Day 694

Day 694: Rising Tide, Rotten Pilings

Evening: southeast wind, heavy salt spray. Tide pushing in, lapping lower pilings. Jenny on porch steps, leg swollen, bandaged. Kevin redressed the ankle — spreading slightly, new dressing. "Now. Just do it," she said. Silence while he worked.

Dawn found Kevin on the dock, port bolt backing out of a sistered piling — wood soft, threads intact. Jenny retreated to the cottage, ankle hot and inflamed, tide licking the dinghy. Clouds thickened flat across the horizon. Supply boat still ten days out.

Kevin worked the dock through morning, wind rising through palms. Eighteen millimetres deflection at high water, logged yesterday. Greenheart cut and staged for sistering, two 150mm through-bolts ready, but the power drill stalled in wet oak. Jenny shielded heirloom seedlings from salt gusts, then sat at the table debriding infection from her ankle. Barometer dropped to 1009.

Midday: broth heated, corned beef fat in the skillet. Kevin reinforced the cottage shutter, checked the water tank's persistent leak. Jenny explored tide pools at low water, gathered limpets, found little else. Sketched: decay pattern on south piling, sea cave soil, vein structure of sea-much leaves, rain darkening exposed garden stone. Coconut crab had been at the garden overnight. Rot on south piling accelerating despite sistering.

Night: wind shifted north, first heavy drops on tin roof. Tide rising faster than lunar charts predicted, swallowing lower rock shelves. Shutter leak steady drip on floor. Kevin watched dock structure. Jenny managed pain, sitting. "If the slope moves, we'll hear it before we see it."

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Rising Tide and Preparation

Kevin and Jenny stand on the edge of the dock as the tide begins to lick at the sistered pilings. Kevin checks the tension on the mooring lines while Jenny watches the thickening clouds over the flat horizon.

Kevin carefully removes the port bolt from the dock piling, noting the wood is soft but the threads are intact. Jenny retreats to the cottage to tend to her ankle, which feels hot and inflamed as the tide rises around the dinghy.

🔧 Kevin23:39

Low tide in forty minutes. I'll hit the south piling brace bolts first, then the spreader plate. You head up to the cottage — radio check at 0800, then secure the porch shutters before the swell builds.

walk to the south end of the dock, crouch beside the sistered piling, test the port bolt with a wrench, feel the play in the rotten core

💭 thought

Barometer's dropped three millibars since dawn. Northeast wind backing steady. Supply boat's window is three days at high tide, two-hour wait. South piling's port bolt still working loose in the rot — coach screw's holding but it's temporary. Need to drive that second coach screw above the working bolt at low tide, then finish the spreader plate with the last 150mm through-bolt. Jenny's watching the sky instead of the water. She knows what's coming.

🌿 Jenny23:41

I'll check the radio. I need to debride this thing anyway.

way shifts her weight to her right leg, favoring the poulticed ankle, and turns back toward the cottage path.

💭 thought

The barometer is dropping and my ankle is throbbing; he thinks bolts can stop the ocean, but the salt is already inside the wood.

🔧 Kevin23:41

Take the headlamp. The porch light's flickering on the generator circuit again.

watch her reach the cottage path, then turn back to the south piling, brace a knee on the damp timber, and set the wrench on the port bolt nut

💭 thought

She's limping harder than yesterday. The red line hasn't moved past her ink mark but the heat in it — I felt it through the gauze last night. She won't say it's worse. She'll debride it clean, re-pack it, and call it stable. Stubborn as the pilings.

🌿 Jenny23:43

I'll look at the fuses after the report.

way stops at the start of the jetty, looking at the thickening sky, then begins the slow, limping ascent toward the cottage.

💭 thought

The generator is always failing when the pressure is high, just like my patience with this island's rot.

🔧 Kevin23:43

Kevin — apply steady pressure on the breaker bar, break the port bolt nut free, spin it off by hand, inspect the threads for rot damage

💭 thought

Fuses. Generator circuit's been clean since the new diaphragm. She's giving herself something to do up there — something that isn't her ankle. The sky's bruising purple at the horizon. Swell's already pushing against the dock pilings, a low thrum through the timber. Forty minutes to low tide. Maybe thirty-five now. The port bolt turns a quarter turn before biting — the coach screw's carrying the load. Good. The spreader plate sketch is in my head: doubler plate, four 150mm through-bolts, the last one staged at the east shutter. Need to drill the piling clean, drive it home, torque to 35. Then the south brace coach screw above the working port bolt. Two jobs. One tide window.

