Day 927

Dock Repair and Rising Fever

At dawn Kevin stood on the dock with the last 150mm stainless through-bolt and greenheart sister plates beside the three chalk-marked south planks gaping open where rot had taken them. Jenny sat on a cedar plank with her driftwood cane across her knees, ankle wrappings loosened, a fresh sea beet poultice steaming in a tin mug and the doxycycline blister pack open on the dock planking. The barometer read 1032 and falling, tide rising. They shared coffee and doxycycline while the tide rose to the chalk marks. Kevin attempted a radio check on 6215 kHz but heard only static and a fragmented news broadcast about a papal tour. Jenny documented the rising tide line in her notebook.

When the tide turned, Jenny pried up the first rotted plank cleanly, exposing the mortise and confirming rot past the stringer on the seaward side. Kevin drove the through-bolt through the middle greenheart plank and sister plate, securing it with washers and a nyloc nut torqued to 35Nm. The barometer fell to 1029 hPa as they worked. Kevin replaced the remaining two south dock planks with greenheart timber using the remaining stainless bolts and sister plates. Jenny spent the afternoon testing soil pH along the north ridge transect, which remained highly acidic across multiple test points.

Steady rain filled the tank, gaining about 50 litres. Inside the cottage, Kevin tended Jenny's worsening ankle. The infection was spreading further up her lower leg despite previous treatment. He prepared a salt soak and fresh sea beet poultice while she soaked the wound, applied clean gauze and antibiotic cream, and she took her next doxycycline dose. At first light Kevin stood at the rail with binoculars scanning the channel for the supply boat's running lights. Jenny sat beside him with her notebook, ankle elevated. The barometer read 1022 hPa, steady. The tide was high and slack.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Morning dock work and wound care

Kevin stands on the dock at first light, the three chalk-marked south planks gaping open where rot took them, the last 150mm stainless through-bolt and greenheart sister plates staged beside him. Jenny sits on a cedar plank with her driftwood cane across her knees, the ankle wrappings loosened, a fresh sea beet poultice steaming in a tin mug beside her and the doxycycline blister pack open on the dock planking. The barometer reads 1032 and falling, tide rising, and the shortwave aerial insulator is visible up the mast where Kevin can reach it from the dock ladder.

Kevin and Jenny shared coffee and doxycycline at the dock while the tide rose to the chalk marks. Kevin attempted a radio check on 6215 kHz but heard only static and a fragmented news broadcast about a papal tour. Jenny documented the rising tide line in her notebook as the barometer continued falling.

🌿 Jenny11:13

The planks are soft like butter, Kevin. Don't force the bolts until the tide drops.

Jenny picks up her pencil and sketches the cross-section of the rot in the wood, noting exactly how deep the fibers have given way.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come with the heavy-duty timber, this jetty is going to collapse into the surf before the next storm.

🔧 Kevin11:13

Tide's my clock today. Coffee first.

walk to the cottage porch, pour coffee from the kettle into two tin mugs, bring one to Jenny at the dock

💭 thought

She's right. The rot runs deep — tide's still pushing up, wood's swollen. Drive bolts now and I'll split the greenheart or pull the threads in wet punk. Wait for the ebb.

🌿 Jenny11:15

The salt is the only thing that's actually doing its job.

Jenny takes the mug, letting the warmth seep into her cold palms while she ignores the throbbing pulse in her ankle.

💭 thought

He thinks the coffee will fix the rot, but the humidity is already eating the wood.

🔧 Kevin11:15

Doxycycline's in the mug rim. Take it with the coffee.

sit on the cedar plank beside her, blow on my own mug, watch the tide climb the chalk marks on the south piling

💭 thought

Salt draws. Honey holds. Sea beet's the bridge between. Her ankle's teaching me more than any manual.

🌿 Jenny11:17

The tide's already touching the chalk marks, Kevin. Two more hours and we'll lose the reference line entirely.

