Day 957

One More Tide

Evening brought steady rain. Kevin monitored the curing sealant. Jenny took the first dose of doxycycline with broth, leg elevated, the ditch bag packed with medevac forms and heirloom seeds beside empty jerry cans and the last water test strips. "Dock holds one more tide," Kevin said. "Tomorrow works." She repeated it like a prayer.

Dawn found Kevin at the kitchen table, headphones on, tuning 6215 kHz while the barometer sat at 996 hPa and falling. Jenny stood at the porch door with her water test kit, a bucket of limpets waiting on the stove. The 0600 window yielded only a Korean news broadcast bleeding across the band — no supply boat reply. She measured the rain tank at 367 litres, then traced the generator feed line and found a hairline split in the rubber hose where it passed over the tank bracket, weeping diesel onto the shed floor.

Kevin repaired the diesel can seam with marine sealant and replaced the generator's cracked fuel hose with marine-grade line, bleeding the system successfully. Jenny tested soil pH at pocket seven — 6.2, marked as a weep zone with slump notation — applied lime around sea beet seedlings, and reapplied poultice to her ankle, but worsening pain interrupted her seed potato prep.

At the afternoon window, Kevin made contact: the supply boat confirmed tomorrow's arrival at high tide. Jenny planted grandmother's seed potatoes in pocket three (pH 6.8) despite having bedded them in pocket seven earlier, reapplied sea beet-mint poultice, and read Tom's letter as infection tracked red streaks up her calf.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning radio watch and lime work

Kevin sits at the kitchen table with the shortwave radio, headphones on, tuning 6215 kHz at first light while the barometer reads 996 hPa and falling. Jenny stands at the porch door, water test kit in hand, ready to walk the north ridge and check pH at the five heirloom planting pockets. The tide is rising, and a bucket of fresh limpets waits on the stove to be cooked.

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

🌿 Jenny10:53

I'm going up to the ridge. Don't call me unless the boat is early.

Grab the test strips and the lime bag, then walk toward the north path.

💭 thought

If the pressure drops further, the ridge will be a slide of mud. I need to get these readings done before the rain starts.

🔧 Kevin10:53

Copy. Ridge first, radio second. Back before the tide cuts the return.

key 6215 kHz on the shortwave, headphones on, log time and barometer 996 hPa falling

💭 thought

She's moving faster than the ankle should let her. The ridge path's slick in this humidity — one wrong step on the weep zones and she's down again. But she won't take the cane, won't take help, and calling it out loud only makes her dig in. I'll key the mic, log the window, and if the boat answers I'll know before she's halfway up. If it doesn't, I've got lime to spread and sea beet to plant in pocket seven before the tide turns the path to mud.

🌿 Jenny10:55

Got it. I'll be quick—this lime won't spread itself.

Start up the north ridge path, test strips ready in hand, lime sack slung over shoulder.

💭 thought

The pressure's dropping faster than yesterday. I can feel the air getting heavier, more humid. If it hits 990 before I'm done, I need to bail.

🔧 Kevin10:55

(nothing — mic hot, listening)

hold 6215 kHz, log static, eyes on the ridge path where she disappeared into the gorse

💭 thought

She's already fifty metres up and the path's greased with last night's dew. Pocket seven's on the slip face — if she loses footing there with a lime sack, the ankle gives. I should've made her take the cane. Should've walked it with her. Radio's dead air so far, just atmospheric crackle on 6215. Next window's in forty minutes. I'll listen through it, then haul the second lime sack and the sea beet trays up myself. The seedlings won't wait for perfect conditions.

🌿 Jenny10:57

Jenny — stop at the first planting location on the ridge, dig a small hole, and prepare the water test strip.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing with every step. If the soil is too acidic here, I'm going to be way grandmother's seeds for nothing.

