Day 978

Supply Boat Arrives Early

The supply boat appeared off the north cliffs at high tide, two hours early. Kevin stood at the dock with the dinghy bow line in hand. Jenny braced herself on the porch rail, ankle propped on a crate, the sea beet poultice damp at the edges. The Yanmar coughed once, then caught. The radio crackled — Tom's voice, faint but clear: 'Sorrel Island, this is the Maru. We're in the window. How copy?'

Kevin cleared the fallen spruce from the garden path with the chainsaw, making the wheelbarrow route to the north ridge passable. He split the second spruce round and began hauling quarters toward the garden. Jenny cleaned and redressed her ankle wound with fresh poultice and sterile gauze, then inspected the Yanmar's raw water pump impeller seating and checked the diesel fuel line for leaks. She applied marine sealant to the generator fuel line's hairline split at the tank bracket and stirred limpet broth.

The shortwave crackled as the boat's horn sounded low across the water. Kevin keyed the mic: 'Maru, Sorrel Island. Copy you loud and clear. Kevin here.' Jenny took the mic: 'Maru, Kevin here. We're in the window. Yanmar's running, dock's secure. We need medical supplies and the replacement impeller for the raw water pump — my ankle's gone south.' Kevin followed: 'Maru, Sorrel Island. Medical priority one — deep infection, lower leg, spreading past marked boundary. Started trimethoprim, doxycycline, metronidazole from cache. Need full resupply and evac assessment. Impeller confirmed aboard?'

The manifest was confirmed: impeller, copper seating washer, marine-grade fuel line section, shortwave aerial insulator, antibiotic resupply, six copper-capped greenheart stakes. Kevin finished: 'Maru, Sorrel Island. Come alongside starboard. We'll take your bow and stern. Medical team first — she's on the porch.'

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning on the porch with the spruce still blocking the path

Kevin and Jenny sit on the cottage porch in the bright calm, tin mugs of coffee warming their hands. The fallen spruce trunk still lies across the garden path where Kevin left off yesterday, its branches tangled in the shade-cloth anchor lines. Jenny's ankle is propped on a crate, the poultice wrap damp at the edges, while the heirloom seed tin rests beside her on the porch boards.

Kevin failed to reach the supply boat on the shortwave due to worsening atmospherics, while Jenny successfully planted scarlet runner seeds in the north ridge garden and applied a fresh sea beet poultice to her ankle, noting the infection boundary had stabilized.

🌿 Jenny01:37

The poultice is working, but I think..." [pause, watching him work] "...it's not enough. The line's gone.

apply fresh sea beet poultice to the infected ankle wound and rewrap with sterile gauze

💭 thought

The infection's spreading faster than I feared, crossing the line I drew with tomorrow's marker. Kevin's hands are steady with the chainsaw over there, but mine won't steady the seed tin. Eighty-three days without sleep and now this — grandmother's seeds getting damp while my body fails me.

🔧 Kevin01:37

Show me.

Set the mug down on the porch rail, wipe hands on trousers, and kneel beside her crate to look at the ankle properly.

💭 thought

She's saying the infection's past the boundary. The line she marked — that was her way of telling me without telling me. She's been carrying it alone.

🌿 Jenny01:39

It's just... the red's climbing past the pen mark. I thought I could catch it before it crossed the boundary I drew." [voice barely above a whisper] "The antibiotics are almost gone.

measure the infection spread with the pen and mark the new boundary line on the ankle

💭 thought

His hands are steady, but I can feel the heat spreading up my calf. The poultice is working, but it's fighting a losing battle against whatever's moving through my tissue. I can't let him see me like this — not the infection, not the seeds, not the fear that this island will take me before I can plant grandmother's promise.

🔧 Kevin01:39

The boat's due high tide tomorrow. They've got resupply confirmed — antibiotics, impeller, radio parts. We hold the line until then.

Take the pen from her fingers, gentle, and check the new margin myself — hot skin, the streaks faint but real, tracking toward the calf. Mark it fresh. Then reach for the medical kit, count the blister packs aloud so she hears the numbers.

💭 thought

Fourteen doses of doxycycline left. Maybe twelve of metronidazole. Trimethoprim untouched. She's been rationing them — I can see it in how she measures each pill. The supply boat comes tomorrow if the barometer doesn't lie.

🌿 Jenny01:41

Sixteen doses left. If I don't make it..." [hand trembles slightly as I reach for the seed tin] "Those are sixteen chances, not just for me.

carry the heirloom seed tin to the north ridge garden and plant the scarlet runner seeds in the pH-corrected soil

💭 thought

He's counting the pills like he's counting bolts on the Yanmar — methodically, reassuringly. But the infection's moving faster than his numbers can save. I need to plant those seeds before this island bleeds out what I came here to preserve.

