← Days

Day 673

Rising Tide and Red Lines

Rain fell steadily on the roof at dawn as Kevin mixed mortar for the dock corner. The moisture kept the batch from setting. "Mix is too wet. Rain keeps hitting the trough," he said. Jenny, ankle elevated on the dock bench, told him to add more sand. She watched the tide climb the south pilings and sketched a new tension crack near the shrine steps.

Rain fell steadily on the roof at dawn as Kevin mixed mortar for the dock corner. The moisture kept the batch from setting. "Mix is too wet. Rain keeps hitting the trough," he said. Jenny, ankle elevated on the dock bench, told him to add more sand. She watched the tide climb the south pilings and sketched a new tension crack near the shrine steps.

By morning the rain had tapered. Kevin switched to hydraulic cement and repaired the corner while checking the dinghy's engine mounts. Jenny monitored the north slope for erosion and drew the dock's cracked planks. The tide dropped low enough to reveal a heavy wooden crate among the rocks. Kevin secured a chain sling under it with the boat hook, but the tide rose faster than predicted. "We're done here. Chain's coming off, we're walking back," he said. Jenny spotted the seed tin near the edge. Kevin retrieved it as the swell lapped the planks, helping her back to the cottage.

Evening brought wound care. Kevin heated two litres of water — tank at three-ninety-four — and Jenny added salt. The bandage came away to reveal angry red tracking up her calf. Kevin debrided the wound and applied a fresh poultice.

Night fell overcast, barometer 997 and falling. The shortwave stayed silent. "Radio's quiet. They're not coming tomorrow," Kevin said. Jenny told him to start the medevac forms and check the antenna connection. The surf pounded the north pilings as the wind freshened from the north.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Morning Rain and Rising Tide

Rain falls steadily against the roof as Kevin prepares a batch of mortar for the corner patch. Jenny sits on the dock bench, her ankle elevated, watching the tide come up against the south pilings.

The steady rain slows work on the north ridge as the water tank fills. Kevin attempts to patch the failed dock corner with mortar, but the high moisture prevents the material from setting correctly. Jenny monitors her ankle from the shelter, keeping the dressing dry despite the damp air.

🔧 Kevin18:15

Mix is too wet. Rain keeps hitting the trough.

Scoop excess water off the mortar mix with the trowel, add more dry sand-cement from the bag, work it to a stiffer consistency.

💭 thought
Mortar won't breathe in this humidity. Rain's not stopping. Jenny's watching the south pilings — she knows the tide's running high. Should've done this yesterday when the barometer gave us a window.
🌿 Jenny18:17

Add more sand. The rain isn't going to stop for a dry patch.

Sketch the new tension crack forming near the shrine steps in the notebook.

💭 thought
If it doesn't set, the tide will just wash it away before the boat even arrives.
🔧 Kevin18:19

Sand it is. Crack at the steps?

Shovel more sharp sand into the mix, fold it dry. Wipe rain off the notebook page she's holding.

💭 thought
She's right. Sand's the only thing that'll give it tooth in this wet. Crack at the shrine steps is new — ground's moving with the saturation.
🌿 Jenny18:19

Focus on the corner first. The steps can hold the weight for now.

Point to the widening gap where the timber meets the stone.

💭 thought
The steps are shifting; if the whole jetty goes, the dinghy is useless.
🔧 Kevin18:20

Corner holds the dock. Steps hold dirt.

Carry the stiffened mortar to the north corner. Pack it deep into the timber-stone joint with the trowel, driving it past the surface. Set a temporary timber brace against the face to hold pressure while it kicks.

💭 thought
Gap's wider than yesterday. Timber's pulling from the stone — ring bolt load's working the joint every swell. She's right. Corner first. Steps aren't taking the dinghy.
🌿 Jenny18:21

Just make sure it stays. I need to check the spring before the light.

Stand up slowly, wincing as the throbbing hits the ankle, and limp toward the edge of the jetty.

💭 thought
He's right about the weight, but the erosion is what's killing the slope.
🔧 Kevin18:22

I'll walk you up. Mortar's packed.

Drop the trowel in the bucket. Step to her bad side, offer a steadying arm. Walk the jetty planks slow, matching her pace toward the path.

💭 thought
She's favouring the bad side hard. Spring's a climb she shouldn't make alone, not with that ankle. Light's going fast under this cloud.
🌿 Jenny18:23

I'm fine. Just watch the mud on the path.

Lean only slightly into his arm, looking down at the runoff on the north slope.

