Day 924
Supply Boat and Spreading Infection
The supply boat *Meridian* appeared on the horizon at dawn. Kevin secured the dinghy's mooring lines while Jenny sat on a crate, checking her ankle wrap for swelling. "Boat's here. You staying on the crate?" Kevin asked. "I'm coming. Give me a second," she replied. He boarded and confirmed the Yanmar impeller and antibiotic packs were in the green crate. "Impeller's lashed to the starboard rail. Green crate. Captain knows," he called back. "Check the antibiotics first, please," Jenny said. "I'll check. You stay off the gunwale."
The supply boat *Meridian* appeared on the horizon at dawn. Kevin secured the dinghy's mooring lines while Jenny sat on a crate, checking her ankle wrap for swelling. "Boat's here. You staying on the crate?" Kevin asked. "I'm coming. Give me a second," she replied. He boarded and confirmed the Yanmar impeller and antibiotic packs were in the green crate. "Impeller's lashed to the starboard rail. Green crate. Captain knows," he called back. "Check the antibiotics first, please," Jenny said. "I'll check. You stay off the gunwale."
Kevin installed the new impeller, struggling with seized bolts in the humid heat. Jenny sorted the blue food crate on the dock, planning a trek to the north ridge for sea beet leaves. "Impeller's in the pouch. I'll have the Yanmar breathing raw water inside twenty minutes. You want the coffee on before I button the housing?" Kevin asked. "Coffee's already on. I'll check the Yanmar after," she said, reaching for her notebook.
By midday the engine ran clean. Jenny returned limping heavily; the redness had spread past the morning's pen mark. Kevin applied a fresh sea beet and honey poultice and gave her two doxycycline tablets. "Past the line. I'll get the sea beet and honey," he said. "Doxy at eight. Two tablets."
The harbour master raised them on 2182: high tide 0642, southwest 15 gusting 20, barometer 1024 falling slow. "Ten days. That's enough time for the fever," Jenny said. Kevin planned to reach the northern shelf at 0530 low tide for more sea beet and to check the north slope soil. "Seeds come first. Always," he said.
Rain intensified at night. Kevin went to check dock lines and the north piling shim. "Don't stay out too long. The swell is coming," Jenny warned. "The water is getting too high under the pilings!" she called. "Watching it," he answered from the darkness.
Scenes
the dock · dawnSupply Boat Arrival Prep
Kevin secures the dinghy's mooring lines as the supply boat appears on the horizon. Jenny sits on a crate, clutching the manifest and checking her ankle wrap for swelling.
Kevin boarded the supply boat and confirmed the Yanmar impeller and antibiotic packs were in the green crate. Jenny remained on the dock, monitoring her ankle while watching the transfer. The supply boat crew began offloading the remaining crates onto the dock.
Boat's here. You staying on the crate?
check the dinghy's bow line and stern spring are holding clean, then walk up the dock toward the cottage to meet the supply boat crew
💭 thought
I'm coming. Give me a second.
stand up slowly, wincing as weight shifts to the good leg, and limp toward the dock.
💭 thought
Take your time. I've got the lines.
hold the dinghy's bow line taut against the swell, watching her come down the dock, ready to steady her if she needs it
💭 thought
I'm fine, Kevin. Just slow.
reach out a hand to the dock railing for balance, eyes scanning the boat's deck for the crates.
💭 thought
Impeller's lashed to the starboard rail. Green crate. Captain knows.
step onto the supply boat's gunwale as it comes alongside, reach for the first line they throw, and take a turn on the dock cleat to hold her steady against the swell
💭 thought
Check the antibiotics first, please.
limp to the edge of the jetty, ignoring the throb in my ankle, and look for the green crate.
💭 thought
I'll check. You stay off the gunwale.
climb aboard the supply boat, move to the starboard rail where the green crate is lashed, cut the lines with my knife, and pry the lid open to verify the antibiotic packs before anything else
💭 thought
I'm staying right here.
lean my weight against the rotting timber of the dock, watching his hands work with the crate.
💭 thought
the dock · morningYanmar impeller install and crate inventory
Kevin kneels at the dinghy's transom with the new impeller and tool roll, while Jenny sorts through the blue food crate on the dock planking. The supply boat's engine thrums as it holds station, crew waiting for the return of the empty sling. Morning light cuts sharp across the water at 1025 hPa steady.
Kevin works on the Yanmar impeller housing, struggling with seized bolts in the humid heat. Jenny prepares her ankle and plans the trek to the north ridge for sea beet poultice ingredients.
