Day 934

Rot and Ridge

At dawn the tide fell back from the dock pilings. Kevin worked beneath the stringer while Jenny sat on a barnacled crate, ankle elevated, sketching sea beet morphology on the exposed northern shelf. "Tide's giving us two hours, maybe three," Kevin said. "You stay on the crate. I'll get the first sister bolted before the water touches the mortise." "Check the bolts twice, Kevin. The wood is soft deeper than it looks," she replied. He bored test holes every six inches past visible rot. "When you see dust, not water, we know we hit solid." The tide returned faster than expected. "The tide's coming in faster than expected. Let's get the sketches back before the salt ruins the paper," Jenny said. Kevin sealed the bag and they moved to higher ground.

Midday brought no record. In the afternoon they inspected the seaward dock corner and found the fourth anchor bolt corroded through, its hole ovalled into rotten wood three inches either side. Plank fibres crushed under thumb pressure; rot smell confirmed active decay. They agreed to cut out the section and scarf in a greenheart sister plank with epoxy and through-bolts at low tide. Kevin retrieved the chainsaw and two greenheart cores to stage for the repair.

Evening found them on the north ridge at the stone shrine, wind freshening northeast. No record of that stretch. At night Jenny cleaned her infected ankle with saline and gauze, debriding dead tissue despite significant pain. Red tracking crept up her calf. Kevin prepared a fresh sea beet and mint poultice and applied it with clean gauze. Both ate a small meal afterward. The rain tank had gained about twenty-five litres.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Low tide inspection

Kevin and Jenny stand at the edge of the dock as the tide recedes from the pilings. Jenny sits on a crate, keeping her ankle elevated while Kevin inspects the rot in the seaward sister beams.

Kevin works beneath the dock to reinforce the pilings as the tide recedes, focusing on the structural stringer. Jenny stays atop the barnacled crate to keep it dry while sketching the sea beet morphology on the exposed northern shelf.

🔧 Kevin02:18

Tide's giving us two hours, maybe three. You stay on the crate. I'll get the first sister bolted before the water touches the mortise.

walk to the seaward end of the dock with the 19mm wrench and greenheart plank, brace against piling four, start fitting the scarf joint to sound wood above the rot line

💭 thought

Tide's dropping fast. Need to get the greenheart sistered to piling four and seven before the water comes back up. Jenny's ankle can't wait either — poultice needs changing and the swelling's tracking.

🌿 Jenny02:19

Check the bolts twice, Kevin. The wood is soft deeper than it looks.

pull the notebook from my waist and start sketching the specific erosion patterns on the exposed barnacle-covered piling.

💭 thought

He's moving too fast; if he doesn't align the scarf perfectly, the whole jetty will torque when the boat hits it.

🔧 Kevin02:21

Already planned to. You sketch. I'll bore test holes every six inches past the visible rot.

drill a test hole at the barnacle line on piling four, check the bit for wet dust, move up six inches and repeat until clean wood shows

💭 thought

She's right. The rot eats inward from the barnacle line — always deeper than the surface shows. She's documenting it instead of resting. Stubborn.

🌿 Jenny02:22

Don't go too deep on the core, we need the structural integrity left for the bolts.

lean back against the cool stone and focus on the way the salt has etched patterns into the grain of the wood.

💭 thought

He's actually being careful for once, but the vibration from that drill is making my ankle throb.

🔧 Kevin02:23

Got it. Shallow cores, clean shavings. When you see dust, not water, we know we hit solid.

mark the drill bit with a chalk line at 2 inches, begin boring into piling four at the barnacle line, watching for the dust to turn from wet to powder

💭 thought

She knows the stakes. One wrong cut and the whole finger pier bows out when the supply boat's crane bites into the dock.

🌿 Jenny02:24

(voice hoarse) Good technique. Keep that bit sharp.

reach for the salve and apply a fresh layer to my ankle while watching his steady hands work.

💭 thought

The dust will tell us everything but I can't feel my foot anymore, not really.

🔧 Kevin02:24

Bit's sharp. You should be horizontal, not leaning over a piling.

pull the drill from the first hole, blow the shavings clear, check they're dry powder, move up six inches for the next test hole

💭 thought

She's taking care of me while I take care of the dock. The ankle throbs hot under the salve. She shouldn't be bending over a crate with her own leg wrecked.