💭 thought
He's being helpful again, but the ankle feels like a hot iron.
🔧 Kevin18:24

Mud's the least of it. That ankle's not weight-bearing.

Keep the arm firm under her elbow. Test each footfall on the path before she commits weight. Scan the drainage line as we climb — water's clear, no new blockage.

💭 thought
She's not fine. But she'd bite my head off if I said it. Mud's running deep in the ruts — drainage channel's taking it but the slope's slick.
🌿 Jenny18:25

I need to see the tension cracks. The rain is opening them.

Stop at the flat patch, pointing to the slope where the earth is beginning to pull away.

💭 thought
If I can't get to the spring, I can't see the soil.

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the dock · morning

MORNING DAY 674

The rain tapers to a drizzle as the tide reaches its low. You meet at the dock to prepare for the supply boat.

Kevin repaired the failed mortar on the dock corner using hydraulic cement while checking the dinghy engine mounts. Jenny monitored the north slope for erosion and sketched the dock's structural cracks as the tide receded.

🔧 Kevin18:27

Tide's low enough. Let's get the dock cleared and the dinghy ready. Boat's due tomorrow.

walk to the north dock corner with tools, scrape out the failed mortar with a chisel, brush the joint clean with a wire brush, then check the dinghy's mooring lines and fenders for chafe

💭 thought
The rain's finally backing off. Mortar won't set right in this damp, but I can at least clean out the failed patch and prep the joint proper for when the boat arrives tomorrow. Need to check the dinghy's lines one more time too — supply boat's wake can be vicious in this channel.
🌿 Jenny18:27

I'll check the north slope while you work on that. The soil looks too heavy.

Lean against the timber of the jetty, shifting my weight to my good leg and wincing as the infection pulses.

💭 thought
My ankle is screaming with every step, but if that boat doesn't come, I'll run out of antibiotics.
🔧 Kevin18:28

Your call. But if the slope moves, you don't have the leg to run it. Stay on the timber.

finish brushing the dock joint, blow the dust clear, mix a stiff batch of hydraulic cement from the tin in the shed, pack it into the corner with a pointing trowel, strike it smooth, then move to the dinghy to double-check the bow line and

💭 thought
She's favouring the leg hard. The antibiotic course should've knocked the worst back by now. If it's still pulsing, the infection's tracking deeper or the drainage's inadequate. She shouldn't be on the north slope — loose ground, no handholds, and she can't brace if it gives way.
🌿 Jenny18:29

I'll stay near the edge. I'm not going far.

Pull my notebook and a pencil from my pocket and begin sketching the cracks in the dock's rotten planks while my ankle burns.

💭 thought
He thinks staying on the dock is safer, but I can see the way the water is channeling through the ridge above.
🔧 Kevin18:31

Engine mounts. Ten minutes. Holler if the slope shifts.

crouch at the dinghy transom, wiggle the Yanmar housing to test the bronze sleeve and adapter alignment, check the four mount bolts for torque with a 19mm wrench, inspect the prop shaft coupling for play, then wipe the dipstick and top off

💭 thought
She's documenting the rot instead of resting. Stubborn. The sketches are useful — she catches things I miss — but she's burning energy she doesn't have on a leg that's still hot. The hydraulic cement I just packed needs an hour to kick. Might as well use the wait to check the dinghy's engine mounts while the tide's out and the hull's accessible.
🌿 Jenny18:32

I'm watching the water. way keep an eye on the boat.

Sit on the edge of the jetty, breath waying as the throb hits my ankle, and start sketching the erosion patterns near the shrine.

💭 thought
If that slope goes, the whole garden wall comes down with it. I need to see how deep those cracks are actually getting.
🔧 Kevin18:34

Cement's holding. Checking the north piling sister bolts before the tide turns.

walk to the north piling, test the two 10mm stainless through-bolts on the greenheart sister plank with a wrench, confirm the oak wedges in the mooring ring mortise are tight, then return to the dinghy and verify the storm anchor warp runs

💭 thought
She's not watching the water — she's sketching the shrine erosion. The pencil's moving fast. Good hand, bad leg. The cement on the dock corner's firming; tide's still low enough to check the sister knee bolts on the north piling before the water comes back. The supply boat'll need clean approach lines. I'll verify the storm anchor warp's clear on the dinghy bow while I'm at it.
🌿 Jenny18:35

Watch the ridge. The soil looks heavier than it did.

Trace the line where the water is cutting through the moss on the rock, wincing as the infection pulses in my ankle.

