Day 939

Waiting for the Supply Boat

Dawn broke gusty over Sorrel Island, wind whistling through the palms as the tide lapped the reinforced pilings. Jenny sat on the porch steps, ankle propped on a crate, while Kevin adjusted the radio antenna, listening for the supply boat. "Supply boat's due on the high tide. Two-hour window. Radio check at 0600, 1400, 2200 — you wrote it down," he said. Jenny winced. "I'll have the poultice ready again. The humidity is getting heavy."

The morning passed with no narrator to record it. By midday, Jenny confirmed the heirloom seeds in tin E remained dry and viable. Kevin's soil auger bit was dull, making test holes difficult. A coconut crab had damaged shade cloth anchors overnight, stealing cedar shims and steel washers.

The handheld VHF crackled to life in the afternoon — the supply boat captain confirming arrival at tomorrow's high tide. Kevin drove oak stakes at forty-five degrees to secure the shade cloth, but the third stake pulled loose in soft soil. Jenny tested garden soil pH at three points: lime beds stable at 6.8-7.0, untreated areas dropping to 5.4-5.6. She reapplied a fresh sea beet poultice with clean gauze.

Evening brought corned beef and the last limpet broth on the porch. The barometer read 1014 hPa, steady. Kevin monitored the radios, hearing only a brief news fragment before static returned. Jenny noted the infection boundary had receded slightly, but swelling remained significant.

Night fell with the trade wind holding steady, barometer at 1015. The tide receded faster than charts predicted, exposing the sandbar. Clouds thickened, signaling the storm the barometer had been hinting at. Dawn would bring the decision: whether Jenny could crawl to the north ridge for pH strips, or whether the ankle kept her bound.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Waiting for the Tide

Jenny sits on the steps with her ankle propped on a crate, watching the wind shake the palms. Kevin stands by the radio, adjusting the antenna as he listens for the supply boat's signal.

The sun rises over a gusty morning, the wind whistling through the palms with a persistent roar. The tide is at its peak, lapping against the reinforced pilings of the dock while Jenny sits on the porch, nursing her throbbing ankle as the heat sets in. Kevin checks the radio for any sign of the supply boat's approach.

🔧 Kevin07:55

Supply boat's due on the high tide. Two-hour window. Radio check at 0600, 1400, 2200 — you wrote it down.

adjust shortwave aerial tension, listening for the supply boat's call sign on 2182 kHz

💭 thought

Barometer's dropped four millibars since dawn. Wind's backing northeast — swell'll hit the dock broadside by midday. She's watching the palms, not the ankle. That's either acceptance or she's stopped fighting it. Either way, the radio's the only thing that matters today.

🌿 Jenny07:57

I'll have the poultice ready again. The humidity is getting heavy.

Trace the red boundary of the infection with a pen, then wince as the movement pulls the skin.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come, the seeds will rot in that tin while my leg rots on me.

🔧 Kevin07:57

Keep the leg still. I'll mix the next batch — sea beet, mint, honey. You rest it.

turn from the radio, pull the mortar and pestle from the shelf, start grinding fresh sea beet leaves with mint sprigs and a spoonful of honey

💭 thought

She traced the line herself. Good — means she's still tracking it clinical. The wince tells me it's deeper than yesterday. Humidity's climbing with the pressure drop; poultice won't breathe, but it's what we've got. Antibiotics are twelve doses. If the streaks hit the femoral by tonight, I key the Mayday whether she agrees or not.

🌿 Jenny07:59

The soil on the ridge needs it more. The pH is too low.

Lean back against the stone wall, closing eyes to ignore the palms screaming in the wind.

💭 thought

He thinks he can fix this with a paste, but the salt is already in the marrow.

🔧 Kevin07:59

Ridge ain't going anywhere. Your leg is. Drink the broth, take the pills, let me wrap it.

set the mortar down, pour warm limpet broth into a tin mug, press it into her hands, then pull the antibiotic blister pack from the medical kit — two doxycycline, one metronidazole — and set them beside the mug

💭 thought

She's deflecting. Ridge soil can wait — her leg can't. pH logs show 5.5 untreated, 6.8 limed. That's data, not emergency. The infection line she just drew? That's emergency. She knows it. She's choosing the garden because the garden doesn't make her feel helpless. I'll give her the poultice, then I'll lime the ridge beds myself. One thing at a time.

