← Days

Day 723

The Storm, The Shrine, The Boat

Dawn brought heavy rain lashing the west side of the cottage. Wind rattled the ridge beam. Jenny sat on the stool watching the sky while Kevin checked the tarp tension. "Check the southern batten, Kevin. It's sagging," she said. "On it." "Watch the edge near the chimney; the wind is catching the tarp there." "Got it." The bucket under the leak filled with steady splashes. Air thick with damp wood and woodsmoke. Morning: rain persisted. The water tank reached 400 litres, overflow trickling into the channel. Tide receded, exposing slick rocks and the dock base. Humid, 23°C. Midday: rain eased slightly. Tide fully out, dock clear for tomorrow's boat. Pressure stabilizing. Inside, scent of drying herbs and sea beet poultice. Jenny inspected the tank — full. Checked the ridge beam under the tarp: no new rot, but lead flashing lifted at the east corner, allowing water ingress despite the tarp. She moved the grandmother's seed tin to the stove's drying shelf to halt corrosion. Kevin pre-drilled bolt holes in the greenheart sister plates and staged them under the eaves. Afternoon: light fading. They reviewed the list. "Generator filter first. Then the bilge. Radio check at twenty-hundred if the aerial holds." "The aerial will hold. I tightened the bolts myself yesterday." "Mm."

Dawn brought heavy rain lashing the west side of the cottage. Wind rattled the ridge beam. Jenny sat on the stool watching the sky while Kevin checked the tarp tension. "Check the southern batten, Kevin. It's sagging," she said. "On it." "Watch the edge near the chimney; the wind is catching the tarp there." "Got it." The bucket under the leak filled with steady splashes. Air thick with damp wood and woodsmoke. Morning: rain persisted. The water tank reached 400 litres, overflow trickling into the channel. Tide receded, exposing slick rocks and the dock base. Humid, 23°C. Midday: rain eased slightly. Tide fully out, dock clear for tomorrow's boat. Pressure stabilizing. Inside, scent of drying herbs and sea beet poultice. Jenny inspected the tank — full. Checked the ridge beam under the tarp: no new rot, but lead flashing lifted at the east corner, allowing water ingress despite the tarp. She moved the grandmother's seed tin to the stove's drying shelf to halt corrosion. Kevin pre-drilled bolt holes in the greenheart sister plates and staged them under the eaves. Afternoon: light fading. They reviewed the list. "Generator filter first. Then the bilge. Radio check at twenty-hundred if the aerial holds." "The aerial will hold. I tightened the bolts myself yesterday." "Mm."

Evening: they walked the ridge path. Barometer steady at 982. Kevin carried the storm lantern; Jenny leaned on her driftwood cane. At the shrine, stones marked 'LB'. "LB. You said that before. Back when the fever was high." "It's just a name, Kevin." "You carved it deep for just a name." "The wind has a way of erasing everything." "The wind didn't carve LB into this stone. You did. With your fingers raw from the rope work on the dock." "It was a long time ago." "Long time ago doesn't explain why you came back to it tonight. With your ankle the way it is. With the boat overdue." "I was checking the ridge beam." "The ridge beam's on the cottage. This is the shrine. Half a mile out of your way, uphill." "I needed to see the horizon." "The horizon's been there every morning. You didn't need the shrine to find it." "It's not the same thing." "No. It's not."

Night: tide reached the shrine wall base. First cool gust shifted from the north. They rested, monitoring Jenny's ankle infection, preparing mentally for the supply boat's arrival. Cottage roof repair: 66% complete.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

The Approaching Front

Heavy rain lashes the west side of the cottage as the wind picks up, rattling the ridge beam. Jenny sits on the stool watching the sky while Kevin checks the tension of the tarp over the leaking roof section.

The rain has intensified into a heavy driving downpour that drums rhythmically against the tarped ridge beam. The wind from the west is picking up, causing the edges of the heavy tarp to flap and strain. Inside the cottage, the air is thick with the smell of damp wood and woodsmoke, while the bucket under the leak fills with steady splashes.

🌿 Jenny23:03

Check the southern batten, Kevin. It's sagging.

Move the grandmother's tin closer to the stove to keep the rust from spreading.