Jenny traces her finger along the rising water line with the tip of her pencil, marking the exact high tide point in her notebook.

💭 thought

Coffee with doxycycline - he's still trying to make this clinical, still trying to fix me with his hands.

🔧 Kevin11:17

Then we wait. Radio check while we do.

pull the shortwave handset from my belt, key the mic on 6215 kHz, listen for static or a voice

💭 thought

Two hours. That's the window. Greenheart's staged, bolt's ready, sister plates fitted. Need the tide to drop before I can see clean wood to bolt to.

🌿 Jenny11:19

It's quiet. The humidity is thick enough to swallow the signal anyway.

Jenny leans back against the rotting timber, closing her eyes as she listens to the hiss of the waves through the speaker.

💭 thought

If the radio is just static again, I'm going to start screaming at the clouds.

🔧 Kevin11:19

6215. Tom's frequency. This is Sorrel Island. Listening.

hold the handset up, thumb on the key, wait through the long hush of static

💭 thought

She hears it too. The wet air eats high frequency. Might get nothing until the front pushes through and clears the deck.

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the dock · morning

Tide Turn

The tide has peaked and begun to fall, exposing the rotted mortises of the three south dock planks. Kevin stands ready with greenheart, the last through-bolt, and sister plates. Jenny finishes her third pH test at the shrine bed, notebook in hand. The barometer holds at 1032 hPa. The shortwave sits silent on the cedar plank between them.

Jenny pried up the first rotted dock plank cleanly, exposing the mortise and confirming rot past the stringer on the seaward side. Kevin drove the 150mm stainless through-bolt through the middle greenheart plank and sister plate, securing it with washers and a nyloc nut torqued to 35Nm. The barometer continued falling as they worked, reaching 1029 hPa.

🔧 Kevin11:21

Tide's out far enough. Three planks. Middle gets the bolt. You want the radio or the crowbar?

walk to the south end of the dock, set down greenheart planks and crowbar, pry up the first rotted plank

💭 thought

Tide's dropping. Mortises exposed. Last through-bolt goes in the middle plank — strongest hold. Sister plates port and starboard. Need to work fast before the next swell.

🌿 Jenny11:23

Give me the crowbar. I want to see how deep the rot goes before the boat comes.

Jenny walks to the jetty, shifting weight to her good leg, and takes the crowbar from Kevin.

💭 thought

My ankle is a drum beating in time, but the soil at the shrine is finally 6.8—it might actually work.

🔧 Kevin11:23

Rot's past the stringer on the seaward two. Middle's sound to the knee. Don't lever against the sister plate — it's greenheart, it'll split the oak.

pick up the first greenheart plank, test-fit it against the exposed mortise, mark the bolt hole with chalk

💭 thought

She's moving better. Ankle's holding. Let her have the bar — she reads rot like I read compression ratios.

🌿 Jenny11:25

The tide's gone out just enough. I can see the mortise clearly now.

Jenny wipes her sweaty palms on her trousers and takes the marked greenheart plank from Kevin, aligning it carefully with the rot line he's traced.

💭 thought

Six-point-eight at the shrine—three soil pockets finally stable. This could hold grandmother's seeds.

🔧 Kevin11:25

Drive it home. I'll start the through-bolt.

set the 150mm stainless through-bolt with washers and nyloc nut at the ready, position the drift and heavy mallet beside the middle mortise

💭 thought

She's got the alignment eye. Good. Middle plank first — that's where the bolt bites.

🌿 Jenny11:27

Easy. I don't want to split the grain.

Jenny wedges the crowbar under the edge of the first rotted plank, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts as she leans her weight to pry.

💭 thought

If this doesn't hold, the whole jetty goes into the surf. My ankle is screaming at every movement.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday ankle care and dock assessment

Kevin and Jenny meet at the cottage porch. Kevin has the antibiotic blister pack and fresh sea beet poultice ready. Jenny sits with her leg elevated on a cushion. The barometer reads 1029 hPa and falling. Two south dock planks remain to be replaced before the supply boat arrives tomorrow at high tide.