🔧 Kevin10:57

(silence, mic open)

watch the ridge through the kitchen window, hand on the mic gain, wait for the supply boat window to close

💭 thought

First pocket's the control — untreated soil, should read 5.5 if the log holds. She's kneeling on the slope, favouring the left leg. Can't see her hands from here but the posture's wrong: weight back, not centred. One shift on wet shale and she slides. Radio's still nothing but hiss. Barometer's dropped another point since dawn. If the supply boat's coming, it's not talking yet. I'll give this window five more minutes, then kill the mic and move. The sea beet trays are staged by the garden gate. Lime sack two's on the porch. She'll need help on pocket seven — the weep zone's a slick chute even dry.

🌿 Jenny10:59

Jenny — drop the soil sample into the test water and wait for the color to change.

flagged: repeated_opener

💭 thought

The humidity is making the paper curl. If I don't get the pH right now, the rain will ruin the samples.

🔧 Kevin11:00

(mic click — off)

hang headphones, grab second lime sack and sea beet seedling trays from porch, start up the north ridge path

💭 thought

She's holding the vial up to the grey light, waiting. The ridge wind's picking up — can see it in the gorse tips. Pocket one's the easy read. Pocket seven's two hundred metres further along the spine where the fracture line crosses the path. She'll have to traverse the slump zone to reach it. Radio window's closing. No boat. No voice. Just static and the barometer falling slow and steady. Time to move.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin held the 0600 window on 6215 kHz and heard only a Korean-language news broadcast bleeding across the band; no supply boat reply. Jenny measured the rain tank at 367 litres, then traced the generator feed line and found a hairline split in the rubber hose where it passes over the tank bracket, weeping diesel onto the shed floor.

🌿 Jenny11:03

The tank is holding for now, but the air is too heavy.

Sit on the kitchen chair, rubbing the swollen skin of my ankle, and open the tin of seeds to check for mold.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the rain on the roof, and I need to check the water level before the pressure drops too much further.

🔧 Kevin11:03

Barometer hasn't moved in six hours. Front's parked on top of us.

walk to the porch and key the shortwave on 6215 kHz, listening for the supply boat window

💭 thought

She's right about the air — 996 and steady means the front's stalled, not clearing. The humidity's already wrecking the epoxy cure on the diesel can and the seed trays. She's checking the tin because she doesn't trust my storage, and she's not wrong to.

🌿 Jenny11:05

I'll check the water level after you.

Rise slowly from the chair, careful not to put weight on my right ankle, and move toward the kitchen sink to inspect the rainwater gauge.

💭 thought

Six hours of stagnant barometer means we're in the eye of whatever's coming, and Kevin's already reaching for the radio while I'm still sitting here.

🔧 Kevin11:05

Tank's at three-sixty-seven. Generator ate twenty litres yesterday. Drum's sealed but the feed line's got air bubbles — leak upstream of the tank.

hold the mic off-hook, ear to the speaker, waiting through the static for the 0600 window on 6215

💭 thought

She's moving slow on that ankle. The swelling hasn't gone down since the debridement yesterday. Metronidazole should be hitting the anaerobic load by now but the heat in the joint says otherwise. She's checking the tank because she knows I burned twenty litres yesterday and the generator's still drinking.

🌿 Jenny11:07

I'll mark the water level and check the feed line while you listen.

Grab the measuring stick from the shelf and press it against the tank wall to mark the current level, then move toward the generator shed to inspect the fuel line connections.

💭 thought

Three hundred sixty-seven litres and counting, but the generator's drinking fuel faster than the rain's filling the tank, and those air bubbles in the feed line mean we're losing prime.

🔧 Kevin11:07

Copy. Call it if you see wet.

press the mic button, speak clear into the dead air: "Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Kilo Victor Four calling supply vessel on six-two-one-five. Over."

💭 thought

Good. She's doing the line check I should've done yesterday. The air bubbles mean either the drum's pickup is sucking air or there's a weep at the filter housing clamp — bolt stripped, clamp's holding by prayer. She'll find it. She always finds what I miss.

