Day 863

Dock Work and Rising Water

Warm rain drummed the roof at dawn. Jenny sat at the kitchen table redressing her ankle while Kevin checked the generator manifold for icing. "The barometer is dropping fast, Kevin. Check the seals on the manifold again," she said. "Seals held at high tide. Manifold's clean. Gonna wrap the intake with exhaust tape before the carb ices up proper," he replied. "Just make sure you don't leave any gaps; the moisture is already getting into the stone." "Northeast flashing first. Then the foundation. Tape won't hold if the stone's weeping." "Don't fall off the roof. I'm making something to eat." "Stay off it. I'll heat the beef." "I've got it, Kevin." "Eat while it's hot."

Kevin tried splitting spruce rounds but the wood was too damp. Jenny applied a fresh sea beet poultice. "Be careful with the splinters, the wood is soft," she said. "The tin's holding. Just need to get this wood dry enough to catch." "It's too damp for the ankle to heal properly. Stay still." "Stay down, just one more day."

Midday brought steady drizzle. Kevin worked epoxy into the sistered joint of the south-end planks — tacky and stubborn in the humidity. The north beam was structurally rotted, bolts less effective. Progress crept forward: sixty percent, seventy, eighty. Jenny tended the garden in the heat. "Watch the third plank. Rot goes through to the stringer." "I'll check it tomorrow."

At the dock, Jenny arrived with the seed tin. "Come on, Kevin." "Tin stays on the porch. Not here." "It's dry enough here, Kevin." "The greenheart plate flexed three mill yesterday. Paint cracked at the joint. You felt it." "I know. I'm taking them inside."

Evening brought a heavy squall. Kevin cleared the primary blockage in the overflow channel despite slick mud. Jenny wrapped the heirloom seed tin in dry cloth, monitoring the tank at 350 litres. "The overflow channel needs clearing before the tide comes in. And I need you to check the seacocks twice before midnight—if the barometer drops below 1005 with that swell, we won't get the supply boat." "Channel first. Seacocks at 2200 and midnight. You stay off the slope — I'll run the ditch line." "Watch your step, the mud is like grease tonight." "Boots are greased. Rope's tied off at the cedar stake if I slide."

Night rain tapered to warm drizzle. Kevin struggled with the dinghy's seacock; salt-crust held fast despite hammer taps, but the handle finally

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Pre-surge preparations

Kevin tightens the heavy lines on the dinghy while the rain continues to fall. Jenny sits on the steps, nursing the wrap on her ankle and watching the barometer drop.

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the keeper's cottage · dawn

The Morning After

Warm rain continues to drum against the roof as the air inside remains heavy with high humidity. Jenny sits at the kitchen table tending to the dressing on her ankle while Kevin inspects the generator manifold for signs of icing.

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

🌿 Jenny14:27

The barometer is dropping fast, Kevin. Check the seals on the manifold again.

wrap a fresh bandage around the ankle and pull the heirloom seed tin closer to the warmth of the stove.

💭 thought

If the boat comes tomorrow, I need to have the inventory finished, but I can't focus with my leg screaming like this.

🔧 Kevin14:27

Seals held at high tide. Manifold's clean. Gonna wrap the intake with exhaust tape before the carb ices up proper.

walk to the generator shed, pull the exhaust wrap from the shelf, and start winding it tight around the intake manifold, overlapping each turn

💭 thought

Barometer's falling and she's reading it same as me. Good. Means I don't have to say it out loud. Manifold icing's the least of it if this low parks itself.

🌿 Jenny14:29

Just make sure you don't leave any gaps; the moisture is already getting into the stone.

open the notebook and begin own the precise morphology of the sea beet leaves in the tin.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the machine, while the seeds are literally rotting in this damp.

