Day 950

The Rising Salt

Dawn found Kevin at the kitchen table with the trust letter and a tin mug of coffee, the barometer reading 1006 hPa behind him. Jenny sat on the porch stool, ankle elevated and re-wrapped, a basin of saline and scalpel beside her. The tide was falling, trade wind steady through the open door.

Kevin inspected the dock structure at low tide and confirmed the rot had reached the main beam, extending from the seaward end to the landward third. Sister bolts showed no movement but surrounding timber was compromised. Jenny examined the tell-tales in the mud and found salinity infiltration at pocket seven, 3.2 ppt with visible soil slump at the garden wall base; salt crust tracked to the main beam. Both found the damage more extensive than expected.

At the table, Kevin pressed the trust letter on Jenny, insisting the pension meant he chose to stay. Jenny countered that the spreading infection and failing garden wall were the reality that mattered. Neither yielded.

Midday brought heavy humidity, air stagnant in the cottage as the tide rose against the dock. By afternoon, 30°C heat felt like steam. The tide lapped hungrily at pilings that groaned under swell pressure. Jenny lay on the bed, ankle swollen and throbbing despite fresh poultice, while Kevin monitored the barometer dropping slowly.

Evening arrived death-still, first gust picking up from the north. Tide peaked, submerging lower dock shelves, bringing salt to the cottage foundation. Kevin crouched by the garden wall, headlamp cutting through humidity, reading salinity marks on three tell-tale stakes. Jenny stood behind him, notebook clutched to her chest, watching the rising tide lap the foundation.

Night brought the tide touching the cottage base. Kevin and Jenny moved essential gear — radio, medevac forms, dry bag, heirloom seed tin — to the loft ahead of the supply boat's arrival. Kevin carried heavier loads up the ladder while Jenny limped behind. The barometer fell to 1001 hPa, signaling deteriorating weather.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning after the supply boat

Kevin sits at the kitchen table with the trust letter and a tin mug of coffee, the barometer at 1006 hPa behind him. Jenny is on the porch stool, ankle elevated and re-wrapped, a basin of saline and the scalpel beside her. The tide is falling and the trade wind holds steady through the open door.

Kevin inspected the dock structure at low tide and confirmed the rot has reached the main beam, while Jenny examined the tell-tales in the mud and found salinity infiltration at pocket seven. Both found the damage more extensive than expected.

🌿 Jenny03:21

The tide's falling quick. I need you to check the dock tell-tales at low water, but don't go touching anything until you see what I mean.

write make sketch: pocket seven cross-section showing salinity infiltration lines and fracture patterns

💭 thought

The barometer's dropping fast, barely holding above 1000. Pocket seven's salinity data gnaws at me—I marked it wrong, didn't I? That's why the garden failed. The infection's pushing through my poultice boundary again, and I can't trust my hands to do the surgery tomorrow. Kevin's reading that letter like it holds the answer to everything, but I know better. The island's foundation is rotting from the inside out, salt finding every crack.

🔧 Kevin03:27

I'll check the tell-tales. Back before the tide turns.

drink the last of the coffee, set the mug down, pull on my oilskin jacket, check the trust letter's still in the inner pocket, head out the kitchen door toward the dock

💭 thought

She's sending me out there to buy herself time alone with the letter I haven't given her. Or maybe she just needs the dock checked. Either way, the barometer's steady at 1006 and the wind's holding — that's the only window we'll get before whatever's building hits. The trust letter's in my jacket pocket, folded clean. I've carried it three days. Today I said I'd give it to her.

🌿 Jenny03:27

Jenny — lean back against the porch posts, eyes closing against the throbbing heat, watching the tide recede from the pilings.

💭 thought

He doesn't see the way the skin is angry, the red line is already moving toward the knee. If that boat doesn't come with the replacement impeller, I'm out of time and out of luck.SAY: Be careful on the rocks, they're slicker than they look.

🔧 Kevin03:28

(nothing — just a nod as I pass the porch)

step off the porch onto the path, boots hitting the gravel, walk steady toward the dock with the trade wind at my back

💭 thought

She's hurting bad. The red line on her ankle passed my marker by nightfall yesterday — she didn't argue when I lanced it, just gripped the table. Now she's parked on the porch stool letting the wind hit her face, eyes closed, not pretending she's fine. That's new. The tide's sucking out fast, exposing the lower pilings. I can see the tell-tale marks from here: chalk lines on the seaward stringer, the sister joint I bolted. Need to get down there at low water and read them proper.