🌿 Jenny02:25

(voice quieter) Horizontal's fine. Just keep those cores shallow.

shift my weight to distribute the pressure better and pull the notebook closer to examine my sketches of the north ridge soil pockets.

💭 thought

He's right about the position even if his tone sounds like he's still measuring how much I'm holding back from him.

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the dock · morning

Tide Returns

The water has covered the pilings, halting work. Kevin and Jenny meet at the waterline to secure the gear.

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

🌿 Jenny02:27

The tide's coming in faster than expected. Let's get the sketches back before the salt ruins the paper.

Tuck the notebook into my waterproof bag and shift my weight to my good leg to hide the pain.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing again from the salt spray; I can't let him see me limp today.

🔧 Kevin02:28

Bag's sealed. Come on — higher ground.

offer a steadying arm and walk her back toward the cottage, keeping pace with the rising water

💭 thought

Tide's pushing hard. She's favoring the left leg worse than yesterday. The notebook's safe but she's not.

🌿 Jenny02:29

Thanks. The sketches are still dry—I need to get back to the ridge tomorrow.

Keep my hands loose at my sides, one resting briefly on my ankle before pulling the bag tighter against my ribs.

💭 thought

His arm is steady against my shoulder, but I can feel the heat in my cheeks and the tightness behind my eyes.

🔧 Kevin02:29

Ridge holds. We'll go at first light — tide permitting.

walk beside her up the path, scanning the slope for fresh slip marks while the water climbs the dock pilings behind us

💭 thought

She's set on the ridge tomorrow. Ankle's not ready but she'll go anyway. I'll need to be there before dawn to check the slope.

🌿 Jenny02:31

The ridge's stable, but I need to check the soil pockets. The pH shifted last week.

Keep my hand pressed against my ankle, feeling for the pulse that's stopped racing, while I nod toward the north slope.

💭 thought

The water's rising faster than the tide should allow—there's something wrong with the harbor's pull.

🔧 Kevin02:31

Test strips left?

glance at the north ridge as we climb, mentally marking the three soil pockets she GPS'd

💭 thought

pH shift means water moving different. Salt or fresh, either way the slope's talking. She reads it better than me.

🌿 Jenny02:33

Two left. I'll have to be precise with the samples tomorrow.

Reach into my pocket to Feel the plastic casing of the kit, ensuring it's still there.

💭 thought

I have two left in the kit, but I'll need more if the clay is still turning.

🔧 Kevin02:33

I'll mark the pockets first thing. You can test from the cottage door.

pull out my phone to check tide times, then pocket it and keep walking

💭 thought

She's planning precision work on a swollen ankle. I should have pushed for rest.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

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

🌿 Jenny02:37

The rain isn't going to stop for the dock work today.

Sit on the kitchen chair, unwrap the damp bandage, and prepare the saline solution to debride the ankle.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing again; the humidity is making the gauze stick. I need to clean that infection before it gets truly angry.

🔧 Kevin02:37

Boat's tomorrow. Dock holds one more offload.

Set the kettle on the stove and pull two mugs down from the shelf.

💭 thought

She's right. Barometer's falling and the rain's settling in. Dock work can wait — the tide's wrong anyway. She's steady with the debridement. Always is.

🌿 Jenny02:39

Good. I need you to check something on the dock - the north piling's still showing stress fractures. If the tide pushes too hard tomorrow...

Wrap the cleaned ankle with fresh gauze, then head to the porch to check the barometer reading.

💭 thought

The barometer's dropping faster than I thought - he's already preparing for the unload, but I need to finish this infection first.

🔧 Kevin02:39

I'll walk it at high water. Tap every bolt.

Walk to the porch door and pull on my oilskin jacket.

💭 thought

She saw what I saw. North piling's been singing under load since the last swell. If the boat comes in heavy tomorrow, the stringer takes the hit.

🌿 Jenny02:41

I'm checking the soil pH map before we go. If it's dropped more than half a point...

Cut open the medical kit and retrieve the doxycycline blister pack.

