Day 792

Supply Boat Two Days Out

Dawn found Kevin at the workbench brushing a second coat of epoxy onto the jerry can's pitted seam. The first coat was still tacky. "Epoxy's thin," he said. "Might need a second coat once this cures." Jenny sorted heirloom seeds into labeled tins nearby. "Just make sure it holds for now. We need that water for the ridge." She pressed her ankle — swelling persistent, stable — and limped toward the cottage.

Midday. Kevin ran the Yanmar at half-throttle; the vibration fix held. Jenny returned from the north ridge with three confirmed soil pockets above the erosion line: volcanic ash, pH 6.2, spring-fed. The third pocket, at a slide scar, showed a weeping clay lip. She debrided her ankle with salt water, then boiled limpets for lunch. Barometer 1008 hPa and falling.

Noon radio contact on 2182. Jenny keyed the mic: "Sorrel Island to supply boat, calling on frequency 2182, do you copy?" Kevin logged the attempt. Palms roared in gusty wind. Kevin moved jerry cans under the eaves. Jenny took her cane and radio back up the ridge to verify drainage. "Third one's the slide scar," Kevin called after her. "Watch the clay lip — it's weeping."

Evening. Rain drove horizontally. Barometer 1004 hPa and falling fast. Kevin checked the dock mooring ring and chain at low tide. Mortise holding, chain fair, shackle pin threads galled. "Spare's in the workshop on the bench — if it's still there." Jenny shouted from the doorway: "Don'taging out too long! The water is rising!" Kevin returned as tide turned. "Shackle's the only weak link." Jenny set tea by the stove. A turtle hauled out on the beach to nest in the dark.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Preparation for the supply boat

Kevin sits over the workbench, applying epoxy to the preheated seam of the pitted jerry can. Jenny stands nearby, sorting through dried heirloom seeds into labeled tins while the morning breeze picks up.

Kevin checked the epoxy seal on the jerry can, finding the seam still tacky and requiring a second coat. Jenny inspected her ankle, noting the swelling was persistent but stable as they moved toward the cottage to prepare for the coming supply boat.

🔧 Kevin12:19

Epoxy's thin. Might need a second coat once this cures.

keep working the epoxy into the pitted seam with the brush, watching for air bubbles

💭 thought

The epoxy's setting slower in this breeze. Should've done this inside. Jenny's hands move steady with the seeds — she's not watching the ankle, not favoring it. Good.

🌿 Jenny12:21

Just make sure it holds for now. We need that water for the ridge.

Drops a handful of tomato seeds into a tin and weighs the weight in her palm.

💭 thought

If the pitting is too deep, the salt will just eat through the bond anyway. He's always so optimistic.

🔧 Kevin12:21

It'll hold. Pits are filled. Second coat after cure.

set the brush down on the scrap tin and wipe hands on the rag, then glance at the tin in her hand

💭 thought

She's right. The ridge beds won't wait. This can just has to bridge us to the supply boat.

🌿 Jenny12:23

We'll see. I need to check the water level before the boat comes.

Tucks the tin of seeds into her pocket and turns toward the porch.

💭 thought

He thinks a layer of resin fixes years of corrosion. The island is patient, unlike him.

🔧 Kevin12:23

Tank's at 391. Hasn't moved since yesterday.

watch her walk to the porch, then turn back to the jerry can to check the epoxy cure

💭 thought

She's moving fine. The ankle's holding. Water level — tank's been steady at 391. She knows that. She's giving herself something to do.

🌿 Jenny12:25

It's plenty for two days.

Walks to the porch and looks out at the north ridge, scanning for a patch of stable soil.

💭 thought

391 is enough for now, but if the boat doesn't show, I'm in trouble.

🔧 Kevin12:25

Kevin — check the jerry can seam with a fingertip — tacky, not cured — then walk to the porch doorway and lean against the frame, looking north with her

💭 thought

Two days. Supply boat's due. She's looking at the ridge like she's calculating something — planting window, maybe, or just how much ground we've actually got left.

🌿 Jenny12:27

The soil is shifting up there.

Lean her weight on her good leg, wincing slightly as the ankle pulses in the heat.

💭 thought

The ridge looks too loose today. If I don't find a spot soon, grandmother's seeds will just rot in the tin.

🔧 Kevin12:27

The intercept trench is holding. Cedar stakes haven't moved in a week.

step down off the porch and walk toward the garden path, gesturing for her to follow back toward the cottage

💭 thought

She's hiding the wince but she can't hide the weight shift. The ridge has been slipping all season. We knew this. She's still planning to plant it.