💭 thought
The water is going to get under that seam if the wind shifts north; the rot will find the wood by morning.
🔧 Kevin23:04

On it.

climb onto the porch roof via the ladder, pull the south batten tight and drive two more galvanized nails through the timber strip into the rafter, check the ridge flashing while I'm up there

💭 thought
She's right. The south batten's working loose — wind gets under it every gust. Need to tighten it before the ridge beam takes more water.
🌿 Jenny23:04

Watch the edge near the chimney; the wind is catching the tarp there.

Wrap the poultice on my ankle and check the swelling.

💭 thought
If he doesn't secure the flashing right, the whole ridge beam will be soft before the way even arrives.
🔧 Kevin23:06

Got it.

secure the chimney corner with an extra batten strip and three nails, overlap the tarp edge over the lead flashing so wind can't pry it up, climb back down the ladder

💭 thought
The chimney corner's the weak point — tarp lifts there first. She sees it from the ground better than I do from up here.
🌿 Jenny23:06

Check the water tank level, I need to know how much we have left.

Open the grandmother's seed tin and inspect the packets for new mold.

💭 thought
He's holding for now, but that rain is relentless on the wood.
🔧 Kevin23:08

Tank's full. Overflow's clear.

glance at the tank gauge on the back wall, confirm the overflow pipe isn't blocked, step back onto the porch

💭 thought
Tank was full at 400 litres yesterday. Rain's been steady — should be topped off unless the overflow's running. Good she's checking the seeds; damp gets in quiet.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The storm deepens

The rain continues to lash the island as the pressure drops further, and the high tide remains high.

The rain continues with a steady persistence, drumming against the heavy tarp battened over the roof. The water tank has reached its 400-litre capacity, and the overflow is beginning to trickle into the channel. The tide is receding, exposing the slick rocks of the tide pools and the base of the dock. The air is humid and warm at 23°C.

🌿 Jenny23:08

The wind is getting way for the boat.

Wrap the sea beet poultice around my ankle more tightly and sit on the porch to watch the tide.

💭 thought
If that boat doesn't come tomorrow, I'll be out of antibiotics and this ankle is going to turn for real.
🔧 Kevin23:10

Boat won't come in this. Captain said two-hour window at high tide. If the swell's over three metres he turns back.

check the barometer reading again and secure the loose tarp edges on the roof with more timber battens

💭 thought
She's right — wind's backing southwest and building, exactly the direction that traps the supply boat in the harbour. Barometer's at 981 and steady but the swell's already stacking against the cliffs. If the boat can't make the high tide window in three days, we're looking at another week minimum. Her ankle's hot through the poultice wrap.
🌿 Jenny23:10

Then we'd better hope the wind shifts for a day.

Pull grandmother's seed tin from my pocket and trace the rusted edges with my thumb.

💭 thought
Three metres is a death sentence for the dinghy, and a disaster for my supplies.
🔧 Kevin23:12

Wind doesn't shift here. It builds or it breaks. Three days at high tide was the window. We're at day one.

walk to the garden shed and check the generator fuel level, then bring the spare diesel drum filter to the cottage porch

💭 thought
She's tracing that tin like it's a rosary. The rust's eaten through the sides but the lid's still sealed — whatever's inside survived the damp. Wind shift's the only thing that brings the boat, but the barometer's been steady at 981 for six hours now. That's not a shift. That's a hold. Her ankle needs the poultice changed again soon, and the antibiotics are done.
🌿 Jenny23:12

Then I'll start making an inventory of everything while we wait.

Open the seed tin and look at the dry heirloom seeds, checking for any sign of damp.

💭 thought
He's always right about the weather, but that doesn't make the hunger any quieter.
🔧 Kevin23:14

Inventory's done. Written in the supply crate list. Food, fuel, medical, spares — all logged.

sit on the porch step beside her and peel the tape off the tin lid to check the seal myself

💭 thought
Inventory means she's planning for staying. Not leaving. The tin's dry inside — I watched her seal it with wax and tape after the last storm. Seeds are viable. She knows that. She's checking because her hands need something to do while her ankle throbs. The red line was two centimetres below her knee this morning. Metronidazole course finished yesterday. Doxycycline's got five doses left.
🌿 Jenny23:15

We need to keep them dry until I can actually find the soil.

Pour a handful of seeds into my palm, inspecting each one for mold or rot.