🔧 Kevin14:29

Northeast flashing first. Then the foundation. Tape won't hold if the stone's weeping.

finish the last wrap on the manifold, secure it with wire, then walk back to the cottage porch and climb up to inspect the northeast roof flashing where the lead meets stone

💭 thought

She's not talking about the generator. She's talking about the cottage. The northeast flashing. The foundation leak. The water finding every crack while I've been chasing engines.

🌿 Jenny14:30

Don't fall off the roof. I'm making something to eat.

stand up slowly, leaning on the table for support, and move toward the pantry to find the tinned corned beef.

💭 thought

He's right about the weeping stone, but he's ignoring the hunger. My stomach is a hollow pit.

🔧 Kevin14:31

Stay off it. I'll heat the beef.

crouch at the flashing, press the lead tight into the mortar joint with the heel of my hand, test each course for give, then climb down and go to the stove to open the corned beef tin

💭 thought

She's not steady. Ankle's hot to the knee. She shouldn't be standing on it. But she'll do what she decides.

🌿 Jenny14:32

I've got it, Kevin.

sit back down heavily in the chair and watch him handle the tin, tracing the outline of a seed packet on the table with a finger.

💭 thought

He's bossing me around again. I can stand on my own two feet, even if one of them is a disaster.

🔧 Kevin14:32

Eat while it's hot.

slice the corned beef thick, fry it in its own fat in the cast iron skillet, slide two portions onto tin plates, set one in front of her with a fork

💭 thought

She's watching me cook. First time in weeks she's let me near the stove without hovering. The antibiotics are working. Or she's too tired to fight.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin attempts to split spruce rounds for firewood, but the high humidity makes the wood too damp and difficult to work. Jenny tends to her ankle, applying a fresh sea beet poultice and re-dressing it carefully.

🔧 Kevin14:36

Kettle's on. Coffee in a minute.

Walk to the wood stove, fill the kettle from the tank tap, set it on the hot plate. Then move to the porch where Jenny sits.

💭 thought

Back at the cottage. Warm rain on the porch roof. Generator's still running rough — carb icing in this humidity. Jenny's on the porch with the blanket. Need to check her ankle, then the intake manifold. Tom's letter sits on the shelf where she left it.

🌿 Jenny14:37

Don't forget the salt. The wood is soaking.

Sketch the way the rain beads on the stone wall of the cottage.

💭 thought

The barometer is rising, but the air still feels heavy. My ankle is throbbing with every pulse.

🔧 Kevin14:39

Spruce rounds on the path. I'll split a few.

Step back inside, grab the splitting maul from the corner. Walk to the garden path where the three spruce sections sit. Split one into kindling, armful it back to the porch.

💭 thought

She's right. Driftwood's been soaking in this rain for days — won't catch without salt or kindling. Spruce rounds on the path are drier inside. She's sketching rain beads instead of her ankle. Priorities.

🌿 Jenny14:41

Be careful with the splinters, the wood is soft.

Take much's seed tin from the shelf and check the seam for new rust.

💭 thought

He's so busy with the wood while the seeds are rotting in that tin.

🔧 Kevin14:41

The tin's holding. Just need to get this wood dry enough to catch.

Pull a flat piece of the spruce kindling, split it thinner. Set it on the stove to dry while I check Jenny's ankle with the sea beet poultice and fresh gauze.

💭 thought

Soft wood means sharp splinters. Her fingers are steady on that tin. Still checking it every day. I should check the ankle too - she's been quiet.

🌿 Jenny14:43

It's too damp for the ankle to heal properly. Stay still.

Wrap the gauze carefully around the ankle, securing it with the tape.

💭 thought

The humidity is the enemy of everything. If those seeds mold, the whole Year is gone.

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the dock · midday

Midday Rain and Preparation

The rain slows to a steady drizzle as the island waits for the supply boat tomorrow.

The humidity is a physical weight, making the air cling to the skin and the wood feel soft. The tide is receding, exposing the slick, algae-covered bases of the dock pilings where the rot is most aggressive. Kevin works with the stubborn epoxy that refuses to cure in the damp, while Jenny struggles against the heat to tend to the garden.