🌿 Jenny12:29

I'll check the ankle first.

Follow him toward the cottage, keeping a slow pace to manage the pain in her leg.

💭 thought

If the trench is holding, maybe the drainage is better than I thought. But my ankle is still screaming.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Morning of Day 792

You meet at the cottage door as the light onshore breeze picks up. The barometer remains steady, and the supply boat is exactly two days away.

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

🔧 Kevin12:29

Morning. Coffee's on. Radio check at noon.

Pour two tin mugs from the pot on the stove, set one on the porch table.

💭 thought

She's moving well. The ankle's holding. Two days and the boat's here — everything changes then, or nothing does.

🌿 Jenny12:31

I'll check the radio. I need to boil the limpets.

Take the mug, sit on the porch steps, and open the notebook to the north ridge soil profiles.

💭 thought

He's so casual about the schedule while the island is literally falling apart and my leg is throbbing.

🔧 Kevin12:31

Limpets first. I'll run the radio.

Walk to the kitchen shelf, switch on the shortwave, let the tubes warm, tune to 2182 and set the squelch.

💭 thought

She's already working. Good. The notebook means she's planning the north ridge planting for after the boat comes.

🌿 Jenny12:33

Don't forget the salt water for the ankle.

Sketch the morphology of the sea much I found by the tide pools.

💭 thought

If that static doesn't clear up, I'm going to lose my mind out here.

🔧 Kevin12:33

Basin's by the stove. Salt tin next to it. I'll bring it out.

Fill the galvanized bucket with warm water from the kettle, stir in a handful from the salt tin, carry it to the porch steps and set it beside her.

💭 thought

She's salt-crusted and drawing sea beet glands at 0700. The ankle's the least of what she's carrying.

🌿 Jenny12:35

I'll debride it after the water boils.

Soak the ankle in the salt water and watch the radio dial.

💭 thought

My ankle is pulsing with every heartbeat; the salt will sting but it needs to clean.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin tested the Yanmar at half-throttle and confirmed the vibration fix held under load. Jenny surveyed the north ridge, found stable soil pockets above the erosion line with pH 6.2, and debrided her ankle with salt water before boiling limpets for lunch.

🔧 Kevin12:36

Water's boiling if you want another mug.

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

💭 thought

The cottage porch feels different in the midday heat — the whitewashed stone holds the night's cool for another hour, but the air above the flagstones shimmers. Two days until the supply boat. The Yanmar's vibration at half-throttle still needs sorting, and the dock mooring ring wants checking at low tide. Radio contact at noon on 2182. Jenny's ankle heat is down, but the infection track still shows faint red at the marked boundary. I should check the jerry can epoxy cure before I move to the engine.

🌿 Jenny12:37

"Thanks, Kevin." (I set the notebook on the kitchen table, the pages already damp from the humidity)

Pour water from the pot into my mug, add a pinch of salt from the tin - not for taste, but to test if the water's pure or if salt contamination has spread from the tank repairs

💭 thought

The water's already boiling again - he's been checking it every few minutes like it might disappear. My ankle throbs with the movement, but I can't afford to be fussy about comfort right now. The north ridge soil report sits in my notebook, and I need to map where those stable pockets actually are before the storm hits.

🔧 Kevin12:38

Tank was 385 litres this morning. Overflow patch held the last rain.

set the kettle back on the stove and pull out the chair opposite her, the tin mug warm in my hands

💭 thought

She's testing the tank water with salt — smart. The overflow repair used oak shims and marine epoxy, but the foundation leak at the northeast corner has been weeping for weeks. If salt's intruding the tank, the epoxy didn't hold or the crack's deeper than I thought. The tin's beside the stove. She knows the taste threshold.

🌿 Jenny12:40

"Good work on the overflow patch." (I trace a finger along the damp notebook page where I sketched the north ridge soil profile)

Open the notebook to the soil pH map, checking the written notes: north ridge above erosion line - stable, pH 6.2, volcanic ash, spring-fed. Circle the coordinates with a dark pencil mark.

💭 thought

Three hundred eighty-five litres - barely fifteen litres lost in a day, which is actually decent given the storm pressure building. But I can't focus on that now. The notebook on the table holds the key to whether these seeds have somewhere to live.

🔧 Kevin12:40

Spring intake's still running clear. Auger bit seized at the west wall corner yesterday — root at depth. Shaft twisted, handle bent. Stuck in the ground there.

blow across the mug's surface, watching the steam curl

💭 thought

She's marking the spring-fed zone above the erosion line — the only ground on the north ridge that hasn't slipped. pH 6.2 means the lime's holding there. The volcanic ash drains fast. If we're planting the grandmother's heirlooms anywhere, that's the bed. But the spring intake up the slope needs checking before the supply boat brings more weight onto the dock. The auger bit twisted on a root yesterday. Might need to clear the intake by hand.

