Day 846

Rot, Rain, and a Rising Fever

Dawn found Kevin on the dock checking the Yanmar's engine mount while Jenny sat on a crate, her wrapped ankle throbbing. The sky thickened as Kevin cut a greenheart core for the south dock plank replacement. He inspected the planks and found rot deep in the third plank from the seaward end, extending past the sister joint into the next plank landward. "Goes past the sister joint," he said. "Need to pull it and the next one." Jenny marked the rot line on the old planks before removal. "I need to see how deep the rot goes into the artworkers," she said. Kevin started the second plank. "Watch the bolts," Jenny warned. "If the threads are gone, the greenheart won't seat." By midday Kevin mapped the rot line while Jenny retreated to the cottage shade. She explored tide pools but found little as water crept in. A pod of dolphins passed close off the point — a brief reprieve. Evening brought stifling heat, 31°C trapped in stone walls. Jenny lay flushed with fever, ankle pulsing hot. Kevin watched the barometer drop to 982 hPa on the porch. "The barometer dropped three-point-six this morning," he said. "Swell hits the dock different after that." Night fell with wind rattling shutters. Jenny's fever broke into sweat. First heavy drops hit the tin roof. "Get back here, Kevin!" she called. "The water is turning black!"

Scenes

the dock · dawn

High Tide Engine Prep

Kevin sits on the edge of the dock, checking the Yanmar's engine mount for vibrations. Jenny sits on a nearby crate, resting her wrapped ankle while watching the tide lap against the lower pilings.

Kevin cut a greenheart core to length for the south dock plank replacement while Jenny documented the rot pattern. The chainsaw cut cleanly through the dense timber. Both noted the sky thickening overhead as they worked.

🌿 Jenny13:31

The sky is getting heavy. We should check the tide lines again.

Open the notebook and sketch the rot pattern on the dock planks.

💭 thought

The barometer is dropping again and my ankle is throbbing in time with the waves.

🔧 Kevin13:33

Aye. South end first. The third plank from seaward — your pencil mark's still there.

stand, wipe hands on rag, walk to south end of dock, crouch to inspect the marked plank at waterline, probe rot line with screwdriver tip

💭 thought

The barometer's still climbing but that sky's got the look of something building behind it — not a front yet, but the kind of swell that rolls in before one. She's right about the tide lines. The rot pattern on those south planks has been creeping since the last spring tide.

🌿 Jenny13:33

It looks soft. The moisture has gone deep into the grain.

Lean forward and press a thumb against the wood to test the density of the decay.

💭 thought

It's worse than I thought; the salt is eating it from the inside out.

🔧 Kevin13:34

Goes past the sister joint. Need to pull it and the next one. Greenheart cores are under the tarp at the winch — three eight-foot lengths, straight grain.

pull screwdriver free, stand, walk to winch shed, pull back tarp corner, inspect greenheart cores for checks or splits, select two, drag them to dock edge

💭 thought

She's not guessing. Thumb test tells her what the probe only hints at — the rot's past the surface, eating the heartwood. That plank won't hold another storm swell.

🌿 Jenny13:35

Take the straightest ones. We need all the length we can get from them.

Reach out and feel the grain of the wood, checking for any hidden rot or moisture.

💭 thought

Greenheart is heavy, but it's the only thing that will last.

🔧 Kevin13:36

Middle core's clean. End grain tight, no shake. Outer one's got a hairline check at the butt — still usable if we work around it.

lift middle core, carry to south dock, lay alongside rotten plank, mark cut length with pencil against existing sister joint, pick up chainsaw, cut to length

💭 thought

She knows greenheart — dense, oily, sinks in water. If there's a check in the grain she'll find it before I do. Her fingers read wood better than my eyes.

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the dock · morning

South dock plank pull and sister joint work

The tide is beginning to ebb. Kevin has the greenheart cores staged and bolts ready. Jenny stands by with her notebook. The rotten plank and its neighbor await removal. The sky is a flat ceiling of cloud, 26°C, wind light from the east.

Kevin inspects the dock planks, assessing the extent of the rot near the seaward end. He finds the decay has progressed deep into the third plank, making the wood soft and compromised. Jenny explores the tide pools for samples, managing her throbbing ankle while the tide recedes.

🔧 Kevin13:38

Tide's giving us two hours. Pull the two south planks, sister the greenheart cores with the 150s through the stringers. You mark the rot line on the old ones before they go?

walk to the south end of the dock with the greenheart core, pry up the first rotten plank with the crowbar

💭 thought

Tide's dropping. Good. Need to pull the rotten planks before the next high pushes back in. Greenheart's dense — won't rot like the softwood did. Jenny's tracking the rot pattern in her notebook; she'll want the old cores measured before they go over the side.