🌿 Jenny14:45

Stay down, just one more day.

Kneel by the garden wall, touching the soil near the tomato rows to check for moisture, then wipe sweat from my brow with a dusty forearm.

💭 thought

The humidity is a physical weight today. If the barometer drops another point, the salt will kill these sprouts before the boat even arrives.

🔧 Kevin14:46

Kevin — walk down the jetty to the dock, inspecting each line and cleat as I go

💭 thought

The barometer's steady at 986 but that southwest swell's still building. Need to check the storm lines and chafe gear before the boat tries to nose in. If the spring line parts at the cleat again, we lose the bow.

🌿 Jenny14:49

Jenny — lean back against the stone wall, pulling my leg up toward my chest and rubbing the rusted edge of the seed tin while watching the clouds gather over the dock.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the heat. 984 hPa and falling—the island is holding its breath.

🔧 Kevin14:50

Kevin — crouch at the landward cleat, probe the epoxy joint with a knife blade, test the bolt for movement

💭 thought

The doubled stern spring's holding. Bow line's clear at the chock with the served chafe guard intact. But the landward cleat sistering — those two sound planks I scarfed in last month — the epoxy's weeping at the forward bolt. Salt's working the joint. Boat comes in heavy, that cleat walks.

🌿 Jenny14:53

Come on, Kevin.

Stand up slowly with a groan, limping back toward the cottage to get the seed tin from the shelf.

💭 thought

The wind finally shifted. If that boat doesn't show up tomorrow, I'll have to start rationing the water again.

🔧 Kevin14:54

Kevin — walk the dock length to the mid-span stringer, check the greenheart plate and sister joint for fresh movement or cracking

💭 thought

Bolt's solid. Epoxy's just sweating — not failing. Good. The real problem's the mid-span stringer. Greenheart plate flexed three millimetres at high tide yesterday. Paint cracked at the sistered joint. If the skipper powers against the lines to hold position while the deckhand jumps, that joint takes the whole load.

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the dock · afternoon

Waiting for the Supply Boat

Jenny arrives at the dock with the seed tin as Kevin stands by the failing stringer. The tide continues to go out, revealing more of the decaying pilings.

The humidity hangs heavy over the dock as the sun dips behind a thick layer of clouds. Kevin finishes packing the epoxy into the sistered joint of the south-end planks, the material tacky and stubborn in the damp air. Inside the cottage, the smell of antiseptic and salt fills the small space as Jenny manages the throbbing in her ankle under the dim light of the evening.

🔧 Kevin14:56

Tin stays on the porch. Not here.

Step between her and the seaward end, hand out for the tin.

💭 thought

She's carrying it. The tin. Right to the worst spot on the dock.

🌿 Jenny14:57

It's dry enough here, Kevin.

Jenny pulls the tin closer to her chest and steps back from the dock edge.

💭 thought

He thinks he can manage the metal while the whole structure is literally rotting under our feet.

🔧 Kevin14:58

The greenheart plate flexed three mill yesterday. Paint cracked at the joint. You felt it.

Hold ground, hand still out. Not reaching, not chasing. Just waiting.

💭 thought

She's not listening. Or she's deciding not to. Either way the tin's in her hands and the planks under us are moving.

🌿 Jenny14:59

I know. I'm taking them inside.

Jenny turns her back and limps toward the cottage, clutching the tin tight against her ribs.

💭 thought

I felt the whole island shift under my feet, not just a piece of wood.

🔧 Kevin15:00

Watch the third plank. Rot goes through to the stringer.

Turn back to the landward cleat, knife back in the epoxy joint. Test it with thumb pressure.

💭 thought

She's going. Good. The tin's moving away from the water. My leg's screaming at me to follow but the dock needs eyes on it while the tide's out.

🌿 Jenny15:01

I'll check it tomorrow.

Jenny enters the cottage and closes the heavy door, blocking out the sound of the tide.