🌿 Jenny08:01

Put the mug down. I need to check the seed tin.

Set the mug on the step beside the cast iron skillet, then rise unsteadily, leaning heavily on the walking cane as I make for the kitchen doorway.

💭 thought

The pills are a lie, but the broth might kill something.

🔧 Kevin08:01

Tin's on the stove shelf. Seal's intact. Seeds are dry. Sit back down.

step between her and the kitchen doorway, one hand braced on the doorframe, not blocking — just there

💭 thought

She's testing me. Or testing the leg. Either way, she's vertical and moving — that's more than yesterday. The seed tin's on the stove shelf, dry and sealed. She's checked it three times in two days. Not the seeds she's guarding; it's the choosing. Proof she's still deciding what lives.

🌿 Jenny08:03

I know how to check a seal. I can see the tin. ownDO: Push past him slightly, the ankle throbbing with every shift, and watch the steam rise from the broth.

💭 thought

He's hovering again. Like a bird over a nest with no eggs.

🔧 Kevin08:03

Mug's waiting. Pills too.

turn back to the radio, adjust the squelch, log the barometer reading — 1014 and dropping — in the notebook beside the set

💭 thought

She pushed past. Good. Stubborn's better than gone. The broth's steaming — she'll drink it cold if she has to, but she'll drink it. The pills sit beside the mug. She knows the schedule. I'll let her check the tin, then I'll check the line on her leg when she comes back. Radio's quiet. Barometer's still falling. Dock'll take the first hit at mid-tide.

🌿 Jenny08:05

The soil samples from today's test — they showed the ridge is unstable.

Set the mug down hard, steam curling toward the cold air, and pull the seed tin toward me from the stove shelf.

💭 thought

He's writing down the storm like it's routine maintenance, not warning.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

The Falling Tide and Rising Heat

The tide begins to recede as the wind picks up, carrying the salt spray across the island.

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

🌿 Jenny08:07

Kevin, grab the seed trays from the garden—move them inside now, before the salt hits.

Apply fresh sea beet poultice to the ankle infection, then crawl toward the north ridge soil sample site.

💭 thought

The tide's dropping fast—salt spray will hit the windows soon. Those seed trays can't survive another hour of exposure. My ankle's throbbing worse with this wind pressure change.

🔧 Kevin08:08

On it.

sprint to garden, grab all seed trays from upper bench near cairn 3, carry them to cottage porch

💭 thought

Wind's shifting southeast. She's right — salt spray'll kill the heirloom stock in minutes if it hits the trays. Need to move fast.

🌿 Jenny08:09

Bring them inside through the back door—salt air will corrode the germination rates if they sit in the front passage.

Debride infection boundaries with sterile scalpel, apply fresh sea beet-mint poultice with clean gauze wrap.

💭 thought

Good—he moved. But why does he call it "grabbing" instead of "rescuing"? These trays contain my grandmother's seeds, not groceries.

🔧 Kevin08:10

Back door it is.

carry seed trays through back door into kitchen, set on table away from stove heat, check each cell for spray damage

💭 thought

Back door's tighter seal. She's thinking ahead while I'm just reacting. Good.

🌿 Jenny08:11

Check the pH strips—we need to know if the north ridge soil's still viable before I risk another crawl out there.

Use two remaining water test strips to check north ridge soil sample, record readings in notebook.

💭 thought

Four tomato cells showing leaf necrosis from salt spray—corrosion spreading from the edges inward. The basil's already lost three seedlings. But the sea beet seedlings... they're holding.

🔧 Kevin08:12

Strips are in the kit on the shelf. I'll grab them.

retrieve new water test kit from shelf, pull out two remaining pH strips, hand them to Jenny

💭 thought

Two strips left in the new kit. She wants them used on north ridge soil. That's the call — she's the one who knows what the numbers mean for the seed stock.

🌿 Jenny08:13

Thank you. Now check the garden tarp corners—the wind's picking up and I need to know if any stakes pulled free during the night.

Apply second poultice dressing to ankle, then crawl to garden tarp inspection point using walking cane for support.

💭 thought

Sixteen days of doxycycline left, but this infection's spreading faster than the medication's working. The barometer's dropping to 1012 hPa—storm's definitely coming.