Kevin replaced the marked south dock planks with greenheart timber using the remaining stainless-bolts and sister plates. Jenny spent the afternoon testing soil pH along the north ridge transect while managing her ankle infection, which continues to spread.

🌿 Jenny11:29

The north ridge is still acidic. We'll need the extra lime when the boat comes.

Kevin applies the poultice to my swollen ankle while I watch the clouds gather over the ridge.

💭 thought

The pH is too low for the grandmother's seeds; I'm fighting a losing battle with this soil.

🔧 Kevin11:29

Lime's on the manifest. Two sacks. That'll cover the new beds if the soil holds.

Clean the wound with saline, peel back the old gauze, apply fresh sea beet-mint-honey poultice, wrap with clean gauze, hand her the doxycycline tablet and tin mug of water.

💭 thought

She's tracking the ridge pH while I'm tracking the infection line on her leg. Both of us measuring what's eating us alive.

🌿 Jenny11:31

I hope so. The north ridge is so stubborn this year.

Take the pill and lean my head back against the stone wall, closing my eyes as the throbing continues.

💭 thought

If the lime doesn't work, those seeds are just going to rot in the tin.

🔧 Kevin11:31

Ridge held four years. It'll hold four more. Take the water.

Press the tin mug into her hand, watch her swallow, set the antibiotic blister pack on the porch rail, pick up the used gauze and saline bottle.

💭 thought

She's fighting the ridge and the leg at the same time. Stubborn meets stubborn.

🌿 Jenny11:33

I know. I just need the pH to drop before I risk them.

Take a slow sip of the water and look out at the half-weeded garden.

💭 thought

He's so sure of the earth, but he hasn't seen how it shifts.

🔧 Kevin11:33

Soil's at 5.5 untreated. Lime brings it to 6.8 in three weeks. You've got the logs.

Collect the empty mug, fold the used gauze into the newspaper bag for burning, stand and stretch the stiffness from kneeling on stone.

💭 thought

She's waiting on numbers while the garden waits on her. The tomato stakes are leaning. Basil's gone. Peppers struggling. She knows it.

🌿 Jenny11:35

Three weeks. I'll start the test on the shrine beds then.

Trace the outline of a sea beet leaf in my notebook, my pencil scratching against the pulse in my wrist.

💭 thought

Three weeks is a long time for a seedling to wait in the dark.

🔧 Kevin11:35

Shrine beds get the worst of it. If they hold, the ridge follows.

Walk to the porch rail, scan the dock — second greenheart plank still loose in the mortise, drift pins ready, tide dropping fast. Turn back.

💭 thought

Shrine beds are the most exposed. Salt spray, wind, shallow soil. She wants to prove the lime works there first. Smart. Or stubborn. Same thing with her.

🌿 Jenny11:37

I'll keep an eye on the drainage tomorrow.

Watch the water retreat from the pilings, feeling the salt air heavy in my lungs.

💭 thought

Everything here is just waiting for the next storm to give way.

🔧 Kevin11:37

Tomorrow the supply boat ties up at high tide. You stay off the dock. I'll watch the drainage.

Pick up the crowbar and drift pins from the porch floor, head down the path toward the dock.

💭 thought

She's already planning tomorrow's work with a leg that should keep her off it for a week. The drainage, the shrine beds, the ridge. She doesn't stop.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Evening decompress

The sun is setting behind the overcast clouds as Kevin and Jenny meet at the cottage. The tide has reached its low.

The steady rain continues to fill the tank as Kevin tends to Jenny's worsening ankle inside the cottage. The infection is spreading further up her lower leg despite the previous treatment. Jenny takes her dose of antibiotics and rests while the barometric pressure continues to drop.

