Day 936

Supply Boat Arrives Early

"Coffee's strong. Drink it while it's hot," Kevin said.

Dawn broke clear and hot, the barometer climbing to 1024 hPa. Kevin sat on the porch steps with the shortwave warm in his hands, coffee steaming in a tin mug. Jenny leaned against the doorframe, her swollen ankle wrapped in fresh gauze and a sea beet poultice, driftwood splint tied fast with sail twine. The tide was falling, exposing the new greenheart plank and the mooring ring Kevin had bolted down yesterday. The supply boat was due at high tide in eight days, but the radio crackled only with a distant news broadcast about Ukraine talks.

"Coffee's strong. Drink it while it's hot," Kevin said.

"Thanks, Kevin."

"Ankle feeling any different?"

"A little. The swelling is starting to settle."

"Twine's eating your skin. Let me re-wrap it after the tide turns."

"I'll check the drainage first."

"Drainage can wait an hour. The tide's slack now — won't turn for twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes it is."

The radio stayed quiet. By midday the boat rounded the north cliffs on schedule, diesel audible across the water. Kevin stood ready at the dock with lines. Jenny watched from the porch, cane beside her. Kevin used the crane to unload heavy crates — seeds, tools, a replacement impeller for the Yanmar. The bottom of one crate was soft and damp from salt exposure.

"Careful with that crate, Kevin, the bottom is soft from the salt," Jenny called.

"Got it. Lift from the bands, not the slats."

She tested the southern clay pocket's pH: 4.2, strongly acidic from salt intrusion. The northern ridge held at 6.8 to 7.0. She marked a patch two clicks east of cairn three, shaded by the old spruce, pH 6.9 — the only spot that hadn't gone sour. Pink cosmos seeds would go there.

In the afternoon Kevin secured a second spring line from the north piling cleat to a buried deadman anchor, using the come-along and a 150mm stainless through-bolt to take torque off the rotted third plank. Jenny sketched the decay pattern in her notebook.

Evening found them on the porch with the trust letter unopened between them. Kevin read it by lantern light: their thirty-day service requirement was nearly complete, pension eligibility pending final verification. They shared the last of the limpet broth.

Before dawn a dark hull appeared on the southern horizon, two hours early on the high tide window. Kevin was already on the dock with the come-along. Jenny limped down the path with the ditch b

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning watch for the supply boat

Kevin sits on the porch steps with the shortwave radio warm in his hands, the barometer reading 1017 hPa and rising beside a steaming tin mug. Jenny is propped against the doorframe, her swollen ankle wrapped in fresh gauze and a sea beet poultice, the driftwood splint tied fast with sail twine. The tide is falling, exposing the dock's new greenheart plank and the mooring ring Kevin bolted down yesterday, and the supply boat is due at high tide in eight days' time — but the radio crackles with static, waiting for the captain's call.

Kevin and Jenny sat on the porch drinking coffee while the tide fell. The shortwave radio picked up only a distant news broadcast about Ukraine talks, no sign of the supply boat captain. Jenny's ankle swelling has begun to settle but the twine wrapping is chafing her skin.

🔧 Kevin04:39

Coffee's strong. Drink it while it's hot.

set the radio on the porch table and push the tin mug toward Jenny with two fingers

💭 thought

She's watching me listen to static. The barometer's rising, tide's falling, supply boat's eight days out — everything's where it should be except the radio. And her ankle. Eight days is a long wait if the infection turns.

🌿 Jenny04:40

Thanks, Kevin.

Take the mug, take a slow sip of the coffee, and look out at the receding tide.

💭 thought

His hands are shaking again; he thinks I'm not looking, but I see the way he grips the plastic of the radio.

🔧 Kevin04:40

Ankle feeling any different?

lean back against the porch post, arms crossed, watching the water pull back from the dock

💭 thought

She's steady. Hands aren't shaking on the mug. Color's better in her face than yesterday. The poultice is working, or the antibiotics are, or both. Either way, she's buying us time.

🌿 Jenny04:41

A little. The swelling is starting to settle.

Shift my weight on the porch, wincing slightly as the splint rubs the skin.