🌿 Jenny11:09

I'm going to see if that tank is actually lower than I thought after the heat. continuedDO: Stand up slowly, wincing as the sharp throb hits in my ankle, and walk out the back door to reach the rain tank.

💭 thought

He's way so confident with the radio, like the airwaves actually listen to him.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Midday work split

Kevin is at the cottage with the shortwave, preparing the next contact window. Jenny is at the north ridge garden with test strips and seed potatoes.

Kevin repaired the diesel can seam with marine sealant and replaced the generator's cracked fuel hose with marine-grade line, bleeding the system successfully. Jenny tested soil pH at pocket seven, applied lime around sea beet seedlings, and reapplied poultice to her ankle, but her seed potato prep was interrupted by worsening ankle pain.

🌿 Jenny11:11

Just another day on this damn island.

test soil pH at pocket seven with water strip, apply lime around sea beet seedlings, check diesel hose seal, mark progress in soil pH log

💭 thought

pH 6.2 again—too low for grandmother's potatoes, but these sea beet seedlings are already showing salt stress. The lime needs work, and the ankle's throbbing with each step. That diesel leak under the shed is going to kill me if it worsens.

🔧 Kevin11:12

Kevin — wipe down the cracked diesel can seam with a rag, scrape out the old epoxy residue with the metal file, then apply marine sealant thick over the hairline cracks and let it cure.

💭 thought

The generator's miss is the air in the line from that hairline split. Need to bleed it after I seal the hose, but first the diesel can — twenty litres we can't afford to lose if the supply boat's delayed again. The epoxy didn't hold the deep pitting; marine sealant's thicker, might bridge it if I clean the seam proper this time.

🌿 Jenny11:15

I need to plant before the next squall hits.

mark pocket seven soil reading, apply extra lime around base of sea beet seedlings, check diesel hose under shed, prep seed potatoes for planting tomorrow morning

💭 thought

The strip shows 6.1—barely above the potato threshold. The sea beet leaves are curling more, and I can feel the infection flaring. That diesel hose repair won't hold much longer.

🔧 Kevin11:16

Kevin — move to the generator shed, shut down the engine, and replace the cracked fuel hose section with the marine-grade line from the crate. Then bleed the fuel system at the filter and injector.

💭 thought

Sealant's tacky on the can. Won't know if it holds until there's fuel pressure on it. The generator's still missing at idle — air in the line from that hose split. Need to replace the section, bleed the system, and get the Yanmar's raw water pump swapped before the boat comes. Impeller's in hand, gasket's ready. Just need the housing off.

🌿 Jenny11:19

Come on, Jenny. One more hour.

check the moisture level in the soil, reapply sea beet-mint poultice to ankle, inspect the diesel seam for new leaks, sketch the morphology of the sea beet leaves in the notebook.

💭 thought

The pH is dropping again. If I don't get the acidity right, grandmother's seeds will just rot in the dirt. My ankle is a nightmare today; the salt is getting into everything.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Supply boat contact and ankle crisis

Kevin works the shortwave at the cottage for the supply boat window; Jenny struggles at the garden with a worsening ankle infection as rain lashes the ridge.

Kevin made radio contact with the supply boat confirming tomorrow's arrival at high tide. Jenny tested soil pH at five north ridge planting sites and planted grandmother's seed potatoes in the most viable pocket, then reapplied sea beet-mint poultice to her worsening ankle infection.

🌿 Jenny11:25

Jenny — lean back against the cold stone wall, elevating the throbbing leg, and forcing a way sketch of a sea much flower onto the damp paper.

💭 thought

The infection is moving faster than the tide. If I can't get to the north ridge tomorrow, the seeds rot in the tin.

🔧 Kevin11:27

Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Kilo Sierra Oscar on six-two-one-five. Position five-one-two-zero North, zero-zero-four-three-zero West. Requesting supply boat ETA and radio check. Over.

key the mic on 6215 kHz, hold position, listen through the static for reply

💭 thought

994 steady. Good sign. Tubes warming. If the captain's out there he'll hear me. If not, I'll key again at noon. Medevac forms are signed, in the ditch bag. Jenny's ankle decides tomorrow.