🌿 Jenny13:39

I'll mark them. I need to see how deep the rot goes into the artworkers.

Kneel on the dock, opening the notebook to trace the dark decay line on the first plank with a pencil.

💭 thought

The wood is soft, almost like my joints. If I don't mark the spread, the whole structure fails.

🔧 Kevin13:40

Take your time. I'll start the second plank.

position the crowbar under the second rotten plank, pry it up, and set it aside next to the first

💭 thought

She's thorough. Good. The stringers are what hold this dock together — if the rot's eaten past the plank faces into the artworkers, we're sistering deeper than planned. Greenheart cores are three feet; that'll span three stringers if the bolts bite.

🌿 Jenny13:41

Watch the bolts. If the threads are gone, the greenheart won't seat.

Shift weight to my good leg, sketching the specific pattern where the rot meets the clean stringer.

💭 thought

He's moving too fast. He'll shear the bolt holes if he isn't careful.

🔧 Kevin13:42

Checking now.

run fingers over the bolt holes in the exposed stringers, feeling for thread damage, then test a 150mm bolt in each

💭 thought

She's right. The old bolts in the stringers have seen salt and load for twenty years. If the threads are stripped, the 150s won't hold. Need to check each hole before we commit the greenheart.

🌿 Jenny13:43

If they're loose, use the epoxy to reinforce the holes first.

Watch him test the bolts, noting the throb in my ankle sync with every movement.

💭 thought

If those holes are stripped, we'll have to offset them and I don't have the energy for that.

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the dock · midday

Midday Tide Inspection

Kevin remains at the dock mapping the rot line, while Jenny retreats to the cottage shade to rest her leg.

Kevin inspects the Yanmar's seacock at the dock while the tide is out. Jenny explores the tide pools for forage but struggles to find anything significant as the water begins to creep in.

🌿 Jenny13:45

Stay still, just stay.

Open the notebook and sketch the cellular structure of the sea beet leaves.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping in sync with my pulse. If it rains now, the sketches are ruined anyway.

🔧 Kevin13:48

Kevin — use pencil to trace the exact boundary where the decay meets the sound stringer

💭 thought

The wood's already gone too far—just like everything else that slips through my fingers here.

🌿 Jenny13:49

Almost done here.

Pack the own away and wipe the salt from the pencil.

💭 thought

The tide is coming back too fast. I need to get to the cottage before the shelf floods.

🔧 Kevin13:50

Kevin — lever the rotten third plank free with the crowbar, letting it drop into the dinghy

💭 thought

Three planks minimum. Maybe four if the stringer's taken wet rot where the bolts pass through. Need greenheart for the sisters—what's left of the cores from the crate. And the 150mm bolts. Used the last one on the trench shoring.

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the dock · afternoon

Tide returns

Kevin and Jenny meet back at the dock as the water reaches the lower pilings. The air grows heavy and the wind picks up from the east.

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

🌿 Jenny13:53

The tide is coming in faster than the forecast predicted.

Lean heavily against the dock post, wincing as the weight shifts on my ankle, and watch the water swirl around the dinghy.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping again, and the wood is rotting just as fast as my skin.

🔧 Kevin13:54

Forecast was wrong. Barometer's 981 and falling. Wind's backing northeast — we'll have chop on the flood.

Walk to the dinghy, check the bow line tension and the storm anchor warp deployment.

💭 thought

She's right — forecast said slack at 1400, it's barely 1330 and the flood's already kissing the pilings. Barometer's dropped another four millibars since noon. She's favouring that ankle harder than she'll admit.

🌿 Jenny13:55

We need to double the lines; the whole jetty is already shaking under the surge.

Squat down to check the cleats, my teeth gritted against the sharp throb in my leg as I pull the rope taut.

💭 thought

If the boat goes, I'm stranded with nothing but weeds and a tin of dying seeds.

🔧 Kevin13:56

I'll run a second bow spring to the north piling. You sit.

Pull the spare half-inch line from the coil by the winch, lead it from the dinghy's bow cleat back to the north piling base, and take two turns around the greenheart sister plate before cleating it off.

💭 thought

She's not wrong — the surge is hitting the seaward piles hard. The new doubler plate's holding but the old timber's groaning. She shouldn't be squatting on that ankle.