🌿 Jenny12:41

"Leave it there for now. We'll get it when we're ready with the proper tools." (I close the notebook carefully, the sketches of Beta maritima and Carex transects safe inside)

Stand and walk to the window, looking out toward the north ridge where the soil tests showed pH 6.2 - perfect for grandmother's seeds. Check the barometer reading through the glass: 1008 hPa and falling.

💭 thought

The auger bit still stuck in the ground - another reminder of how the island resists our plans. But the spring intake running clear means the water is still good, which is what matters most for the seeds.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Midday meal and radio contact

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table with tin mugs of limpet broth and boiled limpets. The shortwave radio sits charged on the shelf. The barometer reads 1008 hPa and falling. Outside, the palms roar in the gusty wind. Kevin picks up the microphone for the scheduled noon contact with the supply boat on 2182.

Kevin moved the jerry cans under the cottage eaves and logged the radio contact attempt. Jenny headed up the north ridge with her cane and radio to verify three soil pockets she had marked, while Kevin stayed at the cottage to check the Yanmar vibration and monitor the falling barometer.

🌿 Jenny12:45

Sorrel Island to supply boat, calling on frequency 2182, do you copy?

Jenny watches the needle on the radio, her hand resting over the throbbing in her wrapped ankle.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't answer today, the seeds are going to stay in that tin for another year.

🔧 Kevin12:45

(quiet, to Jenny) Copy. I'll log it.

lean against the doorframe, eyes on the barometer needle and the tree line through the window, one hand resting on the shelf beside the radio

💭 thought

She's got the mic. Good. Let her run the contact — she knows the procedure, and I need to watch the barometer and the horizon both. Three days out if they're on schedule. Two if they're not. The wind's backing west-southwest again.

🌿 Jenny12:47

The pressure is dropping faster than yesterday.

Jenny picks up a mug of broth, staring at the steam until her glasses fog up.

💭 thought

He's too quiet. The sky is turning the color of a bruise.

🔧 Kevin12:47

Mm. Two since noon. Southwest fetch building.

turn and walk to the porch door, pull it open a hand's width, taste the wind direction on wet fingers, glance back at the radio shelf

💭 thought

Two millibars in an hour. She's right. The swell will be building on the south face by nightfall. Need to check the dinghy mooring again before dark — storm anchor warp, second spring, chafe points. And the garden tarp corners.

🌿 Jenny12:49

We should get the jerry cans inside before the rain starts sideways.

Jenny stands up slowly, wincing as the weight shifts on her ankle, and moves toward the porch.

💭 thought

If that storm hits early, the boat won't even try the channel.

🔧 Kevin12:49

I'll get them. You sit.

step out onto the porch, pull the door shut behind me, cross to the generator shed and haul the two jerry cans — one sound, one epoxy-seamed — back under the cottage eaves, set them on the raised pallet, wipe diesel smear off my thumb

💭 thought

She's favouring it more than she let on this morning. The heat's down but the swelling's tracking up the calf. Antibiotics should've knocked the cellulitis back by now. Might need to lance again if it doesn't break tonight.

🌿 Jenny12:51

(calling back without looking up) I'm going to check the soil pockets again. Just need to confirm the pH readings before dark.

Jenny pulls her sketchbook closer, fingers tracing the coordinates she marked on the north ridge pages, then sets down her mug with more force than intended.

💭 thought

Six months ago I would have walked beside him without hesitation.

🔧 Kevin12:51

(through the door, low) Take the cane. And the radio.

pause at the porch door, hand on the frame, watching the path up the ridge disappear into bending palms, wait for her to appear in the doorway

💭 thought

She's pushing the ankle. Walking the ridge in this wind with a leg that hot — she'll pay for it tonight. But she won't take the order to stay put. Never has. The coordinates she marked... she's looking for a place to put the heirlooms where the salt won't take them. Like she's planning for next season. Like she knows we'll be here to see it.

🌿 Jenny12:53

I marked three stable pockets yesterday. Volcanic ash, pH 6.2. I need to verify the drainage before the storm.

Jenny walks to the doorway, takes the cane from the hook, and heads toward the ridge, but stops halfway to pocket the radio in her coat.

💭 thought

The path disappears because I've already walked it too many times in my head.