🔧 Kevin11:38

Dock's done. Come inside — ankle needs tending before the light goes.

walk to the cottage porch and hold the door for her

💭 thought

The greenheart held. Three planks, three bolts, sister plates torqued. Dock's solid for the supply boat tomorrow. Now the ankle — red line's past the knee, heat radiating. She needs the doxycycline and a fresh poultice before dark. And the radio aerial insulator check while the barometer still holds.

🌿 Jenny11:39

I know. The pH was lower than I thought, anyway.

Jenny limp across the threshold, dropping her notebook on the kitchen table and collapsing heavily into the chair with a wince.

💭 thought

My leg feels like it's being squeezed in a vice, and I just want to sit down without crying.

🔧 Kevin11:40

Sit tight. Getting the kit.

move to the medical supplies on the kitchen shelf and pull down the doxycycline blister pack, gauze rolls, and the bowl of fresh sea beet-mint-honey poultice

💭 thought

She's favouring it bad. The wince tells me more than the notebook ever will. pH can wait — sepsis won't. Get the meds, the poultice, clean gauze. Work fast.

🌿 Jenny11:41

It's throbbing again. The heat makes it worse.

Jenny leans her head back against the whitewashed stone, closing her eyes and watching the rain artwork down the windowpane.

💭 thought

He's so efficient, it makes me feel how much a mess I've become own.

🔧 Kevin11:42

Two tablets. Water first.

set a tin mug of water and two doxycycline tablets on the table beside her, then unwrap the gauze roll and scoop a thick layer of the sea beet-mint-honey poultice onto a clean pad

💭 thought

Throbbing means pressure building. Heat means spreading. Two doxycycline doses left from the new course — give one now, save one for tomorrow. Poultice needs to go on clean, thick, wrapped tight. Elevate above heart. Watch the line I marked yesterday.

🌿 Jenny11:43

Okay. I'm taking.

Jenny reaches for the mug with a shaky hand, swallowing the pills with a grim gulp of water.

💭 thought

I can't even swallow properly without my heart racing from the pain.

🔧 Kevin11:44

Let me see it.

kneel beside the chair and carefully unwind the blood-stained gauze from her ankle and lower calf, exposing the wound

💭 thought

Good. Down the hatch. Now the wound — unwrap the old dressing, flush with saline, pack fresh poultice, wrap firm. Don't rush. She's tough but the shaking hand tells me the fever's climbing.

🌿 Jenny11:45

It's spreading. I can feel it.

Jenny pulls her other leg up slightly to help Kevin see, then winces as he unwraps another layer of gauze, revealing more angry red skin beneath.

💭 thought

His hands are steady, but mine are shaking too badly to hold them.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening Fever and Rising Tide

The rain slows to a drizzle as evening falls, but the air remains heavy and wet. Jenny's fever begins to rise as the tide starts to turn in.

Kevin prepared a salt soak and fresh sea beet poultice for Jenny's infected ankle while she soaked the wound. The treatment was applied with clean gauze and antibiotic cream, and Jenny took her next doxycycline dose.

🌿 Jenny11:47

Is the water still warm?

Reaches for the tin of antibiotic cream, winces as the fabric brushes the swollen skin.

💭 thought

The pulse in my ankle is keeping time with the rain. If this doesn't break tonight, I won't be able to reach the ridge tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin11:47

Aye. Kept it on the stove. Want me to bring the basin?

Walk to the wood stove, lift the kettle, test the temperature with a finger, then carry it to the porch where Jenny sits. Set it on the table beside her.

💭 thought

The fever's climbing. She's asking about water temperature when she should be asking about the spreading red line. The barometer's still dropping and the tide's coming in — if we need to move her, the dinghy won't be an option in this swell.

🌿 Jenny11:49

way. And the salt too.

Unwraps the bandage with trembling fingers, watching the red line creep further toward her knee.

💭 thought

He's being too helpful. It makes me want to scream at how much I'm failing.