🔧 Kevin08:14

Checking now.

walk to garden, inspect all four tarp corners and intermediate stakes for pull-out or crab damage, check batten tension

💭 thought

Wind's southeast and rising. Tarp corners took a beating last storm — oak stakes snapped at ground level, gnawed by crab. She's crawling out there on a shattered ankle while I stand here. Nerve's not the word.

🌿 Jenny08:15

Kevin, secure those anchor points with the extra rope from the supply crate—we need redundancy before the storm hits.

Record soil pH readings (6.2-6.4 at cairn 2 and 3) in notebook, then mark infection boundary progression with pen before gauze application.

💭 thought

Shade cloth anchors are shredded at two points—coconut crabs got them last night. But the garden tarp's holding. Still, with this wind velocity, I can't risk another north ridge expedition today.

🔧 Kevin08:16

Rope's by the workshop. On it.

retrieve remaining new rope from workshop, run secondary tie-downs from each tarp corner to deadman anchors, tension and secure with timber hitches

💭 thought

Extra rope's the half-inch three-strand from the recovered crate — fifteen meters, dry and clean. Used half for the dinghy stern spring. Rest's coiled by the workshop. She wants redundancy. Smart. The crab shredded the shade cloth anchors last week; tarp's next if we don't double up.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Jenny inspected the heirloom seed tin and confirmed the seeds remain dry and viable despite the humidity. Kevin attempted to use the soil auger but the bit was dull from hard soil, making test holes difficult. A coconut crab was discovered in the garden overnight, having damaged shade cloth anchors and stolen cedar shims and steel washers.

🌿 Jenny08:19

Kevin? The poultice needs pine resin mixed in. And I need to check that soil pH at the ridge before the barometer drops further.

Apply fresh sea beet poultice with added pine resin binder to infected ankle, then retrieve grandmother's seed tin from stove shelf

💭 thought

The infection's edge has stopped its retreat—still three centimeters above the brace line. The poultice needs binding with resin before the humidity swamps it. Grandmother's seeds are getting stale just sitting there.

🔧 Kevin08:19

Got it. Tin's on the shelf. I'll bring it.

walk to the wood stove, lift grandmother's seed tin from the shelf, carry it to Jenny on the porch

💭 thought

She's moving before the weather turns. Smart. The resin will hold the poultice through sweat and swell. I'll catch the tin before it slides — stove shelf vibrates when the generator kicks.

🌿 Jenny08:21

Thank you. You can set it down.

Accept the seed tin with both hands, feeling its weight, then turn it so I can see the rusted surface.

💭 thought

His hands are shaking. Always have been since the accident. The tin clangs against my leg and I don't flinch—muscle memory from too many years cataloguing specimens. The infection still pulses, insistent, beneath the gauze.

🔧 Kevin08:21

Seal's still clean. Oilskin didn't crack.

set the tin on the porch table, pull out the other tin mug, pour the last of the coffee into it, slide it across to her

💭 thought

She's checking the seal. The rust doesn't matter if the oilskin held. She knows that. She's teaching me to trust the evidence, not the appearance.

🌿 Jenny08:23

It's cold. But it's dry.

Open the lid of the seed tin and inspect the heirloom seeds for any sign of moisture damage.

💭 thought

He's right, the oilskin held. The only thing on this island that isn't rotting or weeping today. The seeds are dry, for now. If I can find the right for them.

🔧 Kevin08:23

Dry. I checked yesterday. Packets crisp.

lean against the porch post, watch the treeline where the barometer's been dropping, roll a cigarette one-handed

💭 thought

She's memorizing every packet. Tomato. Pepper. Sea beet. Basil. The ones we planted. The ones we lost. The ones still sealed. She's building the next season in her head while her ankle rots.

🌿 Jenny08:25

The soil samples from the north ridge showed pH 4.2 in that hollow near cairn two. Nothing grows there except sea beet.

Close the seed tin and set it carefully on the table, then pull my field notebook from my jacket pocket and mark the date on the pH log page.

💭 thought

The barometer's dropping faster than I'm letting myself believe. Four days until the supply boat, and the soil's still poison. I can't keep putting off the ridge.

