← Days

Day 679

North Slope Diversion Begins

Dawn brought warm rain thickening the mud on the north ridge slope. Kevin and Jenny stood above the transect where a fissure had deepened overnight. Groundwater seepage had turned soil to slurry six inches down, the water table at sixty centimeters and rising. Jenny pointed to a cluster of Carex. They paced a twelve-meter run from the fissure to the spring culvert, the grade flattening critically near the outlet. A stepped box drain was planned: greenheart sleepers, canvas liner from the liferaft stores, half-meter drops, a cobble silt trap at the break. Midday found Kevin at the spring with spade and auger, Jenny on the porch with her ankle wrapped and elevated, mapping widening cracks in her notebook. The generator hummed; a rat gnawed behind the pantry shelves. Kevin struggled with a stubborn root mass at forty centimeters. Jenny hobbled down to help dig out debris around the culvert. "Give me the shovel. I'll dig out the roots while you clear the main channel," she said. "I'm fine. Just get that pipe clear before the water breaches the bank." Water began moving, silt-heavy, but the table remained high. Evening cooled on the porch. Kevin leaned his spade against the rail, reviewing Jenny's cross-section sketch. The auger had hit root mass; further clearing was blocked. Jenny identified a longer trench higher up the slope, diagonal from the old stone wall to intercept seepage before the slide zone. "That's a longer run," Kevin said. "We'll need more greenheart than we have on hand." The rain tank had gained twenty-five liters. Generator vibration persisted despite a clean filter. They ate as tide slapped the dock pilings, the jellyfish bloom pale and slow in the bay.

Dawn brought warm rain thickening the mud on the north ridge slope. Kevin and Jenny stood above the transect where a fissure had deepened overnight. Groundwater seepage had turned soil to slurry six inches down, the water table at sixty centimeters and rising. Jenny pointed to a cluster of Carex. They paced a twelve-meter run from the fissure to the spring culvert, the grade flattening critically near the outlet. A stepped box drain was planned: greenheart sleepers, canvas liner from the liferaft stores, half-meter drops, a cobble silt trap at the break. Midday found Kevin at the spring with spade and auger, Jenny on the porch with her ankle wrapped and elevated, mapping widening cracks in her notebook. The generator hummed; a rat gnawed behind the pantry shelves. Kevin struggled with a stubborn root mass at forty centimeters. Jenny hobbled down to help dig out debris around the culvert. "Give me the shovel. I'll dig out the roots while you clear the main channel," she said. "I'm fine. Just get that pipe clear before the water breaches the bank." Water began moving, silt-heavy, but the table remained high. Evening cooled on the porch. Kevin leaned his spade against the rail, reviewing Jenny's cross-section sketch. The auger had hit root mass; further clearing was blocked. Jenny identified a longer trench higher up the slope, diagonal from the old stone wall to intercept seepage before the slide zone. "That's a longer run," Kevin said. "We'll need more greenheart than we have on hand." The rain tank had gained twenty-five liters. Generator vibration persisted despite a clean filter. They ate as tide slapped the dock pilings, the jellyfish bloom pale and slow in the bay.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Rising Tide and Soft Soil

Kevin and Jenny stand on the slope as the warm rain begins to thicken the mud. Jenny points to a cluster of Carex while Kevin monitors the barometer, noting the pressure rise.

Kevin and Jenny assessed the deepening slope fissure above the north ridge transect, finding groundwater seepage turning soil to slurry six inches down. They planned a stepped box drain using greenheart and canvas liner from the fissure to the spring culvert, pacing the twelve-meter run and noting the critical flattening of grade near the outlet. Kevin began a test auger hole upslope while Jenny sketched the cross-section and saturation line.

🌿 Jenny03:05

Look at the way the water is pooling under these roots—it's not just surface runoff anymore.

push a trowel into the fissure to check the soil depth and sketch the new pattern of the fracture.

💭 thought
The cracks are widening faster than the sketch showed; if I don't find the drainage point, the whole ridge will slide into the cove.
🔧 Kevin03:07

Fissure's deepened. How far down does it go?

Watch the barometer needle, then crouch beside her to see the trowel depth.