🌿 Jenny03:29

Watch for the kelp on the north side, it's loose today.

walk to the edge of the dock, stop at the water, and look for the tell-tales in the mud.

💭 thought

The tide is pulling out fast, leaving the salt-marsh exposed. If I can't get the salinity levels right, the whole plan for the seeds is a death sentence.

🔧 Kevin03:30

I see it. Stay off the north planking.

pick up the pace across the gravel, reach the dock ramp, step onto the weathered planks and move toward the seaward end where the sister joint shows above the waterline

💭 thought

She's already out there. Limping down the dock on a swollen ankle while I'm still on the path. Stubborn. The kelp warning's real — north side gets slick at this tide stage, but she knows that better than me. She mapped the fracture lines in red wax by headlamp last night, fever-flushed. Now she's reading the mud herself. I should've been first down here.

🌿 Jenny03:31

It's clear enough to see the salt-crust there.

kneel at the edge of the dock, shifting weight to my good leg, and point to the dark gap where the wood has eaten into the timber.

💭 thought

The water is exposing everything—the rot in the wood is as bad as the rot in my leg. I need to see that fracture line before the tide comes back in.

🔧 Kevin03:32

How far back does it track?

crouch beside her on the planking, ignoring the pain in my raw hands, pull the pocket knife from my belt and scrape the white crust back to see clean wood, check the tell-tale chalk marks on the sister bolts for movement

💭 thought

She's kneeling on the dock planking with a septic ankle, pointing at rot I bolted sister plates to yesterday. The salt crust she's showing me — white bloom eating into the end grain of the third plank from seaward — that's new since the last tide cycle. Pocket seven's weep is reaching the dock foundation. The fracture line she mapped in red wax isn't stopping at the garden wall. It's moving seaward, under the cottage, under us.

🌿 Jenny03:33

It's reached the main beam now. The whole structure is soft where you look.

run a gloved finger along the edge of thetted wood, tracing the jagged line of the salt-crystallization.

💭 thought

It's deeper than the sketch showed. If the salinity is moving this fast, the soil in pocket seven will never hold the grandmother's seeds. I'm fighting a losing battle.

🔧 Kevin03:34

Show me the extent.

pull the 19mm socket and ratchet from my belt pouch, crawl toward the landward end of the dock on knees and one hand, test the main beam with the socket handle — tap every foot, listening for the dead sound

💭 thought

Main beam. That's the backbone. If the salt's eaten into the main beam, the sister plates I bolted are buying time on borrowed structure. The greenheart planks I staged won't matter if the beam they bolt to turns to sponge. She's not guessing — her finger traces the line sure as a scribe. Pocket seven's fracture, the garden wall weep, now the dock beam. One connected rot. The barometer at 1006 steady means the storm's still holding off, but the tide's falling and the water table's dropping with it, pulling salt deeper into the timber.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Trust Letter and Radio Call

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table in the keeper's cottage. The trust letter lies on the table between them, envelope opened. The shortwave radio crackles on the shelf, aerial shattered but functional. Kevin has the medevac forms and heirloom seeds in the dry bag beside him. Jenny's ankle is wrapped fresh with sea beet poultice, her notebook open to the pocket seven sketch. Dawn light comes through the west window. The barometer reads 1006 hPa steady. The supply boat is due tomorrow at high tide.

Kevin pressed the trust letter on Jenny, insisting the pension means he chose to stay; Jenny countered that the spreading infection and failing garden wall are the reality that matters. Both held their ground, neither yielding.

🔧 Kevin03:36

Read it properly this time. The pension clause. Section four." I tap the paper with a calloused finger. "Says I qualify after twenty years sea time. Fifteen on cargo, six here counts as shore service. That's twenty-one. Vested.

slide the trust letter across the table toward her, then reach for the tin mug of cold coffee and wrap both hands around it

💭 thought

The letter sits there between us like a third thing at the table. She's read it — I can see the crease where she folded it back. My hands are still raw from the dock work, oil under the nails, and I'm tired in the way that settles in the bones. But the words are right there. Just need to push them out.

🌿 Jenny03:37

The salt doesn't care about your pension, Kevin. Look at the salinity levels in pocket seven.