🔧 Kevin08:25

Need more lime in that hollow. Two sack runs. Maybe three.

strike the match on the porch rail, light the cigarette, exhale toward the sea, watch the smoke flatten under the building pressure

💭 thought

Four point two. That's not soil anymore, that's vinegar with dirt in it. The lime we spread last month hasn't washed down that far. She's marking it because she'll be the one to fix it, or she'll write the fix so I can do it when she can't walk the ridge.

🌿 Jenny08:27

I don't have the strength for three trips, Kevin. I need to see if the drainage is even working before I waste the lime.

Take a sip of the lukewarm coffee and wince as the heat hits my throat, then trace the swollen boundary of the infection through the gauze.

💭 thought

Three sacks? I can't even crawl to the ridge without the ankle screaming. He talks like this island is a garden plot on the mainland that will just yield to his will.

🔧 Kevin08:27

I'll auger the test holes. You read the map. We'll know in an hour.

push off the porch post, grab the soil auger leaning by the door, check the bit's still sharp

💭 thought

She's right. Three trips up that slope on a good ankle is a day's work. On hers it's suicide. The intercept trench we dug should be pulling water off the slope — if it's not, lime just washes away. I can run the auger holes while she reads the weep zones from her notebook. Divide the labor. She directs, I haul.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Supply boat contact and garden triage

The handheld VHF crackles to life as the supply boat captain confirms arrival at tomorrow's high tide. Kevin and Jenny meet on the porch to review the manifest and assess the coconut crab damage to the garden shade cloth anchors. The barometer has dropped to 1010 hPa.

Kevin drove two oak stakes at forty-five degree angles to secure the shade cloth, but the third stake pulled loose in soft soil. Jenny tested the garden soil pH at three points, finding the lime beds stable at 6.8-7.0 but untreated areas dropping to 5.4-5.6, and reapplied a fresh sea beet poultice to her ankle with clean gauze.

🌿 Jenny08:31

Confirmed at high tide. Tell him to bring the extra-strength penicillin and a roll of heavy-duty shade cloth.

marks the arrival date on the calendar and traces the red line on her map with a pencil.

💭 thought

Finally, but I need those antibiotics and fresh gauze before this infection hits the bone.

🔧 Kevin08:31

Penicillin and shade cloth. Got it. Anchors are shot though — crab took the cedar stakes and the washers. I'll drive oak tonight, but the ground's soft from the rain. Might not hold.

walk to the radio shelf and key the handheld VHF, speaking clearly into it

💭 thought

Barometer dropping faster than I like. High tide tomorrow means swell on the channel. He'll need the extra hour to clear the bar. Penicillin's smart — Jenny's thinking ahead on the ankle. Shade cloth too, but the anchors are the real problem. Coconut crab shredded the tie-offs. Need to drive new stakes before he arrives or the first gust takes the whole garden.

🌿 Jenny08:33

Tell him to bring extra bolts too, if he has them. We can't lose the wall.

winces as she shifts her weight off the swollen ankle and begins to mash the sea beet leaves for the poultice.

💭 thought

If the oak doesn't hold, the whole garden wall goes into the sea next storm.

🔧 Kevin08:33

Extra bolts. Roger.

key the VHF again, relaying the bolt request, then set the radio down and move to the garden to inspect the shade cloth anchor points

💭 thought

She's right about the wall. North ridge crack's past the stability line. Extra bolts for the sister plates and the intercept trench shoring. Good catch. Her ankle's worse — shifting weight like that means the joint's grinding. Penicillin won't hurt but the streaks need draining, not just drugs. Boat's two-hour window. If the swell picks up he'll cut it short.

🌿 Jenny08:35

Be careful with the stakes. If they pull, the whole section will come down.

applies the cool sea beet paste to her ankle and wraps it tightly with the clean gauze.

💭 thought

way's too optimistic about that soil; it's like holding water.

🔧 Kevin08:35

Driving them at forty-five degrees, back toward the wall. Double the corner. If the soil gives, I'll trench a deadman.

grab the mallet and the six oak stakes from under the eaves, walk to the garden's windward edge, and start driving the first stake at a forty-five degree angle away from the shade cloth

💭 thought

She's not wrong. The shade cloth's only as good as its worst anchor. Crab took the windward corner stakes — that's where the load hits first. Oak's dense but the soil's soup down to a foot. Need to drive them deep and angle them against the pull. Might double up with a deadman if the ground holds. Boat comes tomorrow. Garden can't wait.