💭 thought

It's still throbbing like a heartbeat, but the poultice is drawing the heat out.

🔧 Kevin04:42

Twine's eating your skin. Let me re-wrap it after the tide turns.

glance at her ankle, then at the radio — still silent — and reach for my own mug

💭 thought

"A little" from her means a lot. The splint's chafing — sail twine on raw skin after three days. Need to pad it or re-wrap. But she's weight-bearing on it enough to shift. That's progress.

🌿 Jenny04:43

I'll check the drainage first.

Loosen the knot on the bandage slightly to inspect the red skin under the twine.

💭 thought

He's trying to be useful, but I can see the tremor in his fingers from here.

🔧 Kevin04:44

Drainage can wait an hour. The tide's slack now — won't turn for twenty minutes.

take a slow sip of coffee, eyes on the water where the new greenheart plank shows clean against the old pilings

💭 thought

She's already moving past the injury. Checking drainage, checking soil, checking everything but the fact that she nearly lost her foot. That's how she works. I'll let her have the drainage — it's her garden, her ridge, her data. But the splint gets fixed before dark.

🌿 Jenny04:45

Twenty minutes it is.

Lean back against the stone wall of the way, letting my leg stretch out.

💭 thought

He's right about the slack. The island is quietest when the water stops moving.

🔧 Kevin04:46

Radio's been dead quiet since 0400. Captain usually checks in by now.

turn the squelch knob a hair, listening to the hiss flatten

💭 thought

She gave ground. That's rare. Means she's tired, or the antibiotics are finally letting her sleep more than two hours at a stretch. Either way, I'll take it. Twenty minutes of quiet on a rising barometer with the dock holding and the boat coming — doesn't get better than this.

🌿 Jenny04:47

That's not right. The manifest says he'd be in radio range by dawn.

Pick up the handheld VHF and press the squelch button, listening for any crackle from the mainland.

💭 thought

The captain should've called by now. If there's trouble on the supply boat, I need to be ready.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · morning

Supply boat arrival

The supply boat rounds the north cliffs on schedule at high tide, its diesel audible across the water. Kevin stands ready at the dock with lines. Jenny watches from the porch, cane beside her, as the boat approaches the reinforced mooring.

The supply boat arrived at low tide, and Kevin used the crane to unload the heavy crates of supplies. Jenny inspected the structural integrity of the north piling while Kevin installed the replacement impeller in the Yanmar engine.

🌿 Jenny04:51

Kevin, the north piling—let me check the tell-tales before the crane loads anything.

hobble down the garden path with cane, check soil moisture at three points along the seaward wall where I marked drainage zones last week, then head to dock to inspect the new greenheart sister plates with magnifying glass from tool kit

💭 thought

The barometer held at 1018 through the tide cycle—the sistered planks are sound. But my ankle throbs even watching him work, and I realize I never asked him to check the tell-tales himself. He’s been measuring my pain like it’s data, not living.

🔧 Kevin04:51

North piling's holding. Sister plates are bolted through to sound wood. But you want to look, you look.

Walk to the dock's seaward end with bow and stern lines coiled and ready, position myself to catch the boat's heaving lines as it comes alongside.

💭 thought

The boat's on time. Jenny's moving slower than she lets on but she's moving. Let her check the pilings — she knows what she's looking for. I'll handle the lines and the crane.

🌿 Jenny04:53

Right. Just checking the salt hasn't eaten the bolts.

walk to the edge of the dock, crouch low despite the ankle, and run a thumb over the way bolts on the greenheart plate checking for any sign of movement or corrosion.

💭 thought

He's so careful with the lines, like he's holding the whole island from drifting away. I see the tremor in his hand when he catches the rope.

🔧 Kevin04:53

Bolts are 316 stainless. Greased and nyloc'd. Torqued to 35. Salt won't touch them this season.

Stand at the dock's forward cleat, lines ready, watching the supply boat's approach — judging its speed, the set of the current, the deckhand's readiness at the bow.

💭 thought

She's thorough. That's why the garden's still alive. The bolts are stainless, greased, nyloc'd — they're not going anywhere in one tide. But she needs to see it herself.