💭 thought
She's right — the water's finding new paths. That fissure wasn't this deep last week. If the north slope keeps shedding like this, the transect line's going to shift before the next survey.
🌿 Jenny03:07

At least six inches of depth, and the soil is turning to slurry.

pull the trowel out and examine the consistency of the earth, noting the breakdown of structure.

💭 thought
It's hitting the clay layer now; the water has own to go but out, saturating the whole slope.
🔧 Kevin03:08

Groundwater seepage. Not just surface water. We need to trench the upper slope before it takes the transect markers.

Pull the soil auger from the pack and start a test hole two meters upslope from the fissure.

💭 thought
Six inches of slurry means the root mat's failing. That's not just rain — the groundwater's pushing up from below. The whole slope's lubricating.
🌿 Jenny03:09

Right. If the water table is rising here, a simple trench won't cut it—we need a proper diversion.

open the notebook and sketch a cross-section of the slope, marking the soil layers and the saturation line.

💭 thought
If it's seepage, the whole math ridge is a ticking clock. I need to find where the pressure is building before the slope gives.
🔧 Kevin03:11

Box drain with greenheart. Canvas liner. Fall to the spring culvert. How much grade we got?

Pace the distance from the fissure to the spring outlet, counting steps.

💭 thought
She's thinking French drain with stone and geotextile, but we don't have geotextile. Could use the greenheart offcuts for a box drain, line it with the heavy canvas tarp strips. Need fall toward the spring outlet — that's the only gravity out.
🌿 Jenny03:11

It's about twelve meters to the spring, but the slope flattens out right where we need it.

use the level to check the drop between the fissure and the culvert opening.

💭 thought
If the grade isn't steep enough, the water will just sit in the liner and rot the whole thing out.
🔧 Kevin03:12

Step the grade. Steep upper, silt trap at the break, shallow run to culvert. Need stone for the trap — beach cobbles?

Walk the line to the spring, kicking aside turf to check the substrate at the flat section.

💭 thought
Twelve meters with a flat spot means we either dig deeper at the outlet or pump. No power for a pump worth a damn. Digging deeper means hitting clay — good for seal, bad for back. Could step the drain: steeper upper section, shallower lower, with a silt trap at the transition.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Midday meal and pantry rat

They meet back at the cottage porch. The generator hums steady. A rat is audibly gnawing behind the pantry shelves. The tide slaps the dock pilings loud enough to hear uphill. Jenny's ankle is wrapped and elevated on a cushion; Kevin's hands smell of diesel.

The rain continues in warm, intermittent bursts, keeping the air heavy and the ground damp. Kevin heads out toward the spring with the spade and auger to check the culvert for blockages, while Jenny stays on the porch, focusing on the notebook to map the widening cracks in the slope and monitoring the seed tin moisture.

🔧 Kevin03:13

North ridge can wait. Tide's wrong. You need to stay off that ankle.

walk to the porch rail and lean on it, looking down toward the dock

💭 thought
Generator's clean. Shrine wall's breathing. Tide's high early — barometer says rising but the water doesn't lie. Rat's still in the pantry. Jenny's ankle looks angry but she's not complaining. We said we'd walk the north ridge transect. My knee says no. The sea says maybe. The radio's silent.
🌿 Jenny03:15

The water table is at sixty centimeters, Kevin. If I don't three the drainage, the whole ridge goes in the next surge.

Reach for the notebook and trace the widening cracks on the sketch with a charcoal pencil.

💭 thought
He thinks the water is the problem, but the slope is moving from the inside out.
🔧 Kevin03:15

You're not digging with that ankle. I'll cut the trench. You direct from the porch.

turn and walk to the tool shed, pulling the spade and soil auger free

💭 thought
She's right. Sixty centimeters means the slope's already moving. Greenheart and canvas won't wait. But her ankle won't hold a spade, let alone twelve meters of box drain. The tide's eating the dock planks while we talk.
🌿 Jenny03:17

Then start at the secondary way near the spring. If you don't hit the right grade, the water will just blow the canvas out.

Sit up straight, wincing as the ankle shifts, and move to the seed tin to check the moisture levels.