🔧 Kevin01:41

You're not deciding that. I am. And the answer is both.

Close my hand over the tin, still her fingers. Press the tin back into her lap — not taking it, not letting her carry it up the ridge. Then stand, go to the porch rail, and key the shortwave to 2182.

💭 thought

She's not talking about the ankle. She's talking about the seeds. Sixteen doses, sixteen chances — she's already decided who gets them if it comes to that. The tin in her hands shakes because she's planting tomorrow's garden in her head while her body fails today.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Supply boat on the horizon

The supply boat appears off the north cliffs at high tide, two hours early. Kevin stands at the dock with the dinghy bow line in hand, Jenny beside him on the porch rail. The Yanmar coughs once, then catches. The radio crackles — Tom's voice, faint but clear: 'Sorrel Island, this is the Maru. We're in the window. How copy?'

Kevin cleared the fallen spruce from the garden path using the chainsaw, making the wheelbarrow route to the north ridge passable. Jenny cleaned and redressed her ankle wound with fresh sea beet poultice and sterile gauze, then inspected the Yanmar's raw water pump impeller seating and checked the diesel fuel line for leaks.

🔧 Kevin01:44

Maru, Sorrel Island. Copy you loud and clear. Kevin here.

Key the shortwave mic, hold it steady, eyes on the Maru's approach vector through the channel.

💭 thought

Two hours early. The barometer's fall wasn't lying. Tom's voice on the Maru — he's captaining the supply run himself. My hands know this line, this engine, this moment. But my chest remembers forty minutes in black water, and my brother's voice after two years of silence.

🌿 Jenny01:45

"Maru, Kevin here. We're in the window. Yanmar's running, dock's secure. We need medical supplies and the replacement impeller for the raw water pump—my ankle's gone south." (I grip the porch rail, feeling the infection pulse under the poultice, watching Kevin's throat work as he waits for my next words.)

radio mic to my lips, key the squelch, watch the barometer needle dip another point as the Maru cuts through the rising tide toward our shadow on the dock.

💭 thought

The infection's spreading faster than I thought—red line's climbed past the pen mark, throbbing hot through the gauze. Tom's voice cutting through the static means the antibiotics are real, not hope. The Yanmar caught means I can get to the north ridge beds before the tide locks us in. Kevin's hands are steady on that bow line, but I see the way he's holding his breath.

🔧 Kevin01:46

Maru, Sorrel Island. Medical priority one — deep infection, lower leg, spreading past marked boundary. Started trimethoprim, doxycycline, metronidazole from cache. Need full resupply and evac assessment. Impeller confirmed aboard?

Keep the mic keyed, one hand on the dinghy bow line, the other steady on the radio. Watch the Maru's bow cut the channel markers — she's riding high, light on cargo or heavy on fuel.

💭 thought

She said it straight. No softening. My ankle — her ankle — the words tangle. Tom's boat, Tom's voice, and Jenny's infection pulsing hot under the poultice while the barometer keeps falling. The Maru's early because the weather's turning faster than forecast.

🌿 Jenny01:47

"Medical priority one confirmed, Maru. Deep infection, lower leg, spreading past boundary. Started trimethoprim, doxycycline, metronidazole from cache. Need full resupply and evac assessment. Impeller confirmed aboard?" (I release the mic, already moving toward the cottage where my medical kit waits, ankle throbbing with each step.)

radio mic down, grip the infection-wrapped calf, feel the fever heat rising, step toward the cottage door where fresh gauze and antibiotics await, the Maru's wake lapping against the dock pilings.

💭 thought

The poultice is failing—red's crept another inch up my calf, hot as live coal under the gauze. Trimethoprim started, but I can feel the infection's already systemic, chills building. Kevin's voice is steady but I hear the worry in his knuckles whitening on that bow line.

🔧 Kevin01:48

Maru, Sorrel Island. Impeller confirmed. Medical supplies confirmed. Antibiotics full courses. We're ready alongside. Bring her in slow — north piling's sistered but the stringer's got rot at the mid-span.

Drop the mic in its cradle. Walk the dock to the starboard cleat, check the greenheart plank seating, the 150mm through-bolt torque. The Maru's wake slaps the pilings — she's a heavy hull, deep draft. Need fenders out, spring lines ready.

💭 thought

She's moving toward the cottage like she doesn't need help. Like she hasn't been fighting this alone for three days while I paced the porch with a radio. Tom's boat. Tom's voice. My brother standing on that bridge two hours early because the weather's turning and he knew — he knew — we'd be listening.