💭 thought

He's touching my jacket like I'm contagious - what's he really afraid of?

🔧 Kevin02:41

Take the pills. I'll check the map.

Step onto the porch after her, pull the notebook from the high shelf, and flip to the pH log page.

💭 thought

She's mapping the garden while her ankle's hot enough to brand iron. Stubborn as the bedrock.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin and Jenny inspected the seaward dock corner and found the fourth anchor bolt corroded through and its hole ovalled into rotten wood. They agreed to cut out the section and scarf in a greenheart sister plank with epoxy and through-bolts at low tide, and Kevin retrieved the chainsaw and two greenheart cores to stage for the repair.

🌿 Jenny02:45

The sky is going to break before evening. I can feel the pressure in my bones.

Sit on the porch steps, rubbing the swollen skin around the bandage while watching the clouds artwork over the ridge.

💭 thought

The humidity is thick enough to swallow, and my ankle is throbbing in time with the tide.

🔧 Kevin02:45

Barometer agrees. Wind'll come northeast by dark. Want the dock walked and the mooring ring checked before then.

Walk to the shortwave radio on the shelf, tap the barometer face with a fingertip, then head out the porch door toward the dock with the 19mm wrench from the hook by the door.

💭 thought

She's right. The barometer's been sliding all afternoon. 1006 and steady won't hold with that bank building over the ridge. Need to get the last of the dock bolts checked before the wind shifts northeast and the swell wraps around the point.

🌿 Jenny02:47

Check the bolts on the seaward side specifically. They've been looking loose since the last storm's swell.

Stand up slowly, wincing as the ankle shifts weight, and grab my way and pencil from the kitchen table.

💭 thought

He's always worried about the hardware while the salt is eating the wood alive.

🔧 Kevin02:47

Aye. Seaward first. Then the sister joint on the north stringer.

Descend the porch steps, cross the weed-choked garden path to the dock, and step onto the weathered planking. Walk the length toward the seaward end, 19mm wrench in hand, tapping each anchor nut as I go — listening for the dull ones.

💭 thought

Seaward bolts took the worst of it. She's seen them work loose before I have — her eyes catch what mine miss when I'm under the dock. The ankle's slowing her but not her head.

🌿 Jenny02:49

[calling back toward the cottage] I'll mark the ones that need replacement. Some of these bolts are probably swollen with salt already.

Walk toward the dock, leaning slightly on the walking stick made from that spruce offcut, the garden trowel still in my hand from earlier soil pH checks.

💭 thought

The weeds in the garden path are still the same half-weeded mess we left them, and the dock planks are singing with every loose bolt.

🔧 Kevin02:50

Mark them. I'll pull the worst at low tide tomorrow if the boat window holds.

Continue along the seaward rail, wrench on the first anchor nut — solid ring. Second — dull. Third — dull. Fourth, right at the corner where the swell hits hardest — the nut spins free with two fingers.

💭 thought

She's already mapping the rot in her head. Salt-swollen bolts, compromised threads — she's thinking ahead to what the next storm tears loose. The stick helps the ankle but the trowel's still in her hand. Won't put the work down.

🌿 Jenny02:51

[loud enough to carry back down the dock] Kevin, that fourth one's been eating into the plank grain. It's not just loose — the bolt's corroded through its minimum diameter.

Walk faster toward the dock corner, using the walking stick to steady myself, and pull out my notebook to circle the location with a red wax mark.

💭 thought

Four dulled nuts by the corner where the swell hits hardest — this is where the wood's already compromised from years of rot lines.

🔧 Kevin02:51

Understood. Needs a new bolt and a sound hole. Got the last 150mm stainless at the east shutter — if the threads aren't galled.

Unscrew the wasted bolt the rest of the way, letting it drop into my palm — shank pitted to half its diameter, threads gone grey-white with corrosion. Pocket it.

💭 thought

She's seen it from twenty feet what I'm only feeling now. Corroded through — means the shank's wasted, not just the threads. Can't just re-nut it. Needs pulling and replacing, and the plank's probably chewed out around the hole. Boat comes tomorrow. If the swell picks up tonight, that corner's the first to go.