💭 thought
He'll dig it, but he'll miss the grade and the silt trap will fail immediately.
🔧 Kevin03:17

Culvert first. If it's choked, the drain's useless.

walk down the path toward the spring, spade over shoulder, auger in hand

💭 thought
She knows every inch of that slope. Better than me. I'll cut the trench to her marks, lay the greenheart, bed the canvas. But the spring intake's already running heavy — if the box drain backs up there, we flood the garden. Need to check the culvert first.
🌿 Jenny03:19

way. way don't skip the cobble silt trap. If that fills up, the whole project is a waste.

Open the seed tin and check for any dampness on the grandmother's packets.

💭 thought
He's obsessed with the blockage while the pressure is literally liquefying the soil.
🔧 Kevin03:19

Culvert, silt trap, then trench. Greenheart's on the dock. I'll haul it.

walk the path to the spring, checking the culvert inlet for blockage

💭 thought
Cobble silt trap. Right. She's thought the whole thing through while I was chasing silt in a fuel filter. The spring's twenty meters down the path. Culvert's stone-lined, held last storm but the silt trap's never been cleaned proper. I'll clear it, then cut the trench upslope from there. Greenheart planks are stacked on the dock — need to carry them up. Canvas is in the shed. Her ankle stays on the porch.
🌿 Jenny03:21

way make sure the grade is stepped. If it's flat, the water will just bypass the trap.

Stand up slowly, gripping the porch table for balance, and head toward the kitchen to grab the notebook.

💭 thought
He's focused on the pipe when the whole slope is what's failing.

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the spring · midday

Midday assessment

The rain lets up briefly as the tide begins to peak, leaving the ground on the north slope saturated and treacherous.

Kevin and Jenny worked to clear a clogged culvert at the spring to prevent the slope from eroding the seedlings. Kevin struggled with a stubborn root mass using the auger, while Jenny managed to dig out the surrounding debris to allow some water flow again.

🌿 Jenny03:21

Kevin, the tide is high and the slope is turning to soup—we have to clear that culvert now or we lose the seedlings.

I close the notebook, grab the seed tin to keep it dry inside, and head toward the spring to inspect the water flow.

💭 thought
The water is pooling too fast near the foundation; if the culvert isn't clear, the whole north garden bed will slide. I need Kevin to check the drainage point before the next surge of rain hits.
🔧 Kevin03:22

Right behind you.

Walk up to the spring with spade and auger, assess culvert blockage and water flow.

💭 thought
She's right. The culvert's the only thing keeping the garden from turning into a salt marsh. If it backs up now with this tide, the surge comes straight up the slope.
🌿 Jenny03:23

Look at the color of that water—it's heavy with silt. The channel is choked.

I kneel by the stone basin, reaching my hand into the cold water to feel where the blockage is in the rock.

💭 thought
The basin is overflowing. If the water doesn't move through the rock crack, the pressure is going to blow the soil right off the ridge.
🔧 Kevin03:24

Clay's running. Slope's not holding.

Kneel beside the basin, pull the auger free, and start clearing the culvert mouth by hand — scooping out silt and root mat into the grass beside it.

💭 thought
She's not wrong. Water's the colour of weak tea — that's clay fines, not just leaf litter. Means the slope's moving above us.
🌿 Jenny03:25

Give me the shovel. I'll dig out the roots while you clear the main channel.

I pull a small trowel from my belt and begin scraping at the edge of the stone basin, clearing the stubborn mud to let the water breathe.

💭 thought
He's right. The clay is like glue. If we don't get the flow moving now, the north ridge is going to be a landslide by morning.
🔧 Kevin03:26

Your ankle.

Hand her the spade anyway — she won't take no — and shift to the culvert proper, driving the auger bit into the blocked pipe to break the plug.

💭 thought
She'll work herself raw if I let her. Ankle's not ready for kneeling in cold mud.
🌿 Jenny03:27

I'm fine. Just get that pipe clear before the water breaches the bank.

I lean into the spade, digging the blade into the heavy mud to pry away the root mass blocking the spring's outlet.

💭 thought
It's throbbbing, but the garden is more important right now. If the slope goes, grandmother's seeds go with it.
🔧 Kevin03:28

Pipe first. Bank second.

Bear down on the auger, twisting hard to shear through the compacted silt and root plug in the culvert, braces boots on the wet stone.

💭 thought
Stubborn as a seized bolt. But the water's rising behind the blockage — she's right about the breach.
🌿 Jenny03:29

It's moving! I can see the water shifting.