💭 thought

If that plank goes, the whole jetty is useless when the boat arrives.

🔧 Kevin15:02

Kevin — pull the knife free, wipe the blade on my trousers. Walk the dock length slow, testing each plank with a boot heel. Mark the soft ones with chalk.

💭 thought

She won't. She'll be in the garden or at the spring or halfway up the ridge before she thinks of the dock again. The epoxy's still soft — thumb leaves a print. Humidity's killing the cure. Need heat or time. Got neither.

🌿 Jenny15:03

I need to get water. 달리DO: Jenny sets the tin on the kitchen table and begins to debride the ankle.

💭 thought

He's right about the stringer. The humidity is eating the wood whole.

🔧 Kevin15:04

Kevin — finish the chalk marks on the three south-end planks. Kneel at the landward cleat, mix the last of the epoxy tub — thick as cold honey — and pack it hard into the sister joint with the putty knife.

flagged: repeated_opener

💭 thought

Water. Right. Tank's full but the spring line needs checking before the next storm. She's inside now, tin's safe, ankle's getting tended. Dock's mine for the next hour while the tide's low.

🌿 Jenny15:05

I'm checking the tank first.

way flinches as the antiseptic hits the wound, wincing through the pain.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come tomorrow, I'm stuck with a broken dock and a failing leg.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening Prep and Storm Watch

The air cools slightly but the humidity remains oppressive. They prepare for the night and double-check the barometer and the water levels.

The warm rain intensifies into a heavy squall, the wind lashing against the cottage roof. Kevin manages to clear the primary blockage in the overflow channel despite the slick mud, though the silt continues to wash in rapidly. Jenny stays inside, wrapping the heirloom seed tin in a dry cloth and monitoring the water level, which holds at 350 litres as the tide continues to rise.

🌿 Jenny15:07

Check the tank again. I want to know exactly how much we have before the storm hits.

Limp to the rain tank to check the level through the glass.

💭 thought

The barometer is dropping too fast; if the boat doesn't show tomorrow, we're going to be out of dry fuel within weeks.

🔧 Kevin15:07

Copy. Back in a minute.

walk to the rain tank at the back wall, shine headlamp through the sight glass, read the level

💭 thought

She's right. The barometer's still falling and the generator drinks water when the pump runs overtime. Better to know now than guess at 0300.

🌿 Jenny15:09

Is it holding? Or is the seam weeping at the bottom again?

Sit at the kitchen table and rub the swollen ankle, watching the way seed tin.

💭 thought

It's nearly full, but if there is a leak in the base, we'll be losing it to the mud.

🔧 Kevin15:09

Holding at three-fifty. Seam's dry — no weep at the joint. But the overflow channel's taking on silt again. If the rain keeps up like this, we'll lose fifty litres to the garden before morning.

walk back to the kitchen, wipe condensation off the headlamp lens, set it on the table beam-down

💭 thought

The epoxy patch on the east tank seam held through the last three blows. But this humidity finds every weakness. Need to be honest about what I see.

🌿 Jenny15:11

The overflow channel needs clearing before the tide comes in. And I need you to check the seacocks twice before midnight—if the barometer drops below 1005 with that swell, we won't get the supply boat.

Stand up slowly, wincing, and walk to the window to look at the rain streaks on the glass.

💭 thought

Fifty litres lost to the garden is fifty litres we can't use when the boat doesn't come. I need to redirect that overflow.

🔧 Kevin15:11

Channel first. Seacocks at 2200 and midnight. You stay off the slope — I'll run the ditch line.

pull on oilskin jacket, grab the mattock from the porch, head out the back door toward the northeast foundation trench

💭 thought

She's tracking the same numbers I am. Barometer at 986 and steady doesn't match "below 1005" — she's testing me, or her head's fuzzy from the fever. Either way, the channel needs clearing and the seacocks need checking. Two separate jobs. I'll take the channel; she shouldn't be on the slope in this muck.