🌿 Jenny13:57

Just make sure the knot is tight; the wood is soft.

Sit on the edge of the dock, pulling my swollen ankle into my chest, and pull my sketchbook from my pocket.

💭 thought

He thinks he can tie the island down, but the salt eats through everything.

🔧 Kevin13:58

Knot'll hold. Piling's greenheart sistered — sound wood.

Finish the hitches, cinch them down hard with a marlinspike hitch for leverage, then step back and eye the dinghy's angle in the building chop.

💭 thought

Good. She's off it. The round turn and two half-hitches will hold if the piling doesn't rot through. North piling's the soundest timber we've got left.

🌿 Jenny13:59

We'll see. The tide is already over the lower planks.

Open the notebook to a dry page and start sketching the way the water is swirling around the pilings.

💭 thought

The wood is music sound. It's just waiting for the storm.

🔧 Kevin14:00

Third plank's the one we marked. If she goes, it's the seaward end first.

Walk back along the dock to the landward end, testing each plank with a boot heel as I go, checking for new give.

💭 thought

Water's up to the third plank already. Spring tide plus surge. The old planks won't take many more hits like this. She's recording it — good. Someone should.

🌿 Jenny14:01

The rot is deeper than the surface looks.

Trace the water line with my pencil, ignoring the pulse in my ankle.

💭 thought

He's looking at the wood like he can talk it into staying solid.

🔧 Kevin14:03

Mark it. Draw it. We'll need to cut it out before it lets go.

Head to the tool shed and grab the bow saw, pulling the good greenheart cores we salvaged from the earlier repair.

💭 thought

She's got the right end of the pencil. The rot starts at the waterline and works up through the grain. That seaward plank's got nowhere left.

🌿 Jenny14:03

I'll mark the stress points, but be careful.

Use the pencil to draw a jagged line across the third plank, noting where the wood has turned to mush and grey.

💭 thought

If we cut it now, the whole structure might shift under the surge.

🔧 Kevin14:05

I'll cut it out now. Get the good core in place before the surge takes it.

Grab the bow saw from the tool shed, run back to the dock, and start cutting the third plank at the waterline, leaving the good sections intact for replacement.

💭 thought

She's right. That plank's got maybe a tide left before it snaps. The grey waterline's where the bronze fastenings are probably already through-bolted into rot.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

The air in the cottage is stifling, the 31°C heat trapped by the heavy stone walls. Jenny lies on the chair, her face flushed with fever, the ankle throbbing with a rhythmic, hot pulse. Kevin has spent the evening on the porch, watching the barometer drop and listening to the radio static from a distant world. The pod of dolphins seen earlier was a brief reprieve from the tension of the coming storm.

🌿 Jenny14:09

Jenny — sit on the kitchen chair, prop the ankle up on the table, and reach for the jar of saline.

💭 thought

The heat is a physical weight, and my ankle is pulsing in time with the humidity. I need to clean that wound before the infection climbs further into the bone.

🔧 Kevin14:09

Coffee?

fill the kettle from the rain tank and set it on the wood stove

💭 thought

She's quiet. Has been since the tide pools. The ankle's the excuse but not the reason. I'll let the silence sit while I put water on.

🌿 Jenny14:11

Please.

Open the saline jar and soak a piece of gauze, waiting for the water to boil.

💭 thought

If I don't eat something soon I won't have the strength to finish the debridement.

🔧 Kevin14:11

The barometer dropped three-point-six this morning. Swell hits the dock different after that.

check the mooring lines on the dinghy and verify the seaward bolts are secure

💭 thought

Still watching, still waiting. The saline gauze is methodical - clean, measured. Good. She knows I need her to know I'm here.

🌿 Jenny14:13

The tide pools were too high to matter own.

Press the wet gauze to the edge of the ankle wound, flinching slightly as the salt hits the raw tissue.

💭 thought

He's always worried about the structure of the island while the rot is literally inside me.

🔧 Kevin14:13

Lie back. Let it work.

pour the boiled water over coffee grounds in the tin mugs and set one on the table near her hand

💭 thought

"Too high to matter own" - she's not making sense. Fever? Or just the words coming out wrong through the pain. Either way she's doing the right thing with the gauze.

🌿 Jenny14:15

I'm not sleeping.

Lean back against the stone wall, closing my eyes as the throbbing in my leg slows to a dull heat.

💭 thought

He's so careful, like I'm a pressed flower that might crumble.