I drop the spade and use my hands to scoop the last of the thick debris from the mouth of the culvert, clearing the path.

💭 thought
The water is building up too fast. If that pipe doesn't clear, the pressure will rip the basin right out of the rock.
🔧 Kevin03:31

Clear the lip. Let it run.

Pull the auger free, then shove the spade blade into the culvert mouth to scrape the last of the slurry clear, heaving it onto the bank.

💭 thought
Good. Flow's breaking through. Pressure dropping.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening Tally

The tide has reached low point, and the air is cooling down. Kevin and Jenny meet at the porch as the sun dips low.

The afternoon heat is heavy over the cottage, the air still despite the wet season humidity. Jenny sits on the porch bench, her swollen ankle propped on a crate, meticulously sketching the widening cracks in the north slope in her notebook, while Kevin leans his spade against the rail and joins her to review the cross-section sketch, noting that the auger hit a stubborn root mass that prevented further clearing.

🌿 Jenny03:32

The culvert is clear for now, but the water table is still far too high.

Jenny sits heavily on the porch bench, lifting her wrapped ankle onto a crate, and opens her notebook to sketch the latest progression of the cracks.

💭 thought
My ankle is screaming, but if that north slope slides, grandmother's seeds will be lost in the next rain.
🔧 Kevin03:34

Auger hit root mass at forty centimetres. Couldn't clear it. Water's moving but slow.

lean the spade against the porch rail and sit on the edge of the bench, pulling the notebook from my back pocket to check the cross-section sketch

💭 thought
She's right about the water table. The culvert's just a symptom. The real problem's upslope where the fissure's eating the grade. If we don't box-drain it before the next rain, the whole transect goes.
🌿 Jenny03:35

Then we have to move the diversion further up the ridge; the soil isn't holding the water anymore.

Jenny traces the widening gap in the sketch with a pencil, her hand shaking slightly as she winces from the weight on her leg.

💭 thought
If we can't bypass that root mass, the pressure will Take the whole garden wall by morning.
🔧 Kevin03:36

Greenheart planks from the crate'll hold. Canvas liner from the liferaft stores. Twelve metres from the fissure head to the spring culvert. Stepped boxes, half-metre drops.

tap the sketch with a calloused finger at the flattening contour line near the spring

💭 thought
Moving the diversion upslope means digging through the root mat and the old landslide scar. Heavy work with a bad ankle beside me and a spade that's seen better days. But she's right — the grade's flattening at the culvert. By the time water reaches it, the slope's already gone.
🌿 Jenny03:38

We'll have to be precise with the angles; if the steps fail, the whole north slope goes down anyway.

Jenny nods quickly, already sketching the new layout in the margin of the notebook while rubbing the throbbing in her ankle.

💭 thought
If we use the greenheart, we won't have enough for the dock repairs next month.
🔧 Kevin03:38

Cut the planks tomorrow. Trench at first light before the sun bakes the clay. You stay off that ankle.

close my notebook and set it on the bench, then stand and walk to the rail to look upslope toward the fissure line where the garden meets the ridge

💭 thought
She's calculating fall per metre in her head while her foot swells in that wrap. Twelve metres, six boxes, two hundred millimetre drop each. Greenheart's dense enough to hold but we'll need deadmen anchors back into the stable clay. And the canvas liner has to lap shingle-style or the silt'll blind it in a week.
🌿 Jenny03:39

I'll be fine, I just need to get the measurements right this time.

Jenny sighs, leaning back against the whitewashed stone of the cottage, watching the shadows stretch across the half-weeded garden.

💭 thought
I can't stay off it when the island is literally sliding away from under the seeds.
🔧 Kevin03:40

Measurements wait. Ankle doesn't.

turn from the rail and walk back to the bench, crouch down beside the crate, and carefully unwrap the gauze to check the incision site without asking

💭 thought
She'll tape her own ankle and crawl the ridge with a level if I let her. The garden's still half weeds behind her — eleven months and the sensory beds never happened. The tin marked E sits empty on the counter. She measures the world falling apart because it's the only way she knows to hold it.
🌿 Jenny03:41

It's okay, Kevin. It's just swollen from the walk.