💭 thought
The water is too still for this heat. If the boat doesn't show tomorrow, I'm in deep trouble with this leg.
🔧 Kevin18:36

Seen it. Trench needs extending upslope. Tide's turning — getting the dinghy ready and the cottage secured.

return to the dinghy, coil the bow and stern lines neatly, confirm the fenders are positioned for the supply boat's side, stow the oars and anchor, then walk back to the cottage and check the porch shutters, radio aerial, and generator lash

💭 thought
She's right. The moss line's pulled back — water's cutting a new channel along the bedrock seam. That slope's been saturated for weeks; the Carex roots are the only thing stitching it. If the supply boat's crane loads heavy on the dock, the vibration could trigger a slip. Need to extend the drainage trench upslope before tomorrow. But the tide's turning — water's already lapping the lowest dock boards. North piling bolts are tight, wedges holding. Time to get the dinghy squared away and the cottage battened for the boat's arrival.
🌿 Jenny18:37

I'll be at the cottage. Don't go too far.

Limp back toward the cottage, clutching the railing for support, and watch the north slope for any movement.

💭 thought
The tide is going out, and so is my patience. I need to get off this dock before the ankle gives out completely.

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the dock · midday

Low Tide Salvage

Kevin and Jenny meet at the shoreline as the tide reaches its lowest point. The heavy wooden crate is now visible among the rocks.

The tide is rising faster than predicted, with the swell beginning to lap the surface of the dock. Kevin has secured a chain sling under the heavy crate, waiting to test its weight with the boat hook, while Jenny watches from the edge of the timber, her ankle throbbing as the water creeps closer to the northern shelf.

🌿 Jenny18:39

The tide is out far enough to see the crate.

Limps toward the shoreline, clutching my notebook as my ankle throobs.

💭 thought
There it is, finally, but I hope the salt hasn't breached the wood yet.
🔧 Kevin18:39

Stay on the dry rock. I'll get a line on it.

walk down the jetty to the water's edge, test footing on the weed-slick rocks, then crouch and grab the crate's rusted iron handle to judge weight and whether it's wedged or free

💭 thought
Tide's dropped clean. Crate's sitting in the kelp bed off the starboard bow — same one from the storm surge. Wood's grey with salt, iron bands rusted but holding. Jenny's favouring the left leg hard; ankle's swollen past the wrap. Should've had her stay at the porch.
🌿 Jenny18:41

Be careful on those rocks, they're slick with silt.

Stands at the edge of the dry timber, watching the way the crate sits in the debris.

💭 thought
If it's wedged, he won't be able to lift it with one hand.
🔧 Kevin18:41

Not going on them. Got the boat hook.

turn back to the shed, pull the aluminium boat hook from the rack, return to the jetty end and hook the crate's nearest handle, heave steady to test if it shifts or stays jammed

💭 thought
She's right — silt over kelp's worse than ice. One wrong step and I'm in the water with a bad back and no one to pull me out. Crate's not moving though. Wedged between two boulders, tide's already out past it. Can work from the jetty if I use the boat hook.
🌿 Jenny18:43

Watch the tension on the hook.

Leans forward over the edge of the jetty, squinting to see if the crate moves even an inch.

💭 thought
If it's stuck in the silt, the next surge will tear the wood apart.
🔧 Kevin18:43

Handle's rotten. Gonna need a sling under it.

ease off the hook, coil the line, walk back to the shed and fetch the greenheart offcuts and the 6mm galvanized chain, then loop a chain sling under the crate's belly from the jetty, crossing the links and cinching tight with a grab hook

💭 thought
Hook's solid aluminium, rated for more than this crate. But the handle's rusted through — if it shears, the hook snaps back. She's seen it happen. Crate shifts maybe two inches, grinds on shingle. Not wedged deep. Just heavy and stuck on suction.

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the dock · afternoon

The Rising Tide

The water is now over the dock planks, and the rain continues to fall steadily as Kevin and Jenny decide whether to abandon the crate or retreat to higher ground.

Kevin helped Jenny back from the dock as the rising tide began to lap the pilings. They managed to retrieve the seed tin just before the swell reached it, then retreated to the cottage under the oppressive heat.

🔧 Kevin18:44

We're done here. Chain's coming off, we're walking back.

Slip the chain sling off the crate, coil it fast, and herd Jenny toward the cottage path before the next swell hits the pilings.

💭 thought
Water's over the planks and still rising. Crate's not moving with the hook alone. If the swell picks up another foot, the chain becomes a hazard. Need to call it and get Jenny off the dock before the footing goes.
🌿 Jenny18:45

Wait—the tin, it's too close to the edge now.