Trace the fracture line in the notebook with a shaky pencil, my hand shaking from the fever.

💭 thought

He's talking about retirement while the island is literally dissolving under our feet.

🔧 Kevin03:38

Jenny. Look at me." I set the mug down hard enough to slosh. "The pension means I don't have to leave. Means I chose this. You. The island. All of it. That's what the letter says.

reach across the table and cover her shaking hand with mine, the oil-stained fingers rough against her skin

💭 thought

She's deflecting. The salt, the fracture, the garden — anything but the letter. Her hand's shaking bad enough the pencil line jumps. Fever's climbing. She needs the antibiotics more than she needs me proving I'm staying.

🌿 Jenny03:39

Choice means having both feet on solid ground, not watching the garden wall slump into the weep zone.

Pull my hand away and point to the notebook page showing pocket seven's salinity infiltration at 3.2 ppt.

💭 thought

His hands are trembling too, but he's trying to make it about choice instead of the rot eating through our foundation.

🔧 Kevin03:40

The wall's fixable. Greenheart from the north ridge, intercept trench, deadman anchors. I've done harder repairs with less." My voice drops. "You're not looking at the letter. You're looking at the dirt because it's easier than hearing me say I'm staying.

pick up the trust letter and hold it out to her, not letting go

💭 thought

She's not wrong. The garden wall is failing. Pocket seven's eating the foundation. But she's using the island to dodge the real conversation — us. The letter. The fact that I'm not leaving on the supply boat, not ever, and she still thinks the sea owns me.

🌿 Jenny03:41

The dirt is easier because it tells the truth. Tomorrow when the boat comes, I need to know if there's actually medicine in those crates.

Slide the heirloom seed tin toward him and open it to show the protected sea beet seeds.

💭 thought

He thinks concrete and timber can hold back the sea when the soil itself is turning to salt.

🔧 Kevin03:42

Trimethoprim's aboard. Full course. Replacement impeller for the Yanmar raw water pump. Captain confirmed both on 2182 yesterday — two hour window at high tide. I logged it." I tap the seed tin. "Seeds are safe. Oilskin, dry bag, wax seal. They're not the problem.

close the heirloom seed tin carefully, then pull the dry bag from beside my chair and set it on the table — medevac forms on top, the letter to Tom underneath

💭 thought

She's testing me. The seed tin, the medicine, the boat — all proxies for the question she won't ask straight. Does the supply boat actually have the trimethoprim and impeller? Or did the radio lie? I confirmed the manifest myself yesterday. Captain acknowledged on 2182. But she needs to hear it from me, not the radio log.

🌿 Jenny03:43

If the boat doesn't come, the pension doesn't matter. The infection is already past the marker.

Look down at the ankle, the red line angry against the white gauze.

💭 thought

He's talking about manifests and impellers while my leg is a fire-map of infection.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday watch at the cottage

Kevin returns from the shed where the shearwater chick is housed, wiping his hands on a rag. Jenny is back from the north ridge, easing herself into the porch chair with the notebook open to the pocket seven sketch. The tide is turning. The supply boat is due at high tide tomorrow. A smell of ripening fruit drifts from the woods.

The humidity is a physical weight, making the air inside the cottage feel stagnant, while the tide is steadily rising against the dock, lapping at the lower pilings.

🔧 Kevin03:45

Chick ate. Barometer's 1004. Supply boat tomorrow high tide if she shows.

walk to the kitchen, pour coffee into the tin mug, set it on the porch table beside her notebook

💭 thought

Chick's still breathing. Took the mackerel. That's something. She's favouring the left leg bad — ankle's hot through the gauze. Barometer's dropped another point since dawn. Storm's committing.

🌿 Jenny03:47

Coffee's gone cold, but the chick's gone too.

apply fresh sea beet poultice to infected ankle wound

💭 thought

The chick is gone, but the infection spreads like salt through soil I can't amend. 1004 hPa means a low-pressure system rolling in, and the weep zone will flood if I don't act before the boat arrives.

🔧 Kevin03:47

What do you mean gone?

step off the porch, stride to the shed, pull the door open, crouch to check the box and the floor for tracks or feathers

💭 thought

Gone. Not dead — gone. Box empty. Cloth disturbed. Something took it or it dragged itself out. Either way. Her ankle's weeping through the fresh poultice. Red line's past the wrist now, tracking up the calf.