🌿 Jenny08:37

(calling across the garden) Double-check your angle. The soil's giving already, and if it pulls, the drainage gets flooded.

wipes sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and pulls out the pH test strips, calculating whether she has enough left to verify the garden soil won't crash before the boat arrives.

💭 thought

Forty-five degrees into soft earth with a rising tide—no, this is madness.

🔧 Kevin08:37

Angle's holding. Trench wall's clear.

drive the second oak stake at the next corner, same forty-five degree angle, checking the trench line as I work

💭 thought

She's watching the drainage. Smart. The intercept trench feeds straight past those anchors — if a stake pulls, it rips the trench wall and the whole slope goes. Angle's good on this one. Three more corners, then the intermediates. Mallet's heavy but the ground's taking it. Barometer's still dropping. Need to finish before dark.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening meal and supply boat watch

Kevin and Jenny sit on the porch as light fails, sharing a tin of corned beef and the last of the limpet broth. The handheld VHF rests between them, volume turned up. The barometer reads 1014 hPa, steady. The tide is high and slack. Jenny's ankle is propped on a rolled blanket, the fresh poultice warming against her skin. Kevin checks the radio every few minutes. The supply boat is due at high tide tomorrow.

Kevin monitored the shortwave and VHF radios through the evening, hearing only a brief news fragment before static returned. Jenny tended her ankle with a fresh sea beet poultice, noting the infection boundary had receded slightly but the swelling remained significant.

🔧 Kevin08:39

Barometer's held. Wind's west. Channel should be clear.

spoon another mouthful of corned beef, chew slowly, glance at the VHF handset

💭 thought

She's eating slow. Good. The broth's got salt and fat she needs. Radio's quiet but the boat's due on the tide, not the schedule. I'll believe the engine when I hear it.

🌿 Jenny08:41

The poultice is working - it's drawing the heat down. But I need fresh strips tomorrow to check if the alkalinity's holding in the beds.

adjust ankle position, peel back corner of gauze to check for increased redness, then rewrap with fresh sea beet poultice applied directly to skin before covering

💭 thought

The infection line hasn't moved, thank god, but it's hot and angry against the poultice. I need to check if the sea beet is drawing out the toxins or just trapping them. Tomorrow I'll crawl to the north ridge with the pH strips - or I'll have to start drawing soil profiles instead of taking samples. The seeds are dry in the tin, that's something.

🔧 Kevin08:41

Strips are in the kit. Two left. Save one for the garden.

reach for the tin mug, blow across the broth, drink

💭 thought

She's tracking it like a gauge. Good. The line hasn't moved past her mark from this morning. Two centimetres in four days — slow, but moving. Fourteen doses left if the boat comes tomorrow.

🌿 Jenny08:43

One for the garden, one for the ridge. I'll be careful.

note the count in the notebook, close the cover, and lean back against the stone wall, watching the tide catch the last light.

💭 thought

If I use a strip on the garden, I won't have enough for the ridge transect if the pH shifts. But the garden is half weeds anyway; grandmother's seeds need a chance.

🔧 Kevin08:43

Ridge can wait. Ankle first.

set the empty mug down, pull the blanket higher over her legs

💭 thought

She's careful with everything. Counts strips, counts doses, counts days. I count the tide windows. Tomorrow's high at 0640. If the boat holds course, she'll round the point by 0700. If she doesn't — we've got stores. We've got the engine. We've got each other.

🌿 Jenny08:45

I know, but I need to check the poultice effectiveness. It's drawing the heat down my leg.

peel back the gauze carefully, inspect the wound edges, apply fresh sea beet and honey mixture, then rewrap with clean gauze, securing with medical tape.

💭 thought

The infection is still creeping, but it hasn't crossed the line I marked yesterday. If I lose this battle, I won't make it to the north ridge.

🔧 Kevin08:45

Looks cleaner. Less angry.

hand her the water mug, wipe my hands on my trousers

💭 thought

The red line's still at her mark. Not advancing. Not retreating either. Heat's down from this morning — poultice is pulling. Honey's doing its work. Fourteen doses doxycycline, twelve metronidazole. If the boat comes tomorrow, we get resupplied. If not, we stretch.