🌿 Jenny04:55

Good. Just making sure the dockside conversation stays clean.

move to the shore-side cleat and take the bow line from Kevin's coiled hands, feeling the rope's condition as I feed it through the bollard.

💭 thought

He remembers the torque specs, the grease pattern, how I used to sketch bolt threads in the notebook. Something's shifted between us—he's cataloguing my attention to detail now, like I'm the one being careful.

🔧 Kevin04:55

Conversation's clean. Radio's quiet on his end.

Hand her the bow line clean, then move to the stern to catch the spring line the deckhand will throw — eyes on the boat's fenders as they kiss the new greenheart plank.

💭 thought

Clean conversation. She means the radio. Means Tom. Means the frequency I keep open every night. She's not wrong.

🌿 Jenny04:57

It's a good day for a delivery.

secure the bow line to the bollard, checking the tension, and watch the deckhand begin unloading the crates.

💭 thought

He's quiet today. Even for the radio. It's the weight of the island pressing in, or maybe it's just the way he's looking at my ankle while I work.

🔧 Kevin04:57

Aye. Impeller's in crate three — captain said so on the radio. Green paint on the lid.

Catch the stern spring line tossed by the deckhand, take a quick turn on the shore cleat, then snub it off hard to hold the boat square against the dock while the crane swings out.

💭 thought

Good day. Calm sea, steady barometer, boat on schedule. The impeller's aboard. That's what matters.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · midday

Organizing the haul

Kevin and Jenny begin moving the new haul into the cottage and sorting the new seeds.

Kevin hauls the heavy crate onto the kitchen floor, noting the bottom is soft and damp from the salt exposure. Jenny sits on the stool to begin unwinding the twine from her swollen ankle, her eyes fixed on the task as she waits for the soil samples to settle. The steady trade wind continues to push against the stone walls of the cottage.

🌿 Jenny04:59

Careful with that crate, Kevin, the bottom is soft from the salt.

Sit on the kitchen stool and carefully unwind the twine on my ankle.

💭 thought

way ankle is throbbing with every step, but I need to see what they actually sent in those crates.

🔧 Kevin04:59

Got it. Lift from the bands, not the slats.

Step to the crate's landward end, crouch, and hoist it by the reinforced strapping bands, carrying it through the door to the kitchen floor.

💭 thought

She's right about the crate bottom — seen salt rot through harder wood than that. Her fingers are steady on the twine, but the skin underneath's raw. Should've changed the dressing before the boat came.

🌿 Jenny05:01

Good lift. Check for any delamination in the corners.

unwrap newspaper from tin E on the stove to examine for moisture damage.

💭 thought

The bands held, just like the north piling, but that doesn't mean the crate inside won't be waterlogged.

🔧 Kevin05:01

Corners are clean. No separation in the plies.

Set the crate down gentle on the kitchen flags, then turn to the stove shelf and lift tin E by its rusted rim, tilting it to catch the light on the oilskin seal.

💭 thought

Corners hold. Tin E's been on the stove shelf since the last boat — heat should've chased any damp off the seal. She's thorough. Good.

🌿 Jenny05:03

Check the moisture content of the soil samples from the northern ridge—I need fresh readings before the afternoon heat sets in.

grab the pH test strips and head to the ridge soil storage container.

💭 thought

The seal's holding, but I need to know what's mixed in with those heirloom seeds. Grandmother always saved wild varieties too.

🔧 Kevin05:03

Strips are on the high shelf by the radio. Two in the foil.

Walk to the shelf, take down the new water test kit, peel the foil packet open, and hold out the two remaining strips between calloused fingers.

💭 thought

Soil samples. Right. She logged the transect data before the boat came — north ridge cairns 1 through 3, elevation gradient. The strips are in the new kit on the shelf. Two left. She'll want both used proper.

🌿 Jenny05:05

Thank you. I'll test the ridge samples and the clay pocket—need to know if anything here wants to live.

take the strips and a sample jar, head to the north ridge soil storage container.

💭 thought

Two strips left, and I need to test both the southern clay pocket and the garden beds. Kevin's right about the foil packet.