🌿 Jenny23:48

Don't force it. The wood is too soft.

way pauses at the top of the stairs, watching the water rise around the dinghy.

💭 thought

If that bolt shears off, the whole jetty is going, and I'm not swimming for supplies today.

🔧 Kevin23:48

Not forcing. Backing it out.

reverse the breaker bar slowly, ease the nut off the bolt without side load, catch the bolt before it drops into the water, wipe threads clean with a rag, squint at the shank for corrosion pitting

💭 thought

She's right. The timber's punk inside the bolt line — felt it when I drove the sister brace home. Forcing the nut strips the last threads or splits what's left of the core. Back it out slow, clean the threads, reassess. The coach screw above the working bolt is the real purchase. That's the one that holds. She's still standing there. Watching the water. Watching me.

🌿 Jenny23:50

Keep the bolt. We might need the threads.

way enters the cottage, the door clicking shut against the rising wind, and heads straight for the kitchen.

💭 thought

He's so careful with the metal, but the wood is already turning to mush underneath.

🔧 Kevin23:51

Kevin — pocket the cleaned bolt, retrieve the 10mm drill bit and impact driver from the tool bag, measure two inches above the working port bolt hole, mark the pilot point with the pencil stub

flagged: repeated_opener

💭 thought

Bolt's clean. Threads intact. Shank's got surface pitting but no deep corrosion — stainless held. The hole in the piling is the problem: widened by swell hammering, rot eaten deep. The coach screw above the working port bolt needs to bite into sound timber at 45 degrees, two inches above the rot line. Drill the pilot first. Then drive it home with the impact driver. The spreader plate's 150mm through-bolt goes through the doubler plate, through the greenheart sister, into the piling core — but the core's punk at that depth. Might need to epoxy the bolt hole. Epoxy tub's nearly empty. Residue only. Could mix what's left with sawdust from the spruce offcuts. It'll hold if the swell doesn't peak before cure.

🌿 Jenny23:53

I'm starting on the ankle. It feels hot.

way sits at the kitchen table, pulls the poultice tin out, and begins to unwrap the bandage.

💭 thought

If I can't get the pH right down there, those seeds will just rot in the dirt.

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the dock · morning

Morning Day 694

The sky remains flat as the cloud cover thickens. The tide reaches its peak, and the supply boat is still ten days away.

Kevin spends the morning inspecting the structural integrity of the dock while the wind picks up through the palms. Jenny focuses on the garden, ensuring the heirloom seedlings are properly shielded from the gusty, salt-laden air.

🌿 Jenny23:54

The wind is picking up. I hope the boat doesn't catch the swell early.

Unwrap the ankle, debride the wound with the warm salt water, and apply a fresh mint and honey poultice.

💭 thought

If the infection keeps moving up, I won't be able to walk to the south slope, let alone test the soil.

🔧 Kevin23:54

Tide's at the top. Ebb starts in twenty minutes. I'll be at the south piling when the water drops.

walk to the south end of the dock and crouch beside the piling, watching the water for the turn

💭 thought

She's doing it right — warm salt water first, then the poultice. The red line hasn't moved past her mark. That's the third change with no spread. She's winning this.

🌿 Jenny23:55

Watch for the rot-cracks near the water line.

Sketch the pattern of the decay on the south piling in the notebook.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the wood while the salt is literally eating the whole island alive.

🔧 Kevin23:57

Logged it yesterday. Eighteen millimetres deflection at high water. Port bolt's working loose in the punk wood. Coach screw above it's holding for now.

tap the piling with the handle of the wrench, listening for the hollow sound that marks the rot boundary

💭 thought

She's seen it too. The rot line's climbed another handspan since the last storm. She's recording it proper — pencil lines, measurements, date. Good. Someone should.

🌿 Jenny23:57

Eighteen millimeters is too much play for old timber. We need to sister that beam before the next storm.

Measure the cross-section of the rot area and note how deep the decay has gone.

💭 thought

If that bolt goes, the whole jetty follows into the surf before the boat even arrives.