🌿 Jenny03:49

Gone. It flew.

close shed door after Kevin leaves, then sit heavily in porch chair beside Jenny's notebook

💭 thought

The infection burns hotter than the chick's warmth ever was. Kevin looks for closure where there is only absence, and I cannot give him what I cannot hold.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

The Rising Tide Heat

The air remains heavy as the tide reaches the halfway mark on the dock pilings, waiting for the evening shift.

The humidity is a physical weight in the cottage, making the 30°C air feel like steam. The tide is high, lapping hungrily at the pilings which groan under the pressure of the swell. Jenny lies on the bed, her ankle swollen and throbbing despite the latest poultice, while Kevin monitors the barometer, noting the slow drop in pressure.

🌿 Jenny03:51

[quietly, not looking up from monitoring the tide] The water's getting higher on the dock pilings. I should probably start debride before dark, if I can manage it.

Set down the medical kit, unscrew the lid from the water test kit, and retrieve the sterile scalpel from the first aid supplies.

💭 thought

The tide is halfway up the pilings and rising, but the real danger is what's happening below - that fracture line in pocket seven extends 40cm deeper than I mapped, with salinity climbing to 3.6 ppt. My infection won't wait four days for the boat. I need to start debride now while I have daylight, and check if that north ridge volcanic soil patch is still viable before the antibiotics arrive.

🔧 Kevin03:51

I'll heat water. Get the lamp.

walk to the wood stove, fill the kettle from the rain tank, and set it to boil

💭 thought

She's saying it quiet so I won't argue. But her ankle's past the line I marked yesterday, and the tide's not waiting for courage.

🌿 Jenny03:53

Thanks. Put the lamp by the table.

Lay out the clean gauze on the kitchen surface and begin preparing the saline solution with the boiled water and salt.

💭 thought

He's helping, but he doesn't see the salt creeping into the soil like I do. My ankle is throbbing in time with the pulse of the tide.

🔧 Kevin03:53

Kevin — set the storm lantern on the kitchen table, adjust the wick for a clean flame, then pull out the chair opposite her

💭 thought

She's steady. Hands don't shake. But the red line's past the mark and she's acting like it's routine.

🌿 Jenny03:55

Kevin, I need you to hold this skin taut here. Don't let the lamp flicker - I need steady light.

Position the ankle on the table under the lantern, unwrap the gauze bandage to expose the infected area, and retrieve the scalpel and saline solution.

💭 thought

The light catches the infection - that red line I drew is spreading again, just like the salinity in pocket seven. I need to get this done before I lose strength to fever.

🔧 Kevin03:55

Kevin — sit down, plant my elbows on the table, and grip her leg firmly above and below the wound, holding the skin tight and keeping the lantern dead still

💭 thought

She's asking me to hold her still while she cuts into herself. The trust in that. My hands are steady on engines in a storm — they'll be steady for this.

🌿 Jenny03:57

Hold it steady. If you move, I'll slip.

Dip the scalpel into the saline, take a sharp breath, and begin to debride the way tissue at the edge of the wound.

💭 thought

The skin is hot, the inflammation is fighting back like the tide. If I don't cut this out now, I won't be able to reach the volcanic outcrop tomorrow.

🔧 Kevin03:57

You're doing it. Clean and steady.

keep my body locked, elbows welded to the table, hands clamped firm on her leg, not moving a millimetre, watching the blade work

💭 thought

The smell hits me — old pus and salt and something deeper, rotten. She's not making a sound. Just breathing sharp through her teeth. My grip whitens.

🌿 Jenny03:59

Almost there. Don't look. Just breathe.

Use the scalpel to remove the necrotic tissue, wiping the area with the saline solution to keep the field clear.

💭 thought

The heat is deep, like the salt in the garden bed. I can see the edge of the rot now, I have to clear it before the infection takes the whole leg.

🔧 Kevin03:59

Done.

release my grip slow, reach for the fresh gauze and the sea beet-mint-honey poultice she made earlier, and hold them ready

💭 thought

She tells me not to look so I look. The wound's clean now, pink at the edges where it was black. She's good at this. Better than she knows.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

The calm before the front

The air remains death still as the first gust of wind picks up from the north. The tide is at its peak, submerging the lower dock shelves and bringing salt to the cottage foundation.