🌿 Jenny11:29

way still, just stay.

Reach for the tin of antibiotic, fingers clumsy, and spread the sea beet poultice over the angry skin.

💭 thought

The heat in my leg is pulsing. I can see the heartbeat in the swelling.

🔧 Kevin11:30

Kevin — unkey the mic, let the receiver run, check the barometer again, wipe the headlamp lens on my sleeve

💭 thought

Nothing. Just static and the Korean broadcast bleeding over. Captain's either not listening or not there. I'll try the noon window. Barometer holding is the only news that matters.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening meal and supply boat final prep

Kevin and Jenny share a quiet meal at the cottage table as the overcast deepens toward evening. The supply boat is confirmed for tomorrow's high tide. Between them on the table: the ditch bag packed with medevac forms and heirloom seeds, the empty jerry cans, the last of the water test strips. Jenny's leg is propped on a stool, the fresh poultice visible beneath the gauze wrap. Kevin goes over the dock mooring lines one more time in his head.

Kevin spent the evening monitoring the curing marine sealant on the diesel can while the rain continued to fall. Jenny read the letter from Tom, managing the increasing pain in her ankle as the infection spreads up her calf.

🌿 Jenny11:35

The poultice is working, I think. Less heat. But I need to know - if the dock gives way before the boat comes, what happens to the heirloom seeds in the ditch bag?

Check the diesel can seam where the epoxy meets the metal edge, run a fingernail along the joint to feel for soft spots.

💭 thought

The poultice is cooling but the infection's still spreading. Pocket seven's pH was barely viable and now I'm wondering if I just poisoned grandmother's seeds with my false hope. Tomorrow's high tide window - if the dock fails, the crane won't load anything heavy, and those antibiotics might never reach me.

🔧 Kevin11:35

Ditch bag goes in the dinghy. Dinghy goes to the beach if the dock fails. Seeds stay dry in the oilskin. I've got the stern spring doubled on the north piling and the storm anchor off the bow. Dock holds for one more tide.

pour the last of the coffee from the kettle into both tin mugs, set one in front of Jenny

💭 thought

She's asking about the seeds because she knows I've already run the dock failure scenario. The ditch bag goes in the dinghy if the finger pier goes. But she's really asking if I've thought past that — what happens to us if the boat can't land.

🌿 Jenny11:37

One more tide and everything changes." I set down my mug, the words feeling inadequate against the weight of what we're deciding. "If tomorrow doesn't work...

Open the ditch bag and pull out the oilskin pouch containing grandmother's seeds, running a finger along the wax seal. The seeds are safe, but everything else - the antibiotics, the medevac forms, my chance to prove this soil can actually s

💭 thought

He's talking about contingency plans like it's just another repair checklist, but I can hear the worry in how he holds his mug - both hands now, like he's afraid it might slip. One more tide. Just one more tide and everything changes.

🔧 Kevin11:37

Tomorrow works. Captain confirmed. Impeller's aboard. Your antibiotics are aboard. Dock holds one more tide.

reach across the table and close the ditch bag's flap over the oilskin pouch, press my palm flat on it for a moment

💭 thought

She's not asking about the seeds. She's asking about the rest — the antibiotics she needs, the medevac she signed for, whether this place can actually sustain us or if we've been fooling ourselves. The oilskin pouch is warm from the stove shelf. I've held it a dozen times today.

🌿 Jenny11:39

Captain confirmed." I repeat it like a prayer, then look down at my swollen ankle. "The poultice is working. Less heat.

Reapply the sea beet-mint poultice with fresh gauze, the cool wet compress a brief mercy against the throbbing. Then open the north ridge soil pH log and circle the readings for pockets one through five, marking pocket seven with a small E

💭 thought

His palm on the bag, warm against the oilskin - like he's trying to will it to stay viable, to stay alive. One more tide and everything changes, but tomorrow it doesn't. The pouch is secure, the seeds are secure, the antibiotics are coming.