💭 thought
If the moisture gets in, the whole grandmother's legacy is gone before it starts.
🔧 Kevin23:16

The slope's not ready. Still moving. Lost three test pits last month.

close my hand over the seeds and pour them back into the tin, then reseal the lid with the wax strip

💭 thought
She's talking about the north slope. The fracture line's been creeping since the January rains — took out the lower garden beds, the compost, half the path to the spring. She wants to plant there anyway. The seeds in my palm are tomato, heirloom, thin-skinned. Clean. No mold. She's memorising them like she's memorising the transect data. Her fingers are cold.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Preparation for the Boat

The rain shows up slightly as the tide reaches its lowest point, leaving the dock clear for the boat's arrival tomorrow.

The air is heavy and still under the overcast sky, though the pressure begins to stabilize. The tide is fully out, exposing the slick rocks of the tide pools near the north shore. Inside the cottage, the scent of drying herbs and medicinal sea beet poultice lingers as the pair focuses on the final preparations before the supply boat's arrival.

🌿 Jenny23:16

Check the radio one last time, I want to make sure the signal is clear.

remove the fresh poultice from my ankle and wrap it in a clean bandage.

💭 thought
If the boat actually shows up, I need to get that lime for the soil; I can't keep working with this acidity level.
🔧 Kevin23:18

Radio's been clear all afternoon. French trawler at 1400, coast guard relay at 1600. Supply boat on schedule for high tide tomorrow, two-hour window. I'll run the 2000 check same as always.

Walk to the kitchen shelf and power on the shortwave, tuning to 2182 kHz for the scheduled evening check.

💭 thought
She's worried about the supply boat. The barometer's rising and the tide's low — good signs for tomorrow. But her ankle's still hot under the bandage, and she's asking about the radio instead of resting. I'll check the signal, but I'm watching that leg, not the dial.
🌿 Jenny23:18

Good. I'll have the list by the door so we don't forget anything.

sketch the layout of the new garden bed in the back of my notebook.

💭 thought
Two hours is barely enough time to load the heavy stuff if the landing is rough.
🔧 Kevin23:20

List by the door. I'll check the dinghy lines again before dark — make sure she'll hold if the swell picks up overnight.

Step out onto the porch and walk down to the dock to inspect the dinghy's storm anchor warp, the doubled stern spring, and the bow line slack for swell movement.

💭 thought
She's making lists and drawing garden beds while her calf burns. The supply boat's the only thing getting her through the night — gives her something to plan for besides the infection. I'll let her have the list. But if that red line's past the knee by morning, the garden doesn't matter. The medevac forms are in the ditch bag. I signed them. She signed them. We both know what that means.
🌿 Jenny23:20

Watch out for the slip, the tide is going out fast.

open grandmother's seed tin and check for any new moisture.

💭 thought
He's always worried about the boat, while I'm worried about the soil chemistry.
🔧 Kevin23:22

Dock's green ice at this tide. I know the footing. You've checked that tin four times since noon — it's dry. The stove heat's doing its work.

Crouch at the dock's edge, testing the starred planks with a boot before stepping onto the dinghy to verify the storm anchor's holding in the mud.

💭 thought
She's watching the tide for me but not her own leg. The algae on the dock planks is slick as ice at low water — I've near gone over twice this week. Her tin's on the stove drying, not in her hands. She's memorizing seed packets she's already counted three times today. The infection's not waiting for the supply boat.
🌿 Jenny23:36

I'm just making sure the mold hasn't gotten in.

close the tin securely and place it back on the counter near the stove.

💭 thought
He doesn't see the potential in them, just a metal box of seeds.
🔧 Kevin23:36

It hasn't. The tin's tight, the stove's dry, the seeds are safe. Come look at the dinghy's bow line — I want your eyes on the chafe point before dark.

Haul the dinghy's bow line hand over hand, checking the serving where it leads through the bow chock, feeling for soft spots in the fibers.

💭 thought
The tin's sealed. The stove's warm. Mold doesn't walk across a dry counter. She's doing something with her hands because she can't do anything with her leg. I've seen this before — men on ships fixing the same knot seven times while the storm builds. The supply boat comes tomorrow or it doesn't. The infection breaks or it doesn't. My hands are on the dinghy's anchor warp, wet rope and mud, and that's real.
🌿 Jenny23:38

I'll check. If that line is fraying, we need a replacement.

walk down the way stairs to the dock, my ankle throbbing with every step.

💭 thought
He's so focused on the gear, he forgets the tide is dropping so fast.
🔧 Kevin23:38

It's surface only. The new half-inch three-strand's got meat left. But you're the one who spotted the shroud wear last month — your eyes are better than mine close up.