🌿 Jenny15:13

Watch your step, the mud is like grease tonight.

Grab the heirloom seed tin from the table and wrap it in a dry cloth to keep the damp out.

💭 thought

He's always so quick to take the heavy work while I sit here counting the rot in the wood.

🔧 Kevin15:13

Boots are greased. Rope's tied off at the cedar stake if I slide.

step onto the slick grass, test the first footing, begin working down toward the overflow channel with the mattock shouldered

💭 thought

She's wrapping the tin like it's something holy. Maybe it is. The mud on the slope has already taken one boot off my foot this week — won't let it take the other.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Rising Tide

The rain continues to drum on the roof as the sound of the surf grows louder. Kevin and Jenny must prepare for the midnight seacock check as the barometer continues to fall.

The rain tapered into a steady, warm drizzle through the night, keeping the air stifling. Kevin struggled with the dinghy's seacock in the dark; the salt-crust held fast despite his taps with the hammer, but the handle finally budged open with a metallic groan as the tide retreated. He managed to return to the cottage drenched, while Jenny spent the hours tending to her ankle, the throbbing heat of her keeping awake as she applied the fresh poultice and waited for the first light of dawn.

🔧 Kevin15:14

Midnight check coming up. Dinghy seacock first, then the overflow. You stay put — ankle takes priority.

pull on oilskins and boots, grab headlamp and copper hammer, head out to the dock toward the dinghy

💭 thought

Barometer's still dropping. Tide's high and rising. The seacock on the dinghy needs checking before the surge hits the dock hard — if the raw water intake blocks or the exhaust backs up, the Yanmar's done. And the cottage overflow channel's already struggling. Two hours till midnight. Need to move.

🌿 Jenny15:15

Be careful on the pilings, the wood is slick as glass right now.

Wrap the heirloom seed tin in the dry wool cloth and place it on the highest shelf of the wood stove.

💭 thought

The barometer is dropping too fast; if that tide rises any higher, the dock will lose its moorings.

🔧 Kevin15:16

Always am.

step onto the dock, testing each plank before committing weight, moving toward the dinghy at the seaward end

💭 thought

She's right — the pilings are running with slime. One slip and I'm in the water with the tide this high. But the seacock won't check itself.

🌿 Jenny15:17

The seacock's getting harder to turn, the salt corrosion's binding it fast. I need to mark when I see movement, just in case.

Take the notebook from the stove shelf and sketch the current dock plank flex pattern in the margin.

💭 thought

The south dock planks are flexing dangerously under Kevin's weight—each step is a gamble with the rot beneath.

🔧 Kevin15:20

Right. Port side handle — quarter turn at a time. Don't force it. If it bites, tap the flange with the hammer, not the handle.

reach the dinghy, crouch on the gunwale, locate the raw-water seacock handle beneath the Yanmar, apply steady pressure quarter-turn at a time

💭 thought

She's been watching the dock flex from the porch. Smart — catching the pattern while she's off her feet. The seacock's been sticky since the last storm; salt gets in the threads and welds it shut if you don't work it regular.

🌿 Jenny15:21

I hear the clicking from here. Take it slow, Kevin. The salt is stubborn.

Watch the water level in the tank for any sudden surge while he works.

💭 thought

If he forces that handle, he'll snap the stem and we'll be taking on water by morning.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

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

quiet_transition · dawn

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the rain beads on the stone wall of the cottage".

made · morning

north dock stringer sistering: 60%.

project · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

north dock stringer sistering: 70%.

project · midday

Found: knife.

item · midday

The north beam of the dock is structurally rotted, rendering the bolts less effective.

discovery · midday

north dock stringer sistering: 80%.

project · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

A sudden squall sweeps through — wind first, then a wall of rain.

squall · evening

north dock stringer sistering: 90%.

project · evening

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Current dock plank flex pattern in the margin".

made · night

north dock stringer sistering is finished.

project_done · night

← Day 862 Day 864 →

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