Jenny pulls her leg back slightly, her face tightening as she watches his hands near the edge of the bandage.

💭 thought
way's always so focused on the mechanics while I'm worried about the earth moving.
🔧 Kevin03:42

Show me.

stay crouched, hands hovering over the wrap, waiting — not reaching, not forcing

💭 thought
She flinched. That's not just swelling from the walk. The skin around the incision was hot this morning, and the red line tracked two centimetres up her calf by noon. She's been dosing ibuprofen and calling it managed.
🌿 Jenny03:43

It's not deep. Just a scrape from the north ridge.

Jenny lets her weight shift on the bench, slowly fingers the fraying edge of the gauze to let him see.

💭 thought
He won't stop until he sees the infection I'm trying to hide.
🔧 Kevin03:44

Metronidazole. Now. Full dose.

reach into my pocket for the blister pack, pop two tablets into my palm, and hold them out to her

💭 thought
Not a scrape. The incision's weeping serous fluid, edges macerated. Red tracking three centimetres up the medial calf now — two more than this morning. The sea beet poultice drew pus but the infection's riding the lymphatics. She walked the transect on it. Recorded Carex counts. Sketched sea beet glands. All while her leg rotted.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening preparations for the diversion

The sun begins to dip, casting long shadows across the slope as the pair prepares to gather materials for the project.

Kevin spent the afternoon attempting to stabilize the generator vibration, but the shaking persists despite the clean filter. Jenny worked on the north slope drainage, clearing some of the culvert though the high water table resists the flow.

🔧 Kevin03:45

Stage the planks at the spring tonight. Haul the rest at dawn. Ground'll hold better cold.

walk to the dock to retrieve the greenheart planks and offcuts, loading what I can carry

💭 thought
Shadows stretching across the slope means we've got maybe ninety minutes of real light left. Greenheart's heavy — hauling it up that gradient in the heat took enough out of me this morning. Better to stage what we can now, finish the haul at first light when the ground's firmer.
🌿 Jenny03:47

I'll bring the seed tin and the way. Don't make me walk too fast.

Limp toward the kitchen to grab the heavy tin and the rolled canvas tarp.

💭 thought
My ankle is screaming with every step, but if we don't get this drainage right, the whole ridge will slide by next week.
🔧 Kevin03:47

I'll take the canvas. You bring the tin.

walk down to the spring to meet her, picking up the rolled tarp from the porch rail as I pass

💭 thought
She's favouring the left side hard. Ankle's not right for this kind of slog, but she won't ask me to carry both. Canvas is awkward more than heavy — I'll take it off her at the spring.
🌿 Jenny03:49

way be careful with the rocks. The slope is looser than it looked today.

Clutch the seed tin tightly and start the slow, painful walk toward the math ridge.

💭 thought
He thinks he's being helpful, but the weight of that tin is making my ankle throb right now.
🔧 Kevin03:49

Go slow. I'm right behind you.

follow her up the slope, tarp over my shoulder, testing each footfall before committing weight

💭 thought
She's not wrong. The auger hole showed saturation at forty centimetres — that whole face is ready to let go. One wrong step with a load and she goes with it.
🌿 Jenny03:51

Just don't drop anything. Watch for the loose dirt near the bend.

Shift my weight to my good leg and wince as the tin digs into my hip.

💭 thought
If this ankle gives out, I'm going to be stuck in the weeds until the boat comes.
🔧 Kevin03:51

Tin's not going anywhere. Neither are you.

close the gap between us, free hand hovering near her elbow in case the ground gives

💭 thought
Tin's biting her hip, ankle's screaming, and she's still watching out for me. Stubborn as the rock we're building on.
🌿 Jenny03:53

I know what I'm doing. Just watch the edge of that crack.

Point to the widening fissure in the dirt and stop to catch my breath.

💭 thought
He's being too soft, but I'm too tired to argue about it right now.
🔧 Kevin03:53

First box sits right there. Greenheart sleepers, canvas liner, backfill with the coarse gravel from the beach.

set the tarp down carefully at the fissure's edge, crouch to examine the crack's depth with my fingers

💭 thought
She knows the ground better than anyone. Crack's widened a hand's breadth since morning — water's eating the toe of the slope. That's where the box drain starts.
🌿 Jenny03:55

We need to dig deeper. If we just line the surface, the whole thing will shear off.