🔧 Kevin05:05

Take your time. I'll clear the dock.

Turn and walk back out the porch door, down the path to the dock where the remaining supply crates sit salt-crusted on the planks.

💭 thought

She's moving with purpose. Ankle's not stopping her. The ridge samples have been in the dry bag since the transect — clay pocket at cairn 2, silt-loam at cairn 3. She'll get her numbers. I should get the rest of the crates off the dock before the tide turns proper.

🌿 Jenny05:07

Don't forget to check the mooring ring bolts while you're out there—they weren't quite right this morning.

examine the soil samples from the ridge, noting any color changes that might indicate salt accumulation.

💭 thought

Salt-crusted crates and salt-crusted hands—everything's fighting preservation the wrong way.

🔧 Kevin05:07

19mm's in the workshop. Torque wrench too. I'll snug them to 35.

Walk the dock planks to the workshop shed, pull the 19mm socket and the torque wrench from the pegboard, then return to the forward mooring ring at the seaward end of the finger pier.

💭 thought

She saw the play in the forward ring bolts at low tide. The greenheart sister plate's holding but the nylocs on the 150mm through-bolts need a torque check — salt works into the threads. I'll hit them with the 19mm and the torque wrench while the crates are light.

Open this scene on its own page →

the dock · afternoon

Supply Boat Arrival Prep

The tide is rising against the pilings, and the supply boat is still 8 days away.

Kevin secured a second spring line from the dock's north piling cleat to a buried deadman anchor on the bank, using the come-along and a 150mm stainless through-bolt to take torque off the rotted third plank. Jenny tested the southern clay pocket's pH and found it strongly acidic, noting the reading while her ankle swelling continued to settle under the sea beet poultice.

🔧 Kevin05:08

Kevin — walk down the dock to the seaward end, inspect the mooring ring bolts and mortise, then drag the waterlogged crate up past the high-water line

💭 thought

Water's coming up clean and quiet. Good time to check the mooring ring while I can see the bolts above the surface. That crate's been rolling in the surf for days — might as well haul it clear before the next swell buries it again.

🌿 Jenny05:09

Watch the weight, Kevin. The rot goes deep through the core.

Sketch the pattern of the decay on the third plank in the notebook.

💭 thought

The wood is softer than it looked yesterday; if I don't replace those planks before the next surge, the whole jetty will shear into the channel.

🔧 Kevin05:11

Seen it. Chalked the line at the turn. Sister plate's carrying it for now.

haul the crate up onto the dock planking clear of the surge, then crouch to probe the third plank's rot line with the screwdriver tip

💭 thought

She's not wrong. Third plank from seaward — I marked it with chalk yesterday. Core's gone soft as cheese past the outer inch. Sistering held the load but the rot's eating toward the bolt holes.

🌿 Jenny05:12

A sister plate won't stop the torque of a full spring tide. We need the greenheart from the next delivery.

Rub the aching ankle and check the moisture level of the sea beet poultice.

💭 thought

He's being optimistic with the timber; the salt doesn't care about his chalk lines.

🔧 Kevin05:12

Next delivery's eight days. Spring tide's three. I'll run a second spring line off the north piling tonight, double the warp on the ring. Takes the torque off the plank.

stand, wipe screwdriver on trousers, walk back toward the cottage to fetch the heavy weather line and come-along

💭 thought

Greenheart's eight days out at best. Spring tide's in three. The sister plate and six wedges are holding but she's right — torque on a full tide with swell running will test every bolt. Need to redistribute the load before then.

🌿 Jenny05:13

Make sure the bollard is secure. I don't want the whole jetty taking with the tide.

Stand up wincing and check the pH levels of the southern clay sample.

💭 thought

If he doubles the line, it might buy us a week, but the wood is still turning to mush.

🔧 Kevin05:14

Bollard's lagged only. I'll run the warp to the cleat base and bury a deadman in the bank. Holds better than timber.

reach the cottage porch, lean the heavy weather line coil against the rail, grab the come-along and a 150mm stainless through-bolt with washers and nyloc nut from the staged hardware

💭 thought

North piling's sound — drove the sister bolts myself last month. But the bollard on that end's only lagged in, not through-bolted. If the warp bites hard on a surge, it'll rip the timber clean. Need to back it with a deadman or run the line to the cleat base instead.