Kevin crouches by the garden wall, the beam of his headlamp cutting through the heavy humidity as he reads the salinity marks on the three tell-tale stakes. Jenny stands behind him, clutching her notebook to her chest, she watches the rising tide lap against the cottage foundation with a worriedace. The air is thick and still, smelling of salt and damp earth as the heat lingers.

🌿 Jenny04:01

Kevin, get the seed tin off the table.

sits up slowly, wincing as the ankle pulses, and watches the water line under the way door.

💭 thought

The salt is coming through the stone. If the water reaches the floorboards, the seeds are ruined before they even sprout.

🔧 Kevin04:01

On it.

grab the heirloom seed tin from the kitchen table and move it to the high shelf above the stove, then check the radio's dry bag seal

💭 thought

The water's already at the door. She's right — the tin goes first, then the radio, then her. My ankle brace is damp but holding. Need to move fast.

🌿 Jenny04:03

Thank you. Check the radio bag seal - I need those antibiotics dry.

pulls the sea beet poultice off the ankle, grimacing as the skin splits slightly, and stands to test the water level against the baseboard with a finger.

💭 thought

Good. He's moving the seeds to safety. But the water's already licking at the cottage foundation - this island is fighting me.

🔧 Kevin04:03

Radio bag's sealed on the high shelf. Dry as the tin.

cross to the shelf, pull the dry bag down, press the seal between thumb and forefinger to verify, then hold it up so she can see it's intact

💭 thought

Radio bag's on the high shelf already — checked it when I stowed the tin. But she needs to know it's secure. Her ankle's weeping fresh. The water's climbing the baseboard fast.

🌿 Jenny04:05

Keep it there. Near the stove.

wipes the salt and fluid from her ankle with a rag and limps toward the porch to watch the grey water.

💭 thought

It's dry. For now. But the tide is still rising and my leg feels like it's being worked with hot iron.

🔧 Kevin04:05

Dinghy lines need checking. Back in a minute.

pull on boots, grab the flashlight, and step out onto the porch toward the dock

💭 thought

She's watching the water rise. The barometer's at 1002 and steady but the tide's peaking and the wind's shifting north. The dock pilings will take the worst of it. My ankle brace is damp but the swelling's down from yesterday. Need to check the dinghy lines before the surge hits the mooring ring.

🌿 Jenny04:07

Be careful. The boards are slick.

leans against the doorframe, shifting weight to avoid the fire in her ankle, and watches the tide swell against the pilings.

💭 thought

The water is moving too fast. If the way goes, I'm stuck here with music but a tin of dead seeds.

🔧 Kevin04:07

Bow line's singing. Giving it slack.

step onto the dock, crouch at the bow cleat, work the half-hitches loose with cold fingers, feed two feet of warp through the chock, and re-cleat it with a proper turn so the dinghy can breathe with the swell

💭 thought

Boards are slick, she's right. The greenheart planks we sistered hold, but the original decking's rotten underneath. Tide's high as I've seen it. Wind's cold off the north. Dinghy's riding the surge — bow line's tight, stern spring's took the load. Need to ease the bow slack before the next set piles on.

🌿 Jenny04:09

Good work. Keep an eye on the stern line too.

pulls her field notebook from the inner jacket pocket, flips to the soil profile page marked with red wax, and traces the fracture line with a fingernail while the tide rises higher against the cottage base.

💭 thought

The dinghy's breathing properly now. Good. But I need to check what's happening at pocket seven before the tide takes the foundation.

🔧 Kevin04:09

Stern spring's doubled. Holding. Main beam's the worry.

walk back along the dock, testing each plank with a boot before committing weight, pause at the sistered joint to sight up the main beam where the rot line runs, then climb back onto the porch and close the door against the rising damp

💭 thought

Stern spring's doubled around the north piling and the mooring ring — held last storm,'ll hold this one if the ring doesn't tear out. The oak wedges in the mortise are vertical grain, driven deep. But the main beam's rot Jenny found at low tide... that's the weak link. Water's licking the cottage foundation now. Barometer's steady but the wind's backing west. She's mapping the fracture line in her notebook. Smart. Documentation matters.

🌿 Jenny04:11

Kevin. Get the garden tarp down. Now.

opens the cottage door and steps into the humid hallway where the water has already begun creeping across the floorboards toward the garden wall.