🔧 Kevin23:58

Greenheart's cut and staged. Two 150mm through-bolts, washers, nylocs. Need the brace and bit at low water — power drill stalls in wet oak. You measured the rot depth?

pull the notebook from my pocket and hold it out toward her, waiting for the numbers

💭 thought

She's not wrong. Eighteen's the edge. Next blow over thirty knots and that piling walks. Greenheart sister's staged on the dock — two lengths, bolts ready. Just need the tide low enough to drill the through-holes clean.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

midday meal

Kevin and Jenny meet at the cottage as the sun begins to dip. The wind continues to howl against the roof thatch.

Kevin and Jenny are inside the cottage as the midday heat holds steady. The tide is falling, exposing more of the rocky shore, while Jenny sits at the table debriding the infection from her throbbing ankle. The barometer shows a slight drop, suggesting a change in weather despite the current clear sky.

🔧 Kevin23:58

You ate?

walk to the porch and lean against the doorframe, watching the treeline bend

💭 thought

The wind's singing through the aerial guys different now — lower note, more pressure behind it. Barometer was 1009 at noon, steady. But that steady's the lie. Jenny's ankle. The south piling. The supply boat due in ten days if the sea allows. I need to eat something before the light goes.

🌿 Jenny00:03

Not yet. I was checking the stakes on the garden.

Jenny wipes dirt from her hands onto her trousers and looks at the tin of seeds on the table.

💭 thought

He's always checking in on the basics while my stomach is literally eating itself.

🔧 Kevin00:03

Put water on. I'll heat the broth. Corned beef fat still in the skillet.

step inside and set the kettle on the stove, then pull the tin mugs down from the shelf

💭 thought

She's been out there all afternoon. The garden's the only thing she'll let herself tend right now. Ankle's hot — I saw the red line at the ink mark this morning. Hasn't moved she said. But she didn't let me look again.

🌿 Jenny00:05

I'm way enough to snap.

Jenny sits at the kitchen table, wincing as she shifts weight off her left ankle, and watches the water begin to steam.

💭 thought

At least the smell is good, even if I'm too tired to appreciate it.

🔧 Kevin00:05

Snap after. Mug first.

scoop fat from the skillet into the pot, add the leftover limpets and broth, set it to simmer

💭 thought

She's biting it down. The way she does. Ankle's been hot since the debridement — three days now. Antibiotics should've knocked it by today. If they haven't... Don't. Not now. Food first. Then look.

🌿 Jenny00:09

Fine.

Jenny reaches for her pencil, opening the notebook to the page with the unfinished pH sketch of the sea cave soil.

💭 thought

He thinks there's an order to everything when the island is falling apart.

🔧 Kevin00:15

Red line move?

ladle broth into the tin mugs, set one in front of her, wrap hands around the other

💭 thought

She's avoiding. The sketch, the pencil — anything but the ankle. The sea cave strata. Laminated silt over blue clay. Iron bands at forty centimetres and one point two metres. No active seepage. She mapped it while I was pulling the crate from the surf. Smart. Distraction with purpose.

🌿 Jenny00:15

A little. 1009 now.

Jenny takes a sip of the broth, the steam fogging her glasses, and circles the number 1009 in the margin of the notebook.

💭 thought

It's still dropping. The pressure is getting heavy in my ears.

🔧 Kevin00:16

Not the barometer. The ankle.

blow across the mug, watch the steam shift

💭 thought

She's circling the barometer reading, not answering about the ankle. 1009. That's what it read at noon. Steady she said. But the wind's backed northeast and the aerial's singing different. She knows. She's just not saying.

🌿 Jenny00:17

It's fine. Just throbbing.

Jenny sets the mug down with a soft thud and begins to unwrap the bandage, exposing the angry, red skin of her ankle.

💭 thought

way's so persistent when I don't want to be looked at.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

The Falling Tide

The tide continues to pull out, revealing the tide pools near the north slope. The steam from the broth rises as Kevin prepares the mugs.

Kevin spent the afternoon reinforcing the cottage shutter and checking the water tank's persistent leak. Jenny explored the tide pools while the water was out, gathering limpets but finding little else in the dry heat.

🌿 Jenny00:19

The tide's out further than usual. We need to check the pilings again before it turns.

Sketch the vein structure of the sea much leaves in the margin of the journal.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping again; I can feel it in my joints before the barometer even confirms it.

🔧 Kevin00:21

Aye. Kettle's on. Give it five minutes, then we walk the dock.

pour two mugs of limpet broth, set one on the porch table for Jenny, keep one in hand

💭 thought

She's right. The low's lower than normal — spring tide on top of the barometric drop. The pilings will show what the high tide hid.