Trace the line of the crack with a pencil, wincing as my ankle throbs.

💭 thought
It's wider than I sketched this morning. The water is moving the soil from underneath.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Evening Meal Prep

Kevin and Jenny meet at the cottage as the sun sets. The air is humid and the tide is now high against the dock pilings.

Kevin and Jenny study the drainage sketches for the north slope on the cottage porch as night falls. Jenny identifies a path for a longer trench higher up the slope to intercept water before it reaches the saturated slide zone. They realize they will need more greenheart wood to execute the plan properly.

🔧 Kevin03:55

Water's high. Dock's holding.

Walk onto the porch, set the spade against the rail, and pull out the tin mug for the last of the limpet broth.

💭 thought
The generator still hums wrong in my chest. Tide's up to the dock brackets — good test for the sistering. Jenny's ankle looks worse in this light.
🌿 Jenny03:57

The culvert is still choking. The slope is too soft.

way sits heavily on the porch bench, wincing as she shifts her weight, and opens her notebook to the sketch of the widening cracks.

💭 thought
way own is screaming and the north ridge is still a mess; I'm exhausted from fighting the water table.
🔧 Kevin03:57

The box drain's the only way. Greenheart'll hold. Canvas liner from the crate.

Sit on the porch step, mug between knees, and study the sketch upside-down — the fissure, the spring culvert, the grade flattening near the outlet.

💭 thought
She's been at that slope all day. The sketch tells me more than words — saturation line creeping up, soil structure gone. My back aches from the auger but hers is the one carrying weight.
🌿 Jenny03:59

The soil is too saturated for a simple culvert. We need to divert the flow further back up.

way traces the line of a crack in the sketch with a charcoal pencil, her jaw set tight against the pain in her ankle.

💭 thought
If I don't fix the drainage, the whole ridge will slide into the sea before I can plant those seeds.
🔧 Kevin03:59

Start the trench at the old stone wall. Firmer footing there. Run it diagonal across the face to the spring — picks up the seepage before it hits the slide zone.

Set the mug down, pull the notebook closer, and sketch a rough line with the pencil stub — steeper grade, longer run, crossing the saddle between the two ridges.

💭 thought
She's right. The water table's not dropping. Simple culvert just moves the problem. Need to catch it higher where the ground's firmer, run it longer. More digging. More greenheart. More time we don't have if the next storm hits.
🌿 Jenny04:01

That's a longer run. We'll need more greenheart than we have on hand.

way marks the new line on the map, her fingers hovering over the spot where the seed tin sits inside the cottage.

💭 thought
It's more work, but it's the only way to save the soil on the ridge.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.
plan · dawn
×2
A jellyfish bloom has drifted into the bay, pale and slow.
jellyfish · dawn
Jenny made a sketch: "New pattern of the fracture".
made · dawn
Jenny made a sketch: "Cross-section of the slope, marking the soil layers".
made · dawn
A rat has gotten into the pantry.
rat · dawn
A new project: north slope drainage diversion.
project_started · dawn
water table on north ridge slope is at 60cm depth and rising, threatening transect markers and transect integrity
discovery · dawn
soil structure on upper slope has broken down to slurry at six inches depth, indicating sustained groundwater seepage not just surface runoff
discovery · dawn
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · dawn
Jenny made a sketch: "With a charcoal pencil".
made · morning
north slope drainage diversion: 20%.
project · morning
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · morning
north slope drainage diversion: 30%.
project · midday
Jenny made a sketch: "Latest progression of the cracks".
made · afternoon
Jenny made a sketch: "With a pencil, her hand shaking slightly".
made · afternoon
Kevin made a sketch: "With a calloused finger at the flattening contour line near the spring".
made · afternoon
generator maintenance: 90%.
project · afternoon
north slope drainage diversion: 40%.
project · afternoon
generator maintenance is finished.
project_done · evening
north slope drainage diversion: 50%.
project · evening
Found: generator filter.
item · evening
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · evening
A light is seen at the old lighthouse, after dark — there is an ordinary explanation, found slowly, not yet this scene.
lighthouse_light · night
north slope drainage diversion: 60%.
project · night
Found: pencil stub.
item · 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.