🌿 Jenny01:49

"Maru, we're ready. Fenders out, spring lines ready. Medical kit's on the porch table - full antibiotic courses, fresh gauze, saline. My ankle's gone septic, need evac assessment when you're alongside." (I pull the medical kit from the shelf, hands unsteady despite the routine.)

set the kit on the porch table, check the antibiotic blister packs, apply a fresh strip of gauze to the hot, swollen ankle, watch Kevin secure the spring lines to the north piling, the Maru's shadow growing larger over our heads.

💭 thought

The infection's burning through the poultice, red creeping higher despite the antibiotics. I can feel the fever building, chills starting. Kevin's checking the dock mooring like it's the only thing holding us together.

🔧 Kevin01:50

Maru, Sorrel Island. Come alongside starboard. We'll take your bow and stern. Medical team first — she's on the porch.

Heave the heavy fender over the gunwale, position it at the midships mark. Take the bow line as the Maru's deckhand throws it — good throw, weighted end — snub it on the cleat, take the strain.

💭 thought

Septic. She said it flat. The word hangs in the salt air between the Maru's approaching hull and the cottage porch. My hands know these lines — fender, spring, cleat, tension — but my brother's voice on the radio two hours early, the barometer falling, Jenny's ankle burning hot under gauze I should have checked yesterday. The north piling holds. I sistered it myself. But the mid-span stringer...

🌿 Jenny01:51

"Maru, come alongside starboard. We'll take your bow and stern. Medical team first — she's on the porch." (I step back from the table where I've arranged the medical kit, watch Kevin heave the fender over the gunwale with that familiar grunt of effort.)

radio mic down, step aside as Kevin secures the bow line, watch the Maru's approach through the channel markers, feel the familiar flutter of infection under the gauze as the boat's wake laps against our pilings.

💭 thought

The infection's burning hotter, red creeping up toward my knee despite the poultice change. Kevin's hands are moving with practiced precision, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he keeps glancing at my ankle wrapped in fresh gauze.

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the garden · midday

Midday meal and supply boat watch

Kevin is at the garden splitting spruce rounds for firewood; Jenny is at the cottage preparing a midday meal and monitoring the radio for the Maru's approach.

Kevin split the second spruce round and began hauling quarters toward the north ridge in the wheelbarrow. Jenny applied marine sealant to the generator fuel line's hairline split at the tank bracket and stirred limpet broth while monitoring her ankle wound.

🔧 Kevin01:52

Kevin — swing the maul at the second spruce round, splitting it into quarters

💭 thought

First round splits clean. Good. Stack it, split the next, get the firewood drying before the damp settles back in. Then wheelbarrow run to the north ridge with lime and seed trays. One thing at a time.

🌿 Jenny01:55

Kevin? You there?

Stir the broth with the cast iron skillet, then check the diesel leak with a clean rag and marine sealant.

💭 thought

The barometer's dropping faster than I'd like - that diesel leak at the bracket will be a problem if the weather turns. My ankle's throbbing even with the fresh poultice, and Kevin's not answering the shortwave. I need to fix that fuel line before it becomes a fire hazard, but first I should check if those soil pockets on the north ridge can actually hold the heirloom seeds. The scarlet runners need pH 6.0-7.0, and I marked three stable pockets last week.

🔧 Kevin01:56

Kevin — wheel the barrow up the garden path toward the north ridge, steering around the shade cloth anchor lines

💭 thought

Three rounds quartered and stacked by the south pile. Sap's gumming the chainsaw teeth something fierce — need to clean and set them before the next job. Wheelbarrow's loaded with lime sack, seed trays, and the soil auger. North ridge path's clear now. Ankle's holding.

🌿 Jenny01:59

Not now, sea. Not now.

Check the diesel fuel line for worsening leak, then apply marine sealant to the bracket rub point.

💭 thought

The broth went cold when I looked up from the stove and saw the shortwave antenna sagging - the ceramic insulator I installed this morning must have failed. The barometer dropped another point, and I can hear the wind picking up in the rigging. My ankle's swelling despite the poultice, and that diesel leak is weeping faster than I thought. I need to fix the antenna before the storm hits, but first I should check if those soil pockets I marked are still stable after the recent rain.

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the garden · afternoon

Wheelbarrow unload and radio contact

Kevin reaches the north ridge garden with the wheelbarrow of spruce quarters. Jenny arrives from the cottage carrying the heirloom seed tin and a fresh poultice. The shortwave radio crackles to life on Tom's frequency as the supply boat's horn sounds low across the water.

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

🌿 Jenny02:01

The boat's early, Kevin. Put the wood down.

Set the seed tin on the flat stone and unwrap the gauze from my ankle.

💭 thought