🌿 Jenny02:53

Check the threads carefully. If they're shot, we'll need to sister a section of that plank.

Sketch a quick detail of the weakened joint in the margin, noting the spread of the wood rot around the hole.

💭 thought

If those threads are galled, we'll have to drill it out, and I don't have the energy for that today.

🔧 Kevin02:53

Threads on the bolt are gone. Hole's ovalled out. Plank's soft for three inches either side.

Probe the bolt hole with the tip of a 6mm auger bit from my pocket — the bit sinks in with thumb pressure alone. Pull it out, tip blackened. Run a thumbnail along the plank edge: fibres crush, wet rot smell.

💭 thought

She's already drawn the repair. Sister the plank, new bolt, sound wood. The rot's tracking along the grain from that hole — she's marked the spread. If the last stainless is galled, we're down to the 10mm rod in the workshop and cutting threads by hand. Or the greenheart cores under the tarp, but they're eight feet and need milling.

🌿 Jenny02:55

We need to cut out that section and replace it with a sound core. The greenheart sister planks from the crate would work.

Pull out my soil pH test strips and check the moisture level in the wood with a quick squeeze test, then mark the exact dimensions for the patch with my pencil.

💭 thought

Wet rot sets in fast when the salt air keeps it damp — that plank won't hold a new bolt for more than a season.

🔧 Kevin02:55

Aye. Scarf joint, greenheart, epoxy and through-bolts. Need the tide low enough to work the face — two hours out.

Walk back toward the landward end, pull the chainsaw from the workshop shed, check the chain tension and fuel. Then fetch the two greenheart cores from under the tarp at the winch, drag them to the dock edge.

💭 thought

Greenheart's the only thing that'll hold in this water. The crate planks are straight-grain, seasoned — three eight-foot cores under the tarp at the winch. One's already milled for the south dock. Two left. Cutting a scarf joint in situ on a moving dock with the tide turning... but the boat needs a solid mooring tomorrow. No choice.

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the old shrine · evening

Evening at the ridge shrine

They meet at the cottage porch as the wind freshens from the northeast. Clouds stack low over the ridge. Together they walk the path up through the garden and onto the north ridge, the shrine's stone ring visible against the darkening sky. Jenny carries her sketchbook; Kevin carries the storm lantern.

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

🔧 Kevin02:57

Barometer's 1007. Dropping slow.

walk up the garden path toward the north ridge, storm lantern in hand

💭 thought

The wind's shifted. Northeast means swell on the north face. Boat'll have a rough approach if it holds.

🌿 Jenny02:59

1007 and falling, but slowly enough. Sea beet's already stressing from the alkaline patch - might as well get those grandmother's seeds in the amended soil before the wind kicks up.

walk toward the shrine with Kevin, sketchbook clutched tight, noting how the storm lantern casts long shadows across the weathered stones as we ascend the ridge path.

💭 thought

The barometer's holding steady - good sign, but those clouds are banking up from the southwest like they're stacking timber for a proper blow. Should I push the sea beet planting to tomorrow, or does this squall move faster than the weather service predicted?

🔧 Kevin02:59

Seeds'll wait. Shrine first.

reach the stone ring, set the lantern on a flat stone, and run a hand over the carved initials worn soft by salt

💭 thought

She's still planning planting with a storm coming. That's her — always the next season.

🌿 Jenny03:01

fine. Shrine first. But the way is turning, I can feel it sticking.

lean against a weathered stone, shifting my weight off the left ankle, and open the sketchbook to sketch the lichen patterns on the north-side rock.

💭 thought

he's always so sentimental about the past while the present is literally rotting away. my ankle is throbbing with every step, and he's looking at rocks.

🔧 Kevin03:05

Ankle?

crouch beside her, lantern light catching the sketchbook page, and touch the stone she's drawing — the one with 'LB' carved near the base

💭 thought

She's favouring the ankle again. Swelling's not gone down.

🌿 Jenny03:07

It's... getting worse. The red tracking up my calf.

pull my left boot partially off, revealing the swollen ankle, then quickly pull my sleeve down to hide it, turning away slightly while I stare at the 'LB' carving in Kevin's palm.