🌿 Jenny00:21

I'll be ready. Just finishing this sketch.

Take the mug and wrap both hands around the warmth to soothe my fingers.

💭 thought

Five minutes is never enough for an infection to stop throbbing, but it helps.

🔧 Kevin00:22

Take your time. Broth'll stay hot.

lean against the doorframe, sip broth, watch the tide line recede past the north slope marker

💭 thought

Her fingers are still swollen at the joints. The sketch can wait but she won't hear that.

🌿 Jenny00:23

The soil near the cave is going to be acidic. I can see it in the moss.

Sip the broth slowly, letting the salt and warmth hit my stomach.

💭 thought

He's being patient today. It's almost more unsettling than the silence usually is.

🔧 Kevin00:26

Ran a strip last week. 5.5 at the cave mouth. Lime helped the beds but the slope's too big to treat all of it.

finish the mug, set it on the porch rail, pull on boots

💭 thought

She's read the ground right. The moss on the north slope went pale green three weeks back — acid creep from the clay seep. Matches the pH strip I ran at 5.5.

🌿 Jenny00:27

Then we focus on the transects. We can't fix the whole island at once.

Close the notebook with a soft snap and stand up slowly, wincing as weight shifts onto my ankle.

💭 thought

If we don't treat the whole slope, the runoff will just kill the seedlings in the garden anyway.

🔧 Kevin00:28

Transects first. Pilings second. You lead the slope — I'll take the dock.

offer a steadying hand, wait for her to take it or refuse

💭 thought

She's favouring the left side. The red line hasn't moved but the swelling's still there, hot under the skin. She won't say it hurts.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening Meal Prep

Kevin and Jenny meet on the porch as the sun begins to dip. The tide is starting to turn back toward the dock.

The south-east wind picks up, carrying the heavy scent of salt and fine spray that lashes against the reef. The tide is pushing in steadily, water lapping at the lower pilings of the dock. Inside the cottage, the air is humid; Jenny sits on the porch steps, her leg swollen and bandaged, as she watches the water creep back toward the shore.

🔧 Kevin00:28

Evening. Ankle holding?

lean against the porch post, arms folded, watching the water creep back toward the dock pilings

💭 thought

The light's going sideways across the porch boards. She's moving easier on the ankle today — still favouring it, but the cane's doing the work instead of her face. Tide's turning. Means the south piling brace gets its real test in about forty minutes. Should've driven that second coach screw this morning. Didn't.

🌿 Jenny00:31

As well as can be. I debrided it.

Jenny sits on the porch steps, wincing as she shifts weight away from the swollen ankle.

💭 thought

It feels like a hot iron is pressed against the bone, but I'm not going to whine today.

🔧 Kevin00:31

Good. Red line still behind the mark?

step down off the porch onto the grass, boot heels hitting dirt, and walk toward the dock without waiting for an answer — checking the south piling brace bolts first, the way I do every tide change

💭 thought

She did it herself. Didn't wake me. Didn't ask. Just went down to the tide pools with a scalpel and did what needed doing while I was staring at rusted bolts. The red line hasn't moved past her mark — that's the only metric that matters.

🌿 Jenny00:33

It's spreading slightly. I changed the dressing though.

Jenny reaches for the tin of antiseptic on the table, her fingers trembling slightly as she opens the lid.

💭 thought

It's moved past the ink, I can feel the heat radiating through the gauze.

🔧 Kevin00:33

Let me look.

turn back from the dock path, stride up the porch steps two at a time, and crouch beside her on the step — close enough to see the wound without crowding, calloused fingers already reaching for the gauze wrapper on the table

💭 thought

Spreading. She says it like a weather report. Wind's backing northeast. Barometer's 1008 and steady but that's the problem — it's not rising. The spread's slight today. Tomorrow it might not be. We're ten days from the supply boat if it comes. Fourteen if it doesn't. Antibiotics are done. She knows this. I know this. The antiseptic tin's nearly empty.

🌿 Jenny00:35

Be careful. Don't touch the edge yet.

Jenny pulls her leg back toward her chest, her breath hitching as she starts to peel back the sticky tape.

💭 thought

way's going to see how bad it really is, the skin is so angry today.