Impeller's in the pouch. I'll have the Yanmar breathing raw water inside twenty minutes. You want the coffee on before I button the housing?
kneel at the dinghy transom, open the tool roll, crack the raw water pump cover and swap the impeller
💭 thought
"Coffee's already on. I'll check the Yanmar after." (I reach for the notebook, fingers already calculating when I can get back up to the ridge for those sea beet leaves before the poultice loses potency)
Sit heavily on the crate, unscrew the notebook lid, and make a quick margin note: "Need fresh poultice ingredients - sea beet leaves + honey before 1200"
💭 thought
Margin notes save lives. I'll have the engine warm by the time you're back from the ridge.
torque the pump cover bolts, wipe the housing dry, swing the Yanmar's decompression lever and spin the flywheel by hand to verify free rotation
💭 thought
"Just make sure you don't over-torque the bolts." (I look down at my ankle, the skin is tight and angry, pulsing in time with my heart)
Stand up slowly, shifting my weight to my good leg, and start toward the path leading to the north ridge.
💭 thought
Bolts go to 12Nm. I'll watch your track from here.
pick up the torque wrench, set it to 12Nm, snug the raw water pump bolts in sequence, then reach for the starter cord
💭 thought
"Don't take too long. The light is changing." (I don't look back, focusing on the uneven earth under my boots)
Begin the incline toward the ridge, each step sending a sharp spike through my ankle.
💭 thought
the dock · middayEngine Load Test
The Yanmar hums to life as Jenny returns to the dock, limping heavily with her swollen ankle.
Kevin applied a fresh sea beet and honey poultice to Jenny's infected ankle and gave her two doxycycline tablets. The redness had spread past the morning's pen mark, confirming the infection is worsening despite antibiotics. Jenny noted increased swelling and heat in the ankle.
Engine's clean. Sit down before you fall down.
Wipe hands on rag, walk to Jenny and steady her by the shoulder, guide her toward the cottage porch.
💭 thought
I need to check the impeller housing bolts - they're still warm from testing.
limp toward cottage, lean against dock post, unwrap gauze from ankle to inspect for spreading redness
💭 thought
Bolts are torqued. Sit. I'll check the housing after.
Guide her firmly to the porch step, crouch to examine the ankle — compare the redness to the pen mark from this morning.
💭 thought
The swelling's worse, and there's heat I can feel even through the gauze.
shift weight off the injured ankle, grip dock post tighter, notice Kevin's crouch is too close, smelling of diesel and salt
💭 thought
Past the line. I'll get the sea beet and honey.
Stand, go inside cottage, retrieve sea beet leaves (crushed earlier), honey jar, clean gauze, doxy blister pack — return to porch, mix poultice in tin mug, apply thick over wound, wrap snug with fresh gauze, press two doxy tablets into her
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · afternoonEvening check on ankle and engine prep
Kevin and Jenny are on the cottage porch as light fades. The Yanmar impeller packet sits on the workbench. Jenny's ankle is wrapped, elevated on a cushion. Kevin has the torque wrench and 19mm socket ready. The barometer holds at 1025 hPa. The supply boat is due tomorrow at high tide.
Kevin returns to the cottage, wiping salt and grit from his hands. The afternoon humidity is a physical weight, and the trade wind offers only slight relief from the 30°C heat. The tide is rising, lapping at the reinforced dock pilings while Jenny sits on the porch, the heat radiating from her ankle visible even through the sea beet poultice.
Doxy at eight. Two tablets. Water's boiling if you want tea after.
set the torque wrench and socket on the porch table, pull the blanket tighter around Jenny's shoulders, then go inside to check the antibiotic blister pack and put the kettle on
💭 thought
I'll try. Just check the radio first.
Tuck the notebook into the oilskin pouch beside the heirloom seeds, lean back against the stone wall, and watch the trade wind ripple the sea.
💭 thought
2182 first. Then 6215.
walk to the kitchen shelf, power on the shortwave, set frequency to 2182 kHz, adjust the squelch, and listen
💭 thought
Copy that.
Reach down to touch the skin just above the bandage, flinch at the radiant heat, and wait for the hiss of the speaker to break.
💭 thought
Harbour master at twenty past. Weather at the half.
rotate the tuning knob slightly, wait for the scheduled broadcast, note the signal strength on the meter
💭 thought
Hope it stays clear.
Listen to the white noise, eyes closed, feeling the rhythmic throb in my ankle sync with the waves.