Hold the bow line slack at the chock, feeding it through my calloused fingers slow so she can inspect every inch, waiting without speaking.

💭 thought
She's on the stairs. One hand on the rope rail, the other on her cane, bad leg locking each step. She won't ask me to carry her. Won't say stop. The chafe point's at the chock — I felt it earlier, just surface fuzz, not structural. But she needs to see it herself. Needs to be useful. The supply boat's not here yet. The infection's not gone. But she's on the dock, moving, checking my work. That's something.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening Prep Before the Tide

Kevin and Jenny gather in the cottage as the light begins to fade, reviewing the list for tomorrow and monitoring the shifting weather patterns.

Kevin pre-drilled bolt holes in the greenheart sister plates for the ridge beam repair and staged them under the eaves. Jenny inspected the water tank, finding it full at 400 litres, then checked the ridge beam under the tarp — no new rot, but the lead flashing has lifted at one corner. She moved the grandmother's seed tin to the stove's drying shelf to halt further corrosion.

🌿 Jenny23:40

Jenny — trace the edge of the seed tin with my thumb, feeling the throb in my ankle.

💭 thought
If the boat doesn't come, I'll run out of antibiotic ointment, and I'm still stuck with these weeds and this rotting beam. ownSAY: Check the radio one last time. I need to know they're actually fighting the swell.
🔧 Kevin23:40

Generator filter first. Then the bilge. Radio check at twenty-hundred if the aerial holds.

pour the last of the coffee into two tin mugs, set one beside her on the table

💭 thought
She's favouring the ankle still. The red line's stopped advancing but the heat in it hasn't dropped. Tomorrow's list is long and the boat's not coming if this barometer keeps holding. Need to get the generator fuel filter changed before dark and check the dinghy's bilge pump one more time.
🌿 Jenny23:42

The aerial will hold. I tightened the bolts myself yesterday.

Take the mug with both hands, letting the warmth seep into my palms while I stare at the seed tin.

💭 thought
He thinks it's just a checklist, but the radio is the only thing between me and being completely erased.
🔧 Kevin23:42

Mm.

sit opposite her at the table, blow across my mug, watch the steam rise

💭 thought
She did. Watched her up the mast in the morning swell, one-handed with the wrench while the other clung to the shroud. Stubborn about it. The aerial's sound. It's the coax I don't trust — old cable, salt in the braid. But she doesn't need me second-guessing her work tonight.
🌿 Jenny23:44

Do you think they'll have the extra sheeting? The ridge is looking rough.

Take a slow sip of the bitter coffee, eyes tracking a bead of water running down the whitewashed wall.

💭 thought
It's too quiet when he isn't talking, just the sound of the rain hitting the stone.
🔧 Kevin23:44

Harris had "roofing materials" on the manifest. Vague. Could be anything. We'll see what's aboard when — if — he makes the harbour.

sip coffee, set the mug down hard enough to ring on the table

💭 thought
The ridge beam's held three storms now on that lead flashing. Another layer of sheeting won't hurt but it's not what keeps me awake. The supply boat manifest had "roofing materials" listed — vague as ever. Could be tar paper, could be a pallet of slate. Captain Harris owes me a favour from '19 but favours don't float in a Force 8.
🌿 Jenny23:46

If it's not enough, I'll have to double the tarp.

Reach for the grandmother's seed tin, fingers the cold metal, checking for any new moisture inside.

💭 thought
Vague is a dangerous word when you're dealing with a leaking roof and a failing ankle.
🔧 Kevin23:46

If it comes to that, we sister the beam first. Tarp's a bandage. Greenheart's in the shed, cut to length. Need three days dry to do it right.

reach over, brush a thumb along the tin's lid where her fingers rest

💭 thought
She's thinking ahead. Always. The tarp's got two more storms in it if the batten strips hold. But doubling it means weight on a ridge that's already sagging. Need to sister the beam proper when the weather breaks. Got the greenheart planks cut. Just need a window.
🌿 Jenny23:48

We won't get three days dry if the wind shifts.

Pull the tin slightly away from his hand, holding it tighter against my chest.