🔧 Kevin11:39

Pocket seven's the weep zone. Lime won't hold there. You planted the seed potatoes in pocket three — that's the call.

pull the soil pH log closer, study her circles, then tap the page at pocket three with one finger

💭 thought

She's marking pocket seven with an E. The same E on the rusted tin, the carved stone at the shrine, the softwood scrap I carved. She knows what it means. She's cataloguing what survives and what doesn't, same as me.

🌿 Jenny11:41

"Pocket three's reading 6.8 pH, slightly acidic but workable with the lime amendment I mixed in. The charcoal layer should help with drainage." I trace the marked spot on my map, then glance at the seed potatoes I carefully bedded in pocket seven anyway - what was I thinking?

Open the heirloom seed tin and count the remaining sea beet seeds, then carefully dig up one potato piece I planted in pocket seven and replant it in the correct slot at pocket three, ensuring the charcoal amendment stays intact.

💭 thought

Pocket three. I remember now - the soil plugs I dumped beside the auger holes this morning, the one that tested 6.8. Less weep zone activity up there, more stable. But the red wax marks on my ridge map... I marked pocket seven as viable because the pH was right, not because I wanted it to be.

🔧 Kevin11:41

Pocket three holds. You did the work. Sea beet's the backup if the potatoes fail — they'll take the salt.

reach into my jacket pocket, pull out the two antibiotic blister packs in oilcloth, set them on the table beside the ditch bag

💭 thought

She caught her own mistake before I had to. Pocket seven's a graveyard — slumping, weeping, pH 6.2 and dropping. She knows it. She just needed to say it out loud. The sea beet seeds in the tin are the real insurance; they'll grow in salt crust where potatoes won't.

🌿 Jenny11:43

The doxycycline course is twelve days, metronidazole fourteen. I should start tonight, before the pain gets worse." I take the packs reverently, then realize I'm staring at the oilskin pouch of grandmother's seeds. "These are going to be the first thing I plant when I get back - not in pocket seven where I panicked.

Transfer the sea beet seeds from the oilskin pouch into three small paper envelopes, labeling each one clearly, then place them alongside the antibiotic packs in the ditch bag for the dinghy journey tomorrow.

💭 thought

The antibiotics are here, real and wrapped in oilcloth, but my hands are shaking just looking at them. Pocket three holds, and I did the work, but the infection's still spreading and I'm supposed to trust that this soil will actually grow something.

🔧 Kevin11:43

First dose with broth. I'll wake you for the second.

slide the tin mug of warm limpet broth across the table to her, then pick up the folded medevac forms from the ditch bag and smooth the creases with my thumb

💭 thought

She said "when I get back." Not if. When. The blister packs are foil-sealed, full courses. She's already dosing in her head — tonight, twelve days, fourteen days. The sea beet envelopes are labeled in her hand. She's packing the ditch bag for the dinghy run tomorrow like it's already decided.

🌿 Jenny11:45

I'll take the broth now, then start the doxycycline. If the dock holds and the boat comes, I'll be here to plant those seeds properly.

Drink the warm limpet broth slowly, then open the antibiotic blister pack and take the first doxycycline tablet with a sip from the tin mug.

💭 thought

Warm limpet broth, the first dose of everything else - antibiotics for the infection, seeds for the future. Kevin smoothing the medevac forms with my thumb, like he's erasing the lines that might need to be signed. Tomorrow's high tide, but tonight I need to survive until dawn.

🔧 Kevin11:45

The forms are signed. Ditch bag's ready. Dinghy's ready. You ride, I row.

fold the medevac forms back into the ditch bag's inner pocket, zip it shut, and set the bag on the floor beside the table leg

💭 thought

She took the pill. Swallowed it with broth. The foil's torn open. Twelve days now. She's looking at me over the mug rim, waiting for something — the medevac forms in my hand, the letter in the dry bag, the thing neither of us says about the supply boat and what comes after.