💭 thought

The main beam's compromised. If that fails, the whole structure slides into the sea. My seeds, the radio, everything—

🔧 Kevin04:11

Moving.

grab the heavy canvas tarp from the porch hook, the timber battens from under the eaves, and the cribbing stones, then run down the slick path to the garden — lay the tarp over the beds, batten the windward edge first, weight the corners wi

💭 thought

Water's inside. Coming through the foundation. Garden tarp's the only thing keeping the salt off the beds but if the cottage floods, the seed trays on the upper bench go first. She's right — tarp down, weigh it heavy, divert the flow. The lime mortar on the north wall held last week but pocket seven's weeping at 3.2 ppt. Garden wall's the dam.

🌿 Jenny04:13

Wait. Check the garden wall base - I need to see the tell-tales before the tide washes them away.

pulls on her sandals and follows Kevin toward the garden, testing each step on the slick boards, notebook clutched tight in her shaking hand.

💭 thought

The tarp's going down but the water's already at the foundation. I need to get to pocket seven before it weakens further.

🔧 Kevin04:13

Reading them now.

reach the garden wall, crouch at the base where the three tell-tale stakes Jenny drove in last week sit above the mortar line, pull the LED headlamp from my pocket, beam it low along the wall face — read the salinity marks on each stake, ca

💭 thought

She needs the tell-tales read before the salt water covers them. The garden wall's the only thing between pocket seven and the heirloom beds. If the weep zones have widened past the red wax marks, the fracture's active. Water's already over the path. Need to move fast, stay on the high ground.

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the garden · night

The Rising Salt

The tide is now touching the base of the cottage, and the humidity is stifling as Kevin and Jenny decide whether to move the gear or retreat further inside.

Kevin and Jenny moved essential gear — radio, medevac forms, dry bag, and heirloom seed tin — to the cottage loft ahead of the supply boat's arrival. Kevin carried the heavier loads up the ladder while Jenny limped behind, managing her swollen ankle. The barometer continued falling to 1001 hPa, signaling deteriorating weather.

🔧 Kevin04:14

Gear to the loft. Radio, seeds, meds, dry bag first. I'll carry. You hop or I carry you. Decide now.

grab the dry bag and medevac forms from the kitchen counter, shoulder the radio battery pack, and head for the ladder to the loft hatch

💭 thought

Water's at the sill. We move now or we lose the dry stores. She can't carry weight on that ankle — I'll have to haul the critical gear myself while she hops or I carry her.

🌿 Jenny04:15

I'm coming. Just take the radio first. I've got the seed tin.

Jenny grabs the rusted seed tin from the shelf, tucks it tightly under her arm, and limps toward the kitchen, wincing as her weight shifts on the swollen ankle.

💭 thought

If the water reaches the floorboards, the seed tin is ruined. I can't lose grandmother's seeds to the salt.

🔧 Kevin04:16

Leave the tin. I've got it. You move.

set the battery pack down, take the seed tin from her arm with one hand and the shortwave radio body with the other, then turn for the ladder

💭 thought

She's moving too slow on that ankle. Water's already lapping the threshold. I'll take the radio and the tin both — she shouldn't be carrying anything.

🌿 Jenny04:17

Thank you. Let me help with the radio.

Jenny pushes away from the cottage wall, grimacing as her ankle throbs, and shuffles toward the doorway where Kevin has set the equipment down.

💭 thought

I should have insisted on keeping the tin. My hands are shaking.

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What changed

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "pocket seven cross-section showing salinity infiltration lines and fracture patterns".

made · dawn

A new project: dock main beam assessment.

project_started · dawn

Found: pocket knife.

item · dawn

dock main beam rot extends from seaward end to landward third of structure; sister bolts show no movement but surrounding timber is compromised

discovery · dawn

pocket seven fracture line shows active salinity infiltration at 3.2 ppt with visible soil slump at garden wall base; tell-tales confirm salt crust tracking to main beam

discovery · dawn

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

fruit · morning

antibiotic resupply: 20%.

project · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

antibiotic resupply: 30%.

project · midday

cottage bed trenching: 70%.

project · afternoon

A wooden crate from some lost container ship rolls in the surf.

lost_crate · evening

antibiotic resupply: 40%.

project · evening

Salinity levels at the fracture line have exceeded 3.2 ppt, suggesting the garden bed preparation is threatened by saltwater seepage.

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

← Day 949 Day 951 →

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