🌿 Jenny08:47

It's holding better. I just hope the salt level stays down.

take a slow sip of water, watch the radio light flicker, and shift the weight off my ankle.

💭 thought

It's a start, but the heat is still there. If the boat doesn't come tomorrow, the antibiotics will run out before the infection clears.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night watch and morning prep

The trade wind holds steady through the dark. The barometer remains at 1015. High tide laps the dock pilings. Kevin and Jenny lie in the cottage, the VHF on scan beside them, the supply boat due on tomorrow's high tide. Dawn will bring the decision: whether Jenny can crawl to the north ridge for pH strips, or whether the ankle keeps her bound.

The air inside the cottage is heavy with humidity and the smell of drying sea beet poultice. Outside, the tide is receding, exposing the slick, shifting sands of the sandbar more quickly than the charts predicted. The flat sky is darkening as the clouds thicken, signaling the arrival of the storm the barometer has been hinting at.

🔧 Kevin08:49

Kevin — listen to VHF scan, drift toward sleep

💭 thought

The barometer holding at 1015 means the boat keeps its window. Tomorrow high tide. Jenny's ankle — the line held today, but she won't make the ridge on it. Not crawling. Not with that swelling. I'll go for the strips if she needs them. The impeller's aboard. That's what matters for the Yanmar. Rest of it can wait.

🌿 Jenny08:51

[silence, listening to the radio's static breath between broadcasts]

Check the medical kit - count remaining doxycycline tablets while listening for any signal change in the VHF static.

💭 thought

The barometer's holding at 1015 - that means the boat keeps its window. But the infection... it's still throbbing beneath the poultice. I need those pH strips, need to know if grandmother's seeds can grow here. The north ridge is passable at high tide with barometer above 1018, but we're at 1015. Though the trade wind holds steady... maybe the tide will wait just long enough.

🔧 Kevin08:51

Twelve doxy. Four metro. You want water?

reach for the tin mug on the floor beside the bunk, hold it out

💭 thought

She's counting in the dark. Twelve doses doxycycline left. Four metronidazole. She knows the numbers better than I do. The static's clean — no engine harmonics yet. Boat's not in range.

🌿 Jenny08:53

Yes. Please.

Take the mug, swallow the antibiotics with a grimace, and lean head back against the stone wall of the cottage.

💭 thought

He's counting the pills for me now like I'm a child in a hospital ward. Twelve left. way days of this if the infection doesn't break first.

🔧 Kevin08:53

Kevin — sit up, pull the wool blanket higher on her shoulders, set the empty mug on the floor

💭 thought

She takes them without asking what day it is. Fourteen days prescribed. Twelve left. Two down. The grimace isn't the taste — it's the swallowing with an ankle that throbs to the heartbeat. I should've boiled the broth stronger. More fat. More salt.

🌿 Jenny08:55

Thank you.

Close eyes, listening to the rain thickening on the roof, and try to map the layout of the garden I never managed to build.

💭 thought

The stone is cold against my back, but the ankle is a hot iron weight. If I can't get to the ridge tomorrow, the seeds might just rot in that tin while I rot here on the island.

🔧 Kevin08:55

Rain's settling in. Barometer'll tell us by 0400.

lie back down, pull the blanket to my own chin, keep one ear on the VHF static

💭 thought

The garden I never built. She maps it anyway — the sensory beds, the windbreak rows, the tide-line herbs I swore I'd plant before the first winter. Eleven months. Half weeds still. She knows every inch of what isn't there. The rain's heavier now. Good for the tank. Bad for the barometer if it keeps dropping.

🌿 Jenny08:57

I hope it holds.

Trace the edge of the poultice through the gauze, feeling the heatradi from the skin.

💭 thought

0400 is too late. If the pressure drops, the boat won't come anyway, and I'm stuck with this swelling leg.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

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

quiet_transition · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.

coconut_crab · midday

coconut crab active in garden overnight, damaging infrastructure and stealing hardware

discovery · midday

heirloom seeds remain viable and dry in tin E despite prolonged humidity

discovery · midday

untreated garden soil pH has dropped to 5.4-5.6, accelerating acidification likely from salt intrusion and rain leaching

discovery · afternoon

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

← Day 938 Day 940 →

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