💭 thought
He's always thinking about the structure, while I'm thinking about the life inside.
🔧 Kevin23:48

Then we do it wet. Pre-drill the bolt holes tonight. Stage the plates. When the rain breaks for six hours, we drive them home.

pull my hand back, wrap both palms around my mug, stare into the dark liquid

💭 thought
She's right. The barometer's steady at 982 but the swell direction's been wrong all week — west-northwest when it should be southwest. Means a low building somewhere south of us. Could sit on top of us for a week. The beam won't wait. Neither will the dock's north piling. Neither will her ankle.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening at the shrine

They walk the ridge path together as the light thins, the barometer steady at 982. The shrine stones catch the last pale glow. Kevin carries the storm lantern; Jenny leans on her driftwood cane. The tide is rising below the cliffs, a low susurrus. They stop at the ring of stones marked 'LB'.

The air at the shrine is thick with the 31°C heat, heavy with the promise of a storm. Kevin stands by the weathered stone, the lantern light casting long, flickering shadows across the deep 'LB' initials carved years ago. Jenny watches the grey horizon, her thumb tracing the rough curve of the 'L' as the tide begins its slow climb against the jagged rocks below.

🔧 Kevin23:50

LB. You said that before. Back when the fever was high.

hold the lantern higher, casting light over the carved initials on the weathered stone, and wait

💭 thought
She's moving slower than this morning. The cane takes more weight each step. That red line's past her knee now — I can see it in the lantern light where her trouser leg rides up. She hasn't said a word about it since the last dose.
🌿 Jenny23:50

It's just a name, Kevin.

Jenny runs a calloused thumb over the worn curve of the 'L', then looks away toward the grey horizon.

💭 thought
He notices the name, but not the weight of it, or the seeds I'm hiding in that tin.
🔧 Kevin23:52

You carved it deep for just a name.

set the lantern on a flat stone, freeing both hands, and watch her face in the glow

💭 thought
Just a name. Right. And the medevac forms in the ditch bag are just paper. She traced these letters with her fingers when she could barely lift her head. The tide's coming in hard — can hear it sucking at the cliff base. Barometer's stuck at 982. Supply boat's due tomorrow if the swell allows.
🌿 Jenny23:52

The wind has a way of erasing everything.

Jenny tightens her grip on the driftwood cane, the throb in her ankle pulsing in time with the rising tide.

💭 thought
If I don't carve it deep, the salt takes it first.
🔧 Kevin23:54

The wind didn't carve LB into this stone. You did. With your fingers raw from the rope work on the dock.

step closer, blocking the wind off her, and rest a hand on her shoulder — steady, not gripping

💭 thought
She's quoting something. Or making it up. Either way the wind isn't erasing the red line climbing her thigh, or the way her breath catches when she puts weight on that foot. The supply boat captain said three days at high tide, two-hour window. That was three days ago. Barometer hasn't budged. I've got the medevac forms signed, the ditch bag packed, the radio working. What I don't have is her saying yes.
🌿 Jenny23:54

It was a long time ago.

Jenny goes quiet, staring at the grey line where the sea meets the sky.

💭 thought
He remembers the hands, but he doesn't remember why they were shaking.
🔧 Kevin23:56

Long time ago doesn't explain why you came back to it tonight. With your ankle the way it is. With the boat overdue.

keep my hand on her shoulder, thumb moving slow against the damp wool of her jacket

💭 thought
Long time ago. Before the island. Before me, maybe. Or before the version of her I know. The tide's loud now, waves hitting the cliff face below. She's shivering — or maybe it's just the light playing on her face. The antibiotics are done. The red line's past her knee. I've called the supply boat three times on the radio. No answer. The medevac forms are in the ditch bag by the loft ladder. She hasn't looked at them. Hasn't looked at me since the lantern went up.
🌿 Jenny23:56

I was checking the ridge beam.

Jenny shifts her weight, wincing as the fresh poultice pulls against her skin.

💭 thought
He sees the boat and the injury, but he never sees the soil under the weeds.
🔧 Kevin23:58

The ridge beam's on the cottage. This is the shrine. Half a mile out of your way, uphill.

let my hand drop from her shoulder, arms crossing loose over my chest, and wait

💭 thought
Checking the ridge beam. At dusk. In this light. With her ankle screaming. She walked the ridge path — the long way, the steep way — to check a beam I already patched and she already inspected this morning. The shrine is a detour. A deliberate one. She knew exactly where LB was carved. She led us here.
🌿 Jenny23:58

I needed to see the horizon.

Jenny looks down at her feet, then back at the stones, the silence heavy as the humid air.