🌿 Jenny05:15

Just make sure it's deep enough. The salt is already eating the pilings.

Walk back to the workbench to check the seed tin for moisture while the ankle'.

💭 thought

A deadman in the bank is better than trusting rotten wood, but the soil here is shifting fast.

🔧 Kevin05:16

Deep enough. Clean stone backfill past the salt line.

walk back down the dock with come-along and bolt, pass Jenny on the porch without stopping, set up at the north piling cleat base

💭 thought

Salt's in everything. Pilings, bolts, the ground itself. Deadman needs to go deep past the salt line — at least a metre, backfilled with clean stone. The come-along'll give me purchase to tension it proper before I bury it.

🌿 Jenny05:17

I'll mark where you need to dig. The soil's unstable three feet down already.

Test the southern clay pocket with the pH strip and note the reading in the notebook.

💭 thought

He's right about the backfill, but the salt's already in the clay where the foundation meets the shore.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · evening

Porch coffee and the trust letter

Kevin and Jenny sit together on the cottage porch in the late afternoon sun, coffee steaming in tin mugs. The trust letter lies unopened on the table between them. The supply boat is confirmed for tomorrow's high tide. The dock lines hold. The ankle is healing. The garden's salt pockets are mapped. For a moment, the work waits.

Kevin read the trust letter by lantern light while Jenny rested her ankle. The letter confirmed their thirty-day service requirement was nearly complete, with pension eligibility pending final verification. They shared the last of the limpet broth and secured the cottage for the night.

🌿 Jenny05:21

Sixteen-two eight, barometer's climbing. Three days out, two hours window.

reach across the table and cover Kevin's hand with mine, then trace the trust letter's edge with my thumb.

💭 thought

The trust letter sits between us like a stone—warm from the sun, cold with what it might contain. Tomorrow the boat comes, and with it, the chance to plant grandmother's seeds in soil that might actually hold them. The ankle feels stronger each day, though the swelling still shadows the moon. I should mark where the southern clay gives way to something kinder to roots.

🔧 Kevin05:21

Sixteen-two eight. She'll hold.

lift my mug, blow across the steam, take a slow sip

💭 thought

She reads the numbers like she's reading a chart she knows by heart. The letter sits there, heavy as an anchor. I should open it. I should have opened it weeks ago. But the coffee's good and her hand's warm on mine and the boat's coming tomorrow whether I read it or not.

🌿 Jenny05:23

(silence, then) The lime beds held at 6.8-7.0 up there. Down south, salt ate right through. I marked the pockets.

open the notebook and point to the map where red wax crosses trace the acidic clay, then nod toward the seed tin between us.

💭 thought

His breath fogs the steam, the same careful precision he uses when masking what's breaking. I watch his fingers trace the mug's rim—that tremor I measured like decay in a leaf. The trust letter waits between us, wax seal intact, while the garden's salt pockets map their betrayal in cedar and red wax. Tomorrow's window closes the circle.

🔧 Kevin05:23

The crosses hold the line?

set the mug down, lean forward to study the map, finger hovering over the southern pockets without touching

💭 thought

She's giving me the report like I'm the trust and she's the keeper. The red wax crosses march across the page like a battle line. She's done the work. The soil answered. Now she's waiting for me to answer the letter.

🌿 Jenny05:25

The crosses mark where nothing grows. But there's a patch two clicks east of cairn three, ridge-side, shaded by the old spruce. I tested it yesterday—pH 6.9, drainage holding. That's where the pink cosmos seeds need to go.

slide the trust letter slightly toward him, then carefully close the notebook and place it beside the seed tin, letting the rusted 'E' catch the light.

💭 thought

His finger hovers like he's afraid to disturb the paper, afraid of what the crosses might reveal about what we've lost down there. The trust letter still lies between us, its seal intact like his composure. I can see the salt damage in the soil pH logs—four point zero to four point three—but up north where Iris spotted us, the earth remembers how to be generous.