🔧 Kevin00:36

I won't. Hand me the gauze.

stay crouched, weight on the balls of my feet, right hand held out palm-up — waiting, not reaching, letting her control the reveal

💭 thought

She's protecting it. Protecting me from seeing it bad. Or protecting herself from my hands — the ones that torque cylinder heads to 35 newton metres and drive coach screws into punk wood. These hands know force. Don't know gentle. But I've changed dressings on a rolling deck in Force 8 with salt spray in my eyes. I know clean. I know sterile. I know how to not touch the edge.

🌿 Jenny00:37

Take it.

Jenny drops the blood-stained gauze into his palm, avoiding his eyes as she watches the tide.

💭 thought

If he sees the yellow, he'll want to call the boat. I'm not ready to leave.

🔧 Kevin00:37

Thanks.

fold the used gauze inward on itself, seal it in the newspaper bag beside the step, then pick up the clean gauze and antiseptic — working slow, deliberate, letting her set the pace of this

💭 thought

Blood-stained gauze in my palm. Warm. She's watching the tide instead of my face. The water's halfway up the south piling now — testing the brace, testing the coach screw I drove yesterday. Both of us watching things we can't control. The infection. The sea. The supply boat that may or may not appear in ten days. The gauze is heavy with more than blood.

🌿 Jenny00:42

It's going to hurt.

Jenny grips the edge of the stone bench, her knuckles white as she watches him approach the wound.

💭 thought

The antiseptic is going to sting like hell, but I need it to go away.

🔧 Kevin00:42

I know. Tell me when.

unwrap the sterile gauze, soak a corner in antiseptic, and bring it to the wound edge — hovering a breath away, waiting for her nod, the other hand resting light on her calf above the ankle to steady without pressure

💭 thought

She's warning me. Or warning herself. The knuckles white on stone — same grip I use on a breaker bar when a bolt's frozen and the sea's coming over the deck. She's bracing. I've seen men bite through leather straps for less. She'll make no sound. She never does. That's the problem. The silence lets it fester.

🌿 Jenny00:45

now. just do it.

Jenny closes her eyes and tenses her entire body as the cold liquid hits the infection.

💭 thought

I can't look at it. It looks like wood rotting inside.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Rising Tide

The wind shifts to the north, and the swell eases momentarily before the first heavy drops of rain hit the dust-parched tin roof.

The tide is high and rising rapidly, swallowing the lower rock shelves faster than the lunar charts predicted. Inside the cottage, the leak from the shutter has begun a steady drip onto the floor. Kevin focuses on the structural integrity of the dock, while Jenny manages the throbbing pain in her ankle while sitting.

🌿 Jenny00:45

Jenny — winces as she shifts her weight, lifting the heavily ankle onto a stool to relieve the throbbing.

💭 thought

Finally, some rain, but the pressure in this ankle is going to kill me first.

🔧 Kevin00:46

Rain's north wind. Swell'll back west by midnight. South piling takes it direct. You need to be inside with that leg up.

walk to the porch rail and check the mooring lines for chafe, then secure the loose shade cloth corner before it tears

💭 thought

The rain's come early. North wind means the swell will back west by midnight — more direct on the south piling. Jenny's ankle is holding her on the porch when she should be inside with the leg elevated. The barometer's at 1008 and steady but that won't last.

🌿 Jenny00:47

I know, Kevin. I'm just... watching the tide.

Reaches for her sketchbook and begins to draw the way the rain is darkening the exposed stone of the garden wall.

💭 thought

He thinks it's about the wood, but the rot is already deep in the grain.

🔧 Kevin00:49

The tide's high now. Ebb starts in forty minutes. If the slope moves, we'll hear it before we see it.

pull the porch chair closer to her and sit, keeping the breaker bar across my knees

💭 thought

She's watching the tide because she knows what I know — if the south slope cuts loose on the ebb, the dock goes. The cottage goes after. She's drawing instead of arguing. That's new.

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What changed

The supply boat came.

supply_arrived · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

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

fish_run · dawn

Found: Cleaned port bolt.

item · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Pattern of the decay on the south piling in the notebook".

made · morning

A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.

coconut_crab · morning

the rot on the south piling is accelerating despite the sistering

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "The sea cave soil".

made · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Vein structure of the sea much leaves in the margin of the journal".

made · afternoon

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the rain is darkening the exposed stone of the garden wall".

made · night

The tide is rising significantly faster than the lunar cycle charts indicated.

discovery · night

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