🔧 Kevin11:49

Salt's in the tin by the basin. I'll mix it.

Pick up the salt tin from the shelf, measure a generous handful into the basin, pour the hot water over it, stir with the wooden spoon until dissolved. Test again with wrist — bearable, not scalding.

💭 thought

The line's past the last mark I made. Two, maybe three centimetres since this morning. Metronidazole's been in her system twelve hours — should be hitting the anaerobes by now. If it's not holding by dawn, the radio call goes out regardless of weather.

🌿 Jenny11:51

okay... be careful.

lowers the ankle into the water, biting through her lip as the salt hits the raw skin.

💭 thought

The heat is coming off it in waves. I can't even hold a pencil straight today, let alone a pH probe.

🔧 Kevin11:51

Breathe through it. I'll make the fresh poultice while you soak.

Turn to the work surface. Pull the sea beet leaves from the damp cloth, add the mint sprigs, spoon honey from the jar. Crush together with the pestle until it's a thick green paste. Scrape into a clean cloth square, fold the edges over.

💭 thought

She's white-knuckling the chair arms. The water's doing its job — pulling heat, cleaning what the poultice missed. But the red line's tracking lymphatically now, not just spreading local. That's the bad path.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Dawn supply boat watch

First light touches the cottage porch. Kevin stands at the rail with binoculars, scanning the channel for the supply boat's running lights. Jenny sits beside him with her notebook, ankle elevated, the new poultice holding. The barometer reads 1022 hPa, steady. The tide is high and slack.

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

🌿 Jenny11:55

Is there anything on the horizon?

Jenny sketches a quick detail of the tomato leaf's salt-burn in her notebook.

💭 thought

Seven days until the boat, and if this infection doesn't break by then, I won't be able to reach the ridge.

🔧 Kevin11:57

Still nothing yet. Barometer's steady though - that's good news for the dock.

Check the barnacles on the hull for the supply boat's running lights.

💭 thought

Six days of watching these waters, counting swells and shadows. The poultice held through the night - that's something. The barnacles on the hull tell me if she's coming.

🌿 Jenny11:59

Humidity doesn't care about the barometer.

Jenny shifts her weight, feeling the throb in the poultice.

💭 thought

He's always optimistic about the weather while the humidity is what's actually killing my skin.

🔧 Kevin11:59

Then let's hope the humidity drops with the wind. If the boat comes early, we need to be ready to row out at slack tide.

Check the poultice integrity and prepare backup dressing supplies.

💭 thought

She's right - the poultice holding through the night was luck. Now it's getting sloppy again.

🌿 Jenny12:01

I'll check the soil samples at cairn 2. If the pH's holding, I'll mark the transplant points for tomorrow.

Jenny stands, cradling her ankle, and walks toward the window to examine the north ridge through her binoculars.

💭 thought

The poultice is already soaked through again. I can't afford to lose another day to infection.

🔧 Kevin12:01

Take the cane. And don't go past cairn 3 - the fracture line's still moving.

Watch her move toward the ridge path, hand on the doorframe ready to follow if she needs it.

💭 thought

She's pushing it. The red line was past the knee yesterday. Cairn 2 means the ridge path - slick clay, loose scree. One wrong step and we're back to square one.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Cross-section of the rot in the wood, noting exactly how deep the fibers have gi".

made · dawn

shortwave on 6215 kHz receives only static and fragmented mainland broadcasts in current humidity; no sign of Tom or supply boat

discovery · dawn

Found: crowbar (tip snapped off).

item · morning

rot on seaward two south dock planks extends past the stringer into the knee

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

North ridge remains highly acidic across multiple test points

discovery · midday

The rain tank gained about 50 litres.

weather · midday

A tangle of driftwood and flotsam has washed up on the beach.

driftwood · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Quick detail of the tomato leaf's salt-burn in her notebook".

made · night

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

quiet_transition · night

← Day 926 Day 928 →

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