🔧 Kevin05:25

Two clicks east of cairn three. Ridge-side. Shaded.

pick up the letter, turn it over in my hands, feel the wax seal intact, thumb tracing the salt-crusted edges

💭 thought

She's mapping the garden like she's mapping a future. Pink cosmos. She knows every seed in that tin. The letter slides closer — rusted tin, rusted envelope, both keeping secrets. She's not pushing. She's placing things where they belong.

🌿 Jenny05:27

It's the only spot that hasn't gone sour yet. We have to be careful.

lean back in the chair, watching the light die on the porch, waiting for him to break the seal.

💭 thought

He repeats the coordinates like a prayer, memorizing a map he hasn't actually walked yet. The sun is lower now, casting long, punishing shadows across the whitewashed stone. If the boat comes in eight days, I'll have the supplies, but right now we just have this and the seeds waiting in that tin.

🔧 Kevin05:27

Yeah.

break the wax seal, unfold the letter, start reading

💭 thought

The seal cracks under my thumb. Six months of dust on this envelope. Tom's handwriting at the bottom. Mother gone. He wrote. The boat sat on it. I found out alone on the step at 0200. The coffee's gone cold in my mug. The garden has a future. The letter has a past. I'm sitting in the hinge between them.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · night

Supply boat on the horizon

Dawn breaks clear and hot. The barometer reads 1024 hPa. A dark hull appears on the southern horizon, running before a light swell — the supply boat, two hours early on the high tide window. Kevin is already on the dock with the come-along. Jenny limps down the path with the ditch bag, gauze wrapped tight around her ankle.

The supply boat appears on the horizon early, its hull cutting through the glassy water of the morning tide. Kevin secures the bow line with a practiced round turn, watching the swell to guide the vessel toward the dock, while Jenny emerges from the cottage, leaning heavily on the wall as she favors her swollen ankle, ready to check the radio manifest before they meet.

🔧 Kevin05:29

Boat's early. Full tide window. You good to stand the radio?

walk to the dock cleats and check the bow line tension, then wave the come-along handle at the approaching hull

💭 thought

Boat's early. Good. Means the captain's not fighting weather. Means we've got the full tide window. Impeller's aboard, mail's aboard, diesel's aboard. Jenny's moving — slower than yesterday but moving. Ankle's holding.

🌿 Jenny05:31

I'll be there in five minutes. Just check the manifest on the radio first.

Jenny sits up slowly, wincing as she shifts her weight, and grabs her waterproof notebook from the bedside table.

💭 thought

The boat is early, but I need those pH strips and the enough seeds before the heat gets unbearable.

🔧 Kevin05:31

Radio's on the shelf. 2182. I'll hold the boat at the dock.

grab the bow line and secure it to the forward cleat with a round turn and two half hitches, then step back and watch the boat's approach, judging the swell set against the dock face

💭 thought

She's stubborn. Won't let me coddle her. Five minutes means ten. Radio first — she wants the manifest confirmed before the captain's voice gets lost in static. Fair enough.

🌿 Jenny05:33

Don't let them bump the pilings too hard.

Jenny wraps the gauze tighter one last time, stands up, and limps toward the door, leaning heavily on the wall for support.

💭 thought

If he's early, I might actually get that clay pocket tested before the sun peaks.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A fish run is moving through the shallows off the dock.

fish_run · morning

Found: crate of seeds.

item · morning

Found: crate of tools.

item · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Cottage garden soil pH is 5.6, requiring a lime amendment for heirloom varieties.

discovery · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "Pattern of the decay on the third plank in the notebook".

made · afternoon

Fruit is ripening in the woods — you can smell it before you see it.

fruit · afternoon

southern garden clay pocket pH is 4.2 — strongly acidic from salt intrusion, requires heavy liming before viable for planting

discovery · afternoon

Trust letter confirms 30-day service requirement nearly satisfied; pension eligibility secured pending final sign-off.

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

The supply boat arrived early by one day.

discovery · night

← Day 935 Day 937 →

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