💭 thought
He thinks I'm losing my mind because I stopped measuring the distance.
🔧 Kevin00:01

The horizon's been there every morning. You didn't need the shrine to find it.

reach into my jacket pocket, fingers closing on the folded medevac authorization form I took from the ditch bag before we left — just to feel the paper's edge

💭 thought
The horizon. She's looked at that same grey line every day for eleven months from the porch, the garden, the dock. She didn't need to climb the ridge in fading light with an infected leg to see it. She needed to stand at these stones. The ones she carved when the fever had her speaking in names I didn't know. The tide's right up to the cliff base now, foam licking the dark rock. Barometer's still 982. The supply boat isn't coming tomorrow. I know it. She knows it. The medevac forms are useless if the helicopter can't land in this swell. The ditch bag has a handheld VHF, flares, the letter to Tom I never sent. She's fading in front of me and calling it a view.
🌿 Jenny00:01

It's not the same thing.

Jenny pulls away slightly, the infection throbbing in the heat of the evening.

💭 thought
He's looking for an exit strategy while I'm looking for a place to plant.
🔧 Kevin00:02

No. It's not.

pull the form from my pocket, unfold it slow in the lantern light, and hold it out to her — the signature lines facing up, both already signed

💭 thought
She's pulling away. Always pulling away. The infection's eating her from the inside out and she's parsing semantics on a ridge in the dark. The form in my pocket burns. I've signed it. She's signed it. The radio's dead to the mainland. The supply boat's a ghost story. Tomorrow the barometer drops below 980 and the south dock takes the full swell — my own rule, written in the notebook. The helicopter needs a clear patch and calm wind. Neither exists here. I'm going to lose her on this island because she won't name what LB stands for and I won't force it and the sea doesn't negotiate.
🌿 Jenny00:02

The boat isn't even here yet.

Jenny stares at the paper, the ink dark against the salt air.

💭 thought
He's already planning to take me away before I finish the garden.

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the old shrine · night

The Calm Before the Rain

The tide reaches the base of the shrine wall as the first cool gust of wind shifts from the north.

Kevin and Jenny rest at the old shrine as the steady rain continues to fill the water tank. They focus on monitoring Jenny's ankle infection and prepare mentally for the supply boat's arrival tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin00:04

We should head back. The cottage needs securing before this hits proper.

Turn and walk down the ridge path toward the cottage, lantern in hand.

💭 thought
The wind's turning north. Temperature dropping. Storm's not waiting for the supply boat.
🌿 Jenny00:04

I'm coming. Just one minute.

Scribbles a quick, jagged sketch of the tide-line formation in the notebook, snaps it shut, and follows Kevin toward the cottage, limping slightly on the left ankle.

💭 thought
The pressure is dropping. If we leave now, we'llization the worst of the swell, but I need to check the seed tin one last time. The salt air is eating the metal, and I can't let grandmother's legacy turn to rust.
🔧 Kevin00:07

Take your time. I'll check the tarp tension on the roof first.

Walk steadily down the path toward the cottage, scanning the roof tarp for loose battens as I approach.

💭 thought
She's favouring the left. The antibiotics should've knocked the infection back by now. If the red line's still tracking, we're out of options here.
🌿 Jenny00:07

Watch the corner near the chimney. It was lifting.

Reaches into her pocket to Feel the cold, heavy weight of the seed tin, ensuring it's still there before we reach the door.

💭 thought
He's always worried about the structure while I'm worried about the life inside it. The roof holds, but the soil won't if I keep hesitating.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.
plan · dawn
×2
cottage roof repair: 26%.
project · dawn
Found: ankle poultice.
item · dawn
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · dawn
A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.
coconut_crab · morning
cottage roof repair: 36%.
project · morning
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · morning
Jenny made a sketch: "Layout of the new garden bed in the back of my notebook".
made · midday
cottage roof repair: 46%.
project · afternoon
Found: greenheart sister plates (2).
item · afternoon
lead flashing on ridge beam has lifted at east corner, allowing water ingress despite tarp
discovery · afternoon
cottage roof repair: 56%.
project · evening
The initials 'LB' are carved into the shrine stone.
discovery · evening
The rain tank gained about 25 litres.
weather · evening
Kevin and Jenny ate.
meal · evening
Jenny made a sketch: "The tide-line formation in the notebook, snaps it shut,".
made · night
cottage roof repair: 66%.
project · 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.