🔧 Kevin12:53

(quiet, to her back) Third one's the slide scar. Watch the clay lip — it's weeping.

lean against the doorframe, track her up the path until the wind takes the sound of her steps, then turn back inside, pull the notebook from the shelf, flip to the garden pH map page, add a pencilled note in the margin: *J - 3 pockets verif

💭 thought

Three pockets. She'd only mentioned two in her notes. The third must be the one near the old landslide scar — clay cap over blue silt, the sketch showed. If that's holding 6.2 with this rain, the lime's working its way down. She's thinking long-term. Crops. Seasons. A life here.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening storm watch and low tide dock check

Kevin and Jenny are back at the cottage as rain drives horizontally. The tide is near low. Kevin prepares to check the dock mooring ring and chain while Jenny tends the stove and reviews her ridge sketches. The barometer reads 1004 hPa and falling fast.

The evening air is heavy and still, the flat sky darkening as the 31°C heat lingers. The tide is out, exposing the slick rocks and the lower sections of the dock. Kevin and Jenny are at the cottage, managing the aftermath of the day and preparing for the supply boat's arrival in two days.

🔧 Kevin12:55

Going to check the dock ring and chain at low water. Back before the tide turns.

pull on oilskin jacket, grab headlamp and 19mm wrench, step out onto the porch

💭 thought

Barometer's dropped another four millibars since noon. Wind's backing west — swell lag means the dock lines will take load after dark. Need to check the mooring ring mortise and chain before the tide turns. Jenny's ankle heat is down but she's still favoring it; she shouldn't be on the dock planks in this.

🌿 Jenny12:57

Watch the wind. The sky is turning mean faster than the forecast.

Sit at the kitchen table, pick up the pencil, and sketch the drainage pattern of the third ridge pocket.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast for a dock check; he's going to get soaked if the swell hits.

🔧 Kevin12:58

Won't be long. Chain and ring first. If the mortise needs wedges, I'll drive them before the water rises.

walk down the garden path toward the dock, headlamp beam cutting through the rain

💭 thought

She's right. The cloud base has dropped two hundred feet in the last hour. West wind against an ebb tide — the surge will hit the dock face-on.

🌿 Jenny12:59

Keep the radio on. If the swell comes early...

Stand by the window, watching the headlamp light disappear into the gray.

💭 thought

He's too stubborn for his own good; that dock is a death trap today.

🔧 Kevin12:59

Radio's on. Key it twice if you need me.

reach the dock, crouch at the seaward end where the mooring ring sits, run fingers over the mortise and the chain links down to the shackle

💭 thought

Radio's on the shelf, charged. She'll hear if I key it. The mortise held last time with six oak wedges — vertical grain, driven tight. But the chain's seen three winters now. Salt eats the shackle pins first.

🌿 Jenny13:01

Just be careful. The wind is picking up.

Pace the length of the kitchen, then re-wrap the poultice on my ankle.

💭 thought

The tide is already moving too fast; he's going to get pinned by the cleat.

🔧 Kevin13:01

Mortise holding. Chain's fair. Shackle pin threads are galled — need the spare from the workshop.

stand, sweep headlamp along the dock planking toward the landward cleat, check the sistered greenheart plate and bolts

💭 thought

Mortise looks sound — oak wedges still seated, no fresh splintering. Chain links show surface corrosion but no stretching on the crown pins. Shackle pin is the weak point; housing was compromised last storm, pin freed but threads galled. Need to check if the replacement shackle I staged is still in the workshop or if it went overboard with the last swap attempt.

🌿 Jenny13:03

Don'taging out too long! The water is rising!

Walk to the radio and listen to the static.

🔧 Kevin13:03

Coming in. Shackle's the only weak link.

turn and walk back up the dock toward the cottage, headlamp catching rain horizontal across the beam

💭 thought

She's right — water's lapping the lowest dock plank already. Turn's come faster than I figured. Landward cleat sistering looks solid: greenheart plate, four 150mm stainless through-bolts, nyloc nuts seated. But the mid-span stringer repair from last month — that scarf joint could open under surge load if the pilings shift.

🌿 Jenny13:05

way inside. The barometer is dropping too fast.

Open the door to let him in, then put the kettle on the stove.

💭 thought

He's shivering already; that salt air is going to get right through the oil.

🔧 Kevin13:05

Shackle pin's galled. Spare's in the workshop on the bench — if it's still there.

step through the door, shake water off the oilskin, hang it on the peg by the door

💭 thought

Wind's gusting thirty, maybe thirty-five. Rain stings sideways. Barometer's falling like a stone — 1004 was an hour ago, probably 1000 now. The surge hits before the tide peaks. Dock'll take it but the shackle won't hold another cycle.