💭 thought

Why does he always touch the stones? That 'LB' carving - my grandmother's initials, probably from her youth. I've sketched it a hundred times but never mentioned it. My ankle feels hot even through the bandage, and the infection line is creeping higher.

🔧 Kevin03:07

Show me.

stay crouched, hand out, not reaching for the boot — waiting

💭 thought

Red tracking means the antibiotics aren't holding. She hid it. Again.

🌿 Jenny03:09

(voice tight) It's infected. I've been treating it with the poultice and...

bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, then slowly extend my boot just enough for him to see the swelling, avoiding eye contact as I pull the gauze down to expose the red streaking up my calf.

💭 thought

I can't let him see this. The infection's spreading faster than I thought, and if he sees how bad it's gotten... No, I should've gone to the clinic weeks ago. But the antibiotics are running low and the boat's delayed. He just wants to help, like always.

🔧 Kevin03:09

When did the streaking start?

lift the lantern with my free hand, holding the light steady over her calf, fingers gentle on the hot skin above the ankle

💭 thought

That's past poultice territory. Needs the rest of the doxycycline and the metronidazole both. And she's been walking on it.

🌿 Jenny03:11

A few days ago. I thought the saline soak would be enough.

flinch slightly as his fingers graze the skin, then grip the edge of my own until my knuckles turn white.

💭 thought

Three days? No, four. Since the humidity spiked and I couldn't debride it properly. It's moving fast. I can feel the heat pulsing under his touch.

🔧 Kevin03:11

We're using the metronidazole too. Now.

set the lantern down, pull the medical kit from my belt pouch, and shake out the blister pack — twelve tablets left

💭 thought

A few days. She didn't say. She let me think the poultice was working.

🌿 Jenny03:13

"But the poultice—" (voice cracking)

watch his hands sort the tablets, each one carefully counted, while I stare at my swollen ankle and wonder if I've been rationing medicine wrong.

💭 thought

Metronidazole? I mixed up the dosing schedule again. The blister pack is nearly empty. How long can it take before the antibiotics become ineffective?

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the keeper's cottage · night

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Jenny cleaned her infected ankle with saline and gauze, debriding dead tissue despite significant pain. Kevin prepared a fresh sea beet and mint poultice while she worked, then applied it with clean gauze. Both ate a small meal afterward.

🌿 Jenny03:17

I'm going to clean the ankle before I eat something.

Sit on the kitchen chair, open the saline solution, and debride the ankle.

💭 thought

I am starving and my ankle is throbbing, but I need to check the infection before I lose the whole leg.

🔧 Kevin03:17

Kevin — set a clean mug of water and the ibuprofen bottle on the table beside her chair, then pull up the stool opposite and sit with the coffee.

💭 thought

Watch her work. She knows what she's doing better than I do. Just be here if she needs anything.

🌿 Jenny03:19

Thanks. It's stinging today.

Soak the gauze in the saline and begin to wipe away the dead tissue from the wound.

💭 thought

He's being quiet again, probably thinking about the dock or the boat that's late.

🔧 Kevin03:19

Want me to mix fresh poultice after?

Lift the coffee mug, blow across the steam, and take a slow sip while watching her hands work.

💭 thought

Stinging means it's healing. Or means it's not. Either way she's the one who'd know.

🌿 Jenny03:21

Yes, please. The mint and the sea beet leaves.

Press the gauze firmly against the wound and wince as theization hits the raw skin.

💭 thought

He's actually being helpful for once, maybe the island is finally winning.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

The supply boat came.

supply_arrived · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Specific erosion patterns on the exposed barnacle-covered piling".

made · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "The north ridge soil pockets".

made · dawn

Sea beet density is highest on the sheltered shelf during low tide.

discovery · dawn

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

quiet_transition · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

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

quiet_transition · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Quick detail of the weakened joint in the margin, noting the spread of the wood ".

made · afternoon

seaward dock corner plank has wet rot extending three inches either side of corroded anchor bolt hole

discovery · afternoon

bolt hole ovalled and plank fibres crush under thumb pressure; rot smell confirms active decay

discovery · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Lichen patterns on the north-side rock".

made · evening

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

quiet_transition · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

← Day 933 Day 935 →

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