💭 thought
Got him. "Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Harbour Master. Supply vessel *Meridian* confirmed on schedule. High tide 0642 local. Two-hour weather window. Southwest 15, gusting 20 by afternoon. Barometer 1024 falling slow. Visibility good. Out."
log the transmission in the radio notebook — time, frequency, content — then switch to 6215 kHz for Tom's frequency
💭 thought
Ten days. That's enough time for the fever.
Lean my head against the cool stone of the wall, watching the dust motes dance in the kitchen light.
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · eveningThe Rising Heat
The sun begins to dip as the tide reaches its high mark. The humidity remains oppressive, making any work on the brush removal projects further away.
Kevin and Jenny rest at the cottage as the humidity hangs heavy before a potential storm. Kevin tends to Jenny's ankle, which remains swollen and throbbing despite the fresh sea beet poultice.
Is the boat still on schedule for tomorrow?
Lean back against the stone wall, wincing as the weight shifts off the throbbing ankle.
💭 thought
Tomorrow high tide. Two-hour window. Captain acknowledged on 2182.
Walk to the kitchen shelf, pull down the radio notebook, flip to the last entry and hold it out to her.
💭 thought
Two hours is a tight window with the tide coming in fast.
Take the notebook with a shaky hand, eyes scanning the timestamp of the confirmation.
💭 thought
Slack's forty minutes after high. Crane's got reach for the pallets if we stage them on the seaward cleats. We'll manage.
Set a fresh mug of coffee on the table beside her, steam rising.
💭 thought
If the crane fails, we won't even be able to get the antibiotics inside.
Reach for the mug, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic while ignoring the heat radiating from my leg.
💭 thought
Crane held two drums today. Operator was steady. We've got block and tackle on the landward cleat if it comes to it.
Pull out the chair opposite her, sit, and stretch my legs under the table — boots still damp from the dock.
💭 thought
I just need that boat to show up with the meds. I can't get to the north ridge like this.
Take a slow sip of the coffee, eyes fixed on the swelling where the ankle meets the ankle.
💭 thought
I'll go at first light. Low tide's 0530. Northern shelf's exposed. Be back before the boat.
Reach across the table, brush a thumb over the back of her hand — once, quick, like checking a bolt torque — then pull back and lift my own mug.
💭 thought
Don't just go for the poultice. Check the soil on the north slope—see if it's weeping.
Pull my hand away slightly, setting the mug down with a sharp click on the table.
💭 thought
North slope, intercept trench, garden wall base. I'll look.
Nod once, drain the mug, set it down hard beside hers. Stand.
💭 thought
If the soil's compromised, don't try to save the garden beds. Just get the seeds.
Pull the heirloom seed tin closer on the table, fingers tracing the rim where the label has worn thin.
💭 thought
Seeds come first. Always.
Turn toward the porch door, pause at the frame, look back at the tin under her hand.
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · nightA Rainy Watch
The temperature drops slightly at night, and the first drops of rain hit the roof.
The rain has intensified into a steady down, drumming against the cottage roof and slicking the island. The tide is receding quickly, exposing the dark rocks of the shore, but the swell is beginning to build. Kevin has headed out to check the structural integrity of the dock, while Jenny remains inside, managing the pain and swelling of her infected ankle.
Rain's here. Going to check the dock lines and the north piling shim. Then the foundation.
pull on oilskin jacket and boots, grab headlamp, walk out to the dock
💭 thought
Don't stay out too long. The swell is coming.
Sit up on the bed, wincing as weight shifts on the ankle, and reach for the notebook to sketch the pattern of the rain on the glass.
💭 thought
Won't. Back in ten.
walk down the porch steps to the dock, headlamp beam cutting through the first rain
💭 thought
Keep an eye on the mooring ring—if those pilings shift, we lose the boat.
Remove the poultice and rinse ankle with clean water from the basin, then wrap loosely with gauze. Walk to the window and watch Kevin disappear toward the dock, noting how the rain is already streaking the glass.
💭 thought
(nothing — already at the dock, rain hitting the oilskin hood)
step onto the dock planks, move to the seaward end, check the bow and stern springs first — tension, chafe points, cleat integrity
💭 thought
Watch the swell, Kevin! The current is getting heavy!
way at the kitchen table, nursing the throbbing ankle, and watch the radio's status light for any sign of the boat.
💭 thought
Watching it.
shine headlamp on the mooring ring mortise — oak wedges seated, steel doubler plate flush, 150mm through-bolt tight. Then drop to knees at the north piling sister joint, probe the cedar shim with fingers — feel for movement, rot depth, wate
💭 thought
The water is getting too high under the pilings!
Lean against the window frame, hand pressed to my throbbing ankle, watching his light beam dance across the dark water.
💭 thought
What changed
a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.