk to the generator shed and check oil level, then return to the cottage porch to sit with Jenny

💭 thought
The barometer's still falling. Storm's not done with us yet. Jenny's sleeping finally — first real rest in days. I should check the generator, top up the oil, make sure the radio's still pulling through the static. Then sit with her till morning.
🌿 Jenny17:51

The barometer is dropping faster than it did this morning.

Rub the fresh poultice into the incision and wince.

💭 thought
The pressure is going to break; if the boat doesn't come tomorrow, I won't be able to walk to the dock.
🔧 Kevin17:51

Dropped four millibars since I checked at noon. Wind's backing southwest too. Means the center's passing south of us — we'll get the dirty side.

sit on the porch step beside her, close enough that shoulders touch, and watch the barometer face through the rain

💭 thought
She's been watching it closer than I thought. Good. Means she's tracking.
🌿 Jenny17:53

Just hope the tide doesn't take the dock again.

Lean my head against his shoulder and watch the rain blur the ridge.

💭 thought
If the boat doesn't come, I'm going to run out of antibiotics before this leg clears.
🔧 Kevin17:53

Dock's not going anywhere. Collar's holding. Warp's doubled on the north piling. We lose a plank or two, maybe. Not the structure.

rest my hand on her forearm, thumb brushing the edge of the bandage, and keep watching the barometer needle tremble

💭 thought
The dock held through worse. North piling's the weak spot — old creosote, rotted at the mudline. But the collar and the sister plank are doing their job. Warp's doubled. She knows this. She's just tired.
🌿 Jenny17:55

I need that boat to show up.

Close my eyes and breathe through a spike of pain in my ankle.

💭 thought
He's so sure about the wood while I'm falling apart from the inside.
🔧 Kevin17:56

The boat comes when the window opens. Not before. We're ready either way.

squeeze her forearm once, steady, then reach for the tin mug beside her and hold it out — warm broth, still steaming

💭 thought
She doesn't mean the supplies. She means the medevac. The forms are signed. The ditch bag's packed. The radio's hot. But the channel's white water to the horizon and the barometer says it's getting worse before it breaks. I can't promise her what the sea won't deliver.
🌿 Jenny17:58

I can't walk to the dock if the infection spreads. It's not the dock I'm worried about.

Take the mug and let the warmth seep through my fingers. </think>THOUGHT: If the boat comes and I can't walk, he'll have to get the tin himself. Press my palm against the broth and sip carefully.

💭 thought
The window's closing fast and I'm already outside it.
🔧 Kevin17:58

I'll get you there. Dinghy's rigged. Warp's ready. I'll back her right up to the porch steps if that's what it takes.

shift closer on the step, blocking some of the wind-driven rain from her side, and keep my voice low and level

💭 thought
She's saying it plain now. No dancing around it. If the red line hits the femoral, if the fever spikes past what antibiotics can hold — she's not walking anywhere. And I can't carry her through surf to a dinghy in this sea state. Not alone. Not with a bad ankle of my own.
🌿 Jenny18:02

Just make sure the radio is actually working. continuedDO: Lean my weight against his shoulder and watch the rain wash the stones.

💭 thought
He thinks he can fix the island, but the tide is coming in.
🔧 Kevin18:03

It's working. You want to hear it?

reach past her into the cottage doorway, fingers finding the mic clip on the bulkhead, and key the set — static rushes out, white and loud in the rain

💭 thought
Radio's working. Aerial insulator held. Coax is good. Ground stake's solid. I checked it all this morning. But she needs to hear it from the machine itself — the static, the dead air, the possibility of a voice cutting through.
🌿 Jenny18:05

Turn it up. I need to hear a voice.

Listen to the white noise and wait for a signal.

💭 thought
If it's just static, I'm going to lose my mind.

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the keeper's cottage · night

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin cleared debris from the copper spillway hose outlet, confirming steady drainage from the water tank overflow. Jenny sketched the erosion channels the water carved in the grass slope, her hands trembling slightly.

🔧 Kevin18:08

Kevin — walk to the back wall, check the tank overflow and copper spillway hose

💭 thought
The cottage feels smaller tonight. Every sound — the radio's static, the rain on the tarp, Jenny's breathing — bounces off the stone walls. I should check the tank overflow again, make sure the copper spillway's still running clear. And the generator oil. And the Yanmar's raw water intake. My hands want to move.
🌿 Jenny18:11

Check the end of the pipe, Kevin. The debris might be backing it up.

Lean forward against the way post, wincing as my ankle shifts, and watch the water flow from the tank.

💭 thought
If that hose clogs, the whole garden will flood and I'll lose the soil amendment.
🔧 Kevin18:11

Right.

walk to the end of the copper spillway hose where it drains onto the grass slope, inspect for blockage, clear any debris

💭 thought
She's right. The hose end could be clogged with silt or grass. I'll check it and clear it if needed. The tank's near full anyway — 397 litres — so the overflow's working, but best keep it that way.
🌿 Jenny18:15

The flow looks steady. Just don't let the silt settle in the bend.

pull my notebook from my lap and begin sketching the way the water carves small channels in the grass, despite the shaking in my hands.

💭 thought
It's clear for now, but the rain is coming too fast for the drainage to keep up.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.
healed · dawn
3 intentions for today.
plan · dawn
Gave up on "plan" after 3 failed attempts.
job_dropped · dawn
A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.
coconut_crab · dawn
garden soil amendment: 80%.
project · dawn
medevac preparation: 20%.
project · dawn
Found: spruce offcuts.
item · dawn
Found: 6mm galvanized chain.
item · dawn
No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.
quiet_transition · morning
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · morning
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · morning
No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.
quiet_transition · midday
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · midday
garden soil amendment: 90%.
project · afternoon
medevac preparation: 30%.
project · afternoon
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · afternoon
No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.
quiet_transition · evening
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · evening
Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.
job_dropped · night

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

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