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the keeper's cottage · night

NIGHT 957

The rain tapers to a steady drizzle as you sit inside the cottage. You prepare the first dose of doxycycline for Jenny while the tide laps higher against the dock pilings.

Kevin uses the radio to confirm the supply boat arrival while the air remains heavy and still. Jenny remains bedridden, struggling with the spreading heat in her calf as she reads the letter from Tom.

🌿 Jenny11:47

Jenny, the doxycycline. Take this with water from the tap.

Hand her the antibiotic blister pack while standing, careful not to shift my weight onto the infected ankle.

💭 thought

The infection's spreading faster than the antibiotics can reach it. I can see the heat radiating off her calf even through the gauze.

🔧 Kevin11:48

Sit down first. Elevate the leg. Full mug.

set the blister pack on the table, fill a tin mug from the tap, and hold it out to her

💭 thought

She's standing on it. Weight-bearing means the infection tracks faster up the lymphatics. She needs to sit, elevate, and take the full dose with a full mug of water — not a sip.

🌿 Jenny11:49

I know. Thanks.

Take the mug with a shaky hand and lean back against the chair, propping my ankle up on a stack of pillows.

💭 thought

I'm too tired to even argue about the height. My leg feels like it's in a vice.

🔧 Kevin11:49

Rest now. I'll check the ankle in four hours, swap the poultice.

pull the blanket up over her legs and set the storm lantern on the table beside the mug

💭 thought

Good. She's taking it seriously now. The shake in her hand could be fever or exhaustion — probably both. Fourteen days of doxycycline, twelve of metronidazole. First dose down. Need to watch the clock for the next one and keep the poultice rotating.

🌿 Jenny11:51

Don't let it get too cold.

Close my eyes and try to ignore the rhythmic heat in my calf.

💭 thought

Four hours is an eternity when your skin is throbbing like this. I just want the pain to stop screaming.

🔧 Kevin11:51

It won't.

check the wood stove, add a split of spruce kindling, and settle into the chair by the radio with the dry bag in reach

💭 thought

The rain's easing. Barometer held steady at 994. Supply boat tomorrow high tide if the captain keeps his word. Tonight I watch the ankle, the tank, the radio windows. And the letter in the dry bag.

🌿 Jenny11:53

The poultice is still in the kitchen, by the window.

Reach as far as I can toward the kitchen doorway, fingers brushing the cool linen of the window curtain.

💭 thought

The stove is already roaring, but I can feel the damp creeping into my bones.

🔧 Kevin11:53

I'll get it.

walk to the kitchen, scoop the poultice from the bowl with a clean spoon, return and gently unwrap the gauze from her ankle

💭 thought

She's burning up and reaching for a poultice she can't reach. The sea beet-mint-honey mix is on the kitchen counter by the window — fresh batch from this evening. I need to get it on her ankle before the heat drives the infection deeper.

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What changed

Kevin's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

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

quiet_transition · dawn

Found: cracked fuel hose section.

item · morning

Found: measuring stick.

item · morning

generator fuel line has a hairline crack where it rubs on the tank bracket, introducing air and leaking diesel

discovery · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

Jenny made a sketch: "Morphology of the sea beet leaves in the notebook".

made · midday

diesel can seam repair: 20%.

project · midday

ankle infection not responding to poultices; systemic signs — red streaks tracking up calf, fever likely

discovery · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "A sea much flower onto the damp paper".

made · afternoon

Found: grandmother's seed potatoes.

item · afternoon

north ridge pocket seven shows pH 6.2 but marked as weep zone with slump notation; three undermining zones identified at garden wall base

discovery · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

diesel can seam repair: 30%.

project · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

diesel can seam repair: 40%.

project · night

← Day 956 Day 958 →

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