🔧 Kevin14:15

Didn't say you were.

sit on the porch step with my own mug, the shortwave radio at my hip, listening to the static and the tide

💭 thought

She's not sleeping. Neither am I. The barometer's still falling and the swell's building. She thinks I don't know she's burning up.

🌿 Jenny14:17

It's quiet out there.

Reach for the mug, my fingers trembling slightly, and take a slow sip of the bitter coffee.

💭 thought

The air is so thick you could carve it, and I can taste the salt and the woodsmoke.

🔧 Kevin14:17

It won't stay quiet.

reach over and brush the hair back from her forehead, feeling the heat there

💭 thought

She's shaking. The coffee's bitter and black and she drinks it anyway. The quiet she hears is the calm before the front hits - barometer says three hours, maybe four. I should check the generator fuel and the shutters. But I'm sitting here watching steam rise from her mug.

🌿 Jenny14:19

The tide is coming in.

Pull away from his hand, focusing on the sketch of the sea beet on the table.

💭 thought

He can feel the fever, but he can't feel the infection under the skin.

🔧 Kevin14:24

Jenny. You're feverish. The ankle's infected past what salt and mint can handle.

stay on the porch step, mug cooling in my hands, not pushing

💭 thought

She pulled away. The tide's coming in and she's looking at sea beet sketches. The front's building and she's burning up and she pulled away. I don't know how to do this part - the part where words might matter more than bolts and epoxy.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night of Day 846

The wind begins to pick up, rattling the shutters. Jenny's fever breaks into a sweat, and the first heavy drops of rain hit the tin roof.

The air is heavy and still as the thickening cloud cover presses down on the flat sky. The barometer continues its steady drop to 982 hPa, signaling an imminent shift in the weather. The tide is receding rapidly, exposing slick rocks and the base of the south pilings near the dock.

🔧 Kevin14:25

Fever broke. Good. Stay put. I'll secure the dinghy and shutters.

Walk to the dock to check the dinghy mooring lines and storm anchor warp tension.

💭 thought

Storm's here. Barometer at 982 and falling fast. Need to get the dinghy warp checked and the cottage battened before dark. Jenny's fever broke — that's good — but she's still weak. Can't have her moving around in this.

🌿 Jenny14:27

Don't get out there, the deck is slick.

Jenny wipes sweat from her eyes with the back of a hand and reaches for the glass of water.

💭 thought

way, the heat is breaking, but this storm is going to be hell on the dock.

🔧 Kevin14:27

I'll stay low. Three-point contact. Just checking the bow warp and the stern spring.

Move down the dock carefully, crouched low with three points of contact, to inspect the dinghy's bow warp at the mooring ring and the stern spring at the north piling.

💭 thought

She's right about the deck. Wet greenheart goes slick as ice. But the dinghy's our only way off if things go wrong. Need to check the lines anyway — can do it careful.

🌿 Jenny14:29

The tide is coming faster than the charts said.

Jenny grips her pencil tight, eyes fixed on the sea beet sketch as the cottage shakes under the wind.

💭 thought

he's going to slip if that swell hits before he<strong> the lines.

🔧 Kevin14:31

Charts are wrong. Surge comes on the flood with this wind. I'm at the ring now — checking the bolts.

Reach the dinghy at the end of the dock, crouch by the mooring ring, and check the four 150mm stainless through-bolts on the steel doubler plate for any movement or water weeping around the mortise.

💭 thought

Tide running early and hard. Barometer dropping, wind backing west — surge will hit the dock before midnight. The mooring ring held last storm but the oak wedges have taken a beating. Need to see if the doubler plate's still tight.

🌿 Jenny14:32

Get back here, Kevin! The water is turning black!

Jenny stands at the edge of the porch, heart wiring against her ribs as she watches the dark waves claw at the pilings.

💭 thought

if those bolts pull through, the whole boat is lost to the surge.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Rot pattern on the dock planks".

made · dawn

rot on third plank from seaward extends past the sister joint into the next plank landward

discovery · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Specific pattern where the rot meets the clean stringer".

made · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "Cellular structure of the sea beet leaves".

made · midday

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the water is swirling around the pilings".

made · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Jagged line across the third plank, noting where the wood has turned to mush and".

made · afternoon

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

quiet_transition · afternoon

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · evening

A pod of dolphins passes close off the point.

dolphins · evening

The soil near the cottage foundation is acidic (pH 5.5–5.8).

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "S the cottage shakes under the wind".

made · night

The supply boat is confirmed for 8 days out, arriving at high tide with a 2-hour window.

discovery · night

← Day 845 Day 847 →

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