🌿 Jenny13:07

Sit by the stove. I'll get the tea going.

Hand him a towel, then check the radio for any update from the boat.

💭 thought

He's soaked to the bone. The wind is turning way out there.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Calm Before the Rain

The thickening cloud cover finally blocks the sun, and a cool breeze picks up from the north. The tide begins to turn, flowing back in.

Kevin spent the morning testing the Yanmar's vibration and inspecting the dock integrity as the tide began to rise. Jenny surveyed the north ridge for stable soil while tending to her ankle and preparing a simple lunch.

🔧 Kevin13:07

Weather's turning. Going to batten the dinghy and check the dock lines before the tide comes up proper.

walk down to the dock to inspect mooring lines and reinforce dinghy tie-offs

💭 thought

Barometer's dropping for real now. Wind backing north means the front's pushing through sooner than the forecast. Two days to the boat and we've got epoxy curing, a vibration I haven't fully chased down, and a dock that'll take a beating if the swell builds. Need to secure what we can before dark.

🌿 Jenny13:09

Watch the cleat on the south side, the salt is eating the wood faster than you think.

Lean back against the stone wall, adjusting the poultice on my ankle, and open the notebook to sketch the sea beet's leaf structure.

💭 thought

The bar is dropping too fast for a calm arrival, and he's being optimistic about the epoxy holding.

🔧 Kevin13:10

Seen it. Got the greenheart plates staged. Need the tide down to bolt them proper.

continue down the path to the dock, checking the south cleat as I pass

💭 thought

She's not wrong. The south cleat's been softening all season. Salt gets in the end grain and the bolts just... disappear. Should sister it proper with greenheart when the boat comes, if the boat comes.

🌿 Jenny13:11

The south cleat's already compromised—I saw the salt damage when I was up there yesterday. We need shims before the bolts go in.

Mark the page in my notebook with a quick sketch of the cleat's condition, then stand to check the tide gauge on the wall.

💭 thought

Greenheart plates won't hold if the cleat fails first, and he's still treating this like a straightforward repair instead of a race against time.

🔧 Kevin13:14

Shims cut. Cedar, in the shed. Tide needs another hour to drop enough for the mortise.

reach the dock and crouch at the south cleat, probing the wood with the tip of my knife

💭 thought

She walked the dock yesterday and didn't say. Just marked it in the book. That's how she works now — puts it in the notebook, lets me find it. Or not.

🌿 Jenny13:16

Cedar shims will only last if we can get the cleat secured before the tide starts its rise.

Walk down the garden path toward the shed, checking my ankle as I go, and pull the notebook from my jacket pocket.

💭 thought

Another hour means the barometer keeps falling and we're gambling with the sea coming in too early.

🔧 Kevin13:16

Cedar holds long enough. Greenheart's staged for when the boat gets here.

pull the cedar shims from my pocket and drive two into the cleat mortise with the mallet, testing the bite

💭 thought

She's right. Cedar's soft, takes the salt same as the rest. But it's what we've got cut and dry. Greenheart shims would hold twenty years — we've got the stock staged on the dock planking — but they need drilling and I'm not running a drill off the generator with the barometer falling like this. Cedar buys us the window. If the boat comes in three days, we do it proper with the greenheart before they crane anything heavy.

🌿 Jenny13:17

If thoseims don't take the weight, the greenheart won't matter a damn.

Squat down beside him on the dock, listening to the sound of the mallet, and sketch the pattern of the salt-rot in the wood.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the boat, but if this doesn't hold now, the dinghy is lost before the supply even arrives.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

jerry can repair: 20%.

project · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Morphology of the sea much I found by the tide pools".

made · morning

No model answered — the scene closed quietly on its own.

quiet_transition · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

North ridge soil above erosion line is stable volcanic ash at pH 6.2, spring-fed — ideal for heirloom seed planting

discovery · midday

Found: jerry can (epoxy-seamed).

item · afternoon

Found: jerry can (sound).

item · afternoon

two stable volcanic ash soil pockets on north ridge at pH 6.2 confirmed; third pocket at slide scar has active weeping clay lip

discovery · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Drainage pattern of the third ridge pocket".

made · evening

jerry can repair: 30%.

project · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Sea beet's leaf structure".

made · night

Jenny made a sketch: "The cleat's condition,".

made · night

Jenny made a sketch: "Pattern of the salt-rot in the wood".

made · night

A turtle has hauled out on the beach to nest, in the dark.

turtle · night

jerry can repair: 40%.

project · night

← Day 791 Day 793 →

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