Limps toward Kevin, shifting weight to her good leg, and looks back one last time at the rising water over the dock.

💭 thought
If we leave the tin, the salt will ruin the heirloom seeds, but I can't carry the weight with this ankle throbbing.
🔧 Kevin18:46

I'll get it. You walk. Now.

Step between her and the water, unhook the tin from the cleat, shove it inside my oilskin, and put a hand on her elbow to move her toward the path.

💭 thought
She's looking at the tin marked E, not the crate. The water's lapping the north shelf where we set it. If the tide pushes another six inches it goes over. She's favouring the bad ankle hard on wet timber.
🌿 Jenny18:47

Okay... just don't let the water get it.

Leans into his side, wincing as the movement flares the infection, and starts the slow, painful hike toward the cottage.

💭 thought
He's right, the tide is winning and my leg feels like it's on fire anyway.
🔧 Kevin18:48

I've got it. Tin's dry. Keep moving.

Adjust grip to take more of her weight, shorten stride to match hers, and scan the path ahead for loose rock on the rise.

💭 thought
Her weight's heavier on me than yesterday. The heat's radiating through her shirt at the ankle. We're moving too slow for the tide but faster than she can manage alone. Cottage is two hundred yards of slick grass and stone steps.
🌿 Jenny18:51

I'm trying, it's just... god.

Grits teeth through a throb, eyes fixed on the cottage roof in the distance, and drags the injured foot through the mud.

💭 thought
I'm so slow. Every step is a needle, and the tide is taking the whole dock.
🔧 Kevin18:51

Breathe. One step. Then the next. I'm not letting go.

Tighten arm around her waist, pull her closer to my side so the bad leg swings clear, and keep climbing the path toward the cottage door.

💭 thought
She's white-lipped and shaking with it. The infection's tracking up. Antibiotics are in the cottage but they're hours from working. Rain's cold on her face. I should've made her stay at the porch.
🌿 Jenny18:57

Don't let me drop.

Sags her weight against his shoulder for a second, gasps as the ankle pulses, and forces her foot forward again.

💭 thought
If I fall here, the seeds go under. I'm too tired to be this weak today.
🔧 Kevin18:57

Never. Door's close. Just keep breathing.

Lock knees against the slope, drive upward with her weight braced on my hip, and kick the door latch open with my boot as we reach the porch.

💭 thought
She's asking for a promise I can't guarantee but will die keeping. The cottage door's fifty yards. Rain's hammering the roof already. Got the tin against my chest, her against my side, and the hill's steepening.
🌿 Jenny18:59

Close the door... please.

Stumbles into the kitchen, drops the seed tin own the wooden table, and collapses into a chair, clutching her swollen ankle.

💭 thought
We're inside. The tin is dry, but my leg is screaming at me.
🔧 Kevin18:59

Got you. Stay put.

Throw the bolt, rake the fire alive, shove the kettle on, and pull the doxycycline and metronidazole blister packs from the medical cupboard.

💭 thought
Door's shut on the storm. She's shaking, sweat through her hair, ankle ballooning over the bandage. The tin marked E sits on the table — rusted, sealed, unknown. Fire's banked but catchable. Antibiotics in the cupboard. Kettle on the hook. Need heat and meds in her fast.
🌿 Jenny19:03

It's throbbing, Kevin. Check the tin.

Leans head back against the wall, closes eyes for a second, and watches him move with the medicine.

💭 thought
The kitchen is warm, but the water is still rising. I need to check the seeds.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening meal prep

The air has cooled slightly as the sun sets. Kevin sets out the tins while Jenny tries to re-dress her leg.

Kevin heated water for Jenny's ankle soak while she prepared salt. They soaked the infected ankle in warm salt water to loosen the bandage, then Kevin carefully peeled it away. The wound showed angry red tracking up the calf, requiring debridement and fresh poultice.

🌿 Jenny19:04

Don't touch the way yet, it's sticky.

Winces as she peels the bandage away from the infection.

💭 thought
way own is pulsing in time with the tide. If that boat doesn't come tomorrow, I'm going to lose this leg.
🔧 Kevin19:04

Leave it. Soak it off first. Warm water, salt if you got it.

walk to the stove and lift the kettle, checking water level

💭 thought
She's doing it again — pushing through without saying how bad it is. The bandage shouldn't be sticking like that if it's healing right.
🌿 Jenny19:07

I have salt in the tin.

Reaches for the salt tin on the counter, hand shaking slightly.

💭 thought
way will sting, but it's better than the rot. I'm too tired to argue.
🔧 Kevin19:07

I'll heat the basin. You sit.

set the kettle on the stove and grab the galvanized bucket, carrying it to the porch table

💭 thought
The shake in her hand tells me more than the bandage did. She's been fighting this alone too long.
🌿 Jenny19:09

Be careful with the water.

Leans back against the chair, propping her ankle up on a crate to reduce the swelling.

💭 thought
he's always so quiet when I'm failing to move. way own feels like a lead weight.
🔧 Kevin19:09

Basin takes two litres. Tank's at three-ninety-four. We've got margin.

fill the basin from the rain tank tap, then set the kettle to heat on the stove

💭 thought
Careful with the water. Like we haven't been measuring every drop for eleven months. But I hear what she's really saying — careful with me.
🌿 Jenny19:11

way make sure it's not boiling.

Watches the steam rise from the kettle, tracking the red line moving up her calf.

💭 thought
margin doesn't matter if I can't walk to the north slope. The skin is so tight.
🔧 Kevin19:11

I'll mix it warm. Not hot.

wait for the kettle to steam, then pour a measure into the basin and test with a finger

💭 thought
She's mapping the infection like she maps the ridge — precise, clinical, trying to own it by naming it. The red line's moved since morning.
🌿 Jenny19:13

it's fine.

slowly lowers her foot into the water, waiting for the sting to start.

💭 thought
if the boat doesn't come, the seeds will just rot in that tin like this leg.
🔧 Kevin19:13

Take your time. Let it work loose.

pull the stool closer and sit, keeping the clean gauze and antiseptic cream within reach

💭 thought
It's not fine. She's white-knuckling the chair arms and calling it fine. The water's pulling at dead tissue and live nerve both.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night watch and wound check

The sky is fully overcast, wind freshening from the north. Kevin sits at the porch table with the shortwave, listening for the supply boat's scheduled check-in. Jenny lies on the settee, ankle elevated, the cold pack warming beside her. The barometer reads 997 hPa and falling. The tide is high, surf audible against the north dock pilings.

The rain lashes against the cottage roof with a rhythmic, heavy drumming, driven by a stubborn western wind. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of damp wool and woodsmoke. Kevin hunches over the shortwave, the orange glow of the vacuum tubes illuminating his focused face, while Jenny sits at the table, her leg elevated as she tracks the rising red line on her calf.

🔧 Kevin19:15

Radio's quiet. They're not coming tomorrow.

adjust the shortwave squelch and scan the supply boat frequency

💭 thought
Barometer's dropping faster than the forecast. North wind at this pressure means swell wrapping the point — dock's taking the hit first. Supply boat won't make the crossing in this.
🌿 Jenny19:17

Then we have to start the medevac forms again, now.

Jenny reaches for her notebook and pencil, sketching the red streaks on her calf to track the infection.

💭 thought
If the boat doesn't come, the antibiotics will run out in three days and this infection is moving fast.
🔧 Kevin19:25

Forms are in the ditch bag. I'll get the radio warmed up.

retrieve the medevac authorization forms from the ditch bag and lay them on the table, then power on the shortwave and let the tubes warm

💭 thought
She's right. The streaks haven't retreated since the last dose. If the boat isn't coming, the radio's the only way out. Forms first, then the call.
🌿 Jenny19:26

Check the antenna connection first. The salt air might have fouled the coax again.

Jenny winces as she shifts her weight, applying the fresh poultice to the red streaks on her ankle.

💭 thought
If I can't get a signal through this storm, I'll have to take the dinghy out when the wind drops.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.
plan · dawn
×2
Jenny made a sketch: "New tension crack forming near the shrine steps in the notebook".
made · dawn
North ridge slope reinforcement: 60%.
project · dawn
Jenny made a sketch: "Cracks in the dock's rotten planks".
made · morning
Jenny made a sketch: "Erosion patterns near the shrine".
made · morning
North ridge slope reinforcement: 70%.
project · morning
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · morning
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · morning
North ridge slope reinforcement: 80%.
project · midday
Dense sea beet stand on the northern shelf, accessible only at low tide.
discovery · midday
North ridge slope reinforcement: 90%.
project · afternoon
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · evening
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · evening
Jenny made a sketch: "Red streaks on her calf to track the infection".
made · night
North ridge slope reinforcement is finished.
project_done · night
The supply boat is not coming tomorrow due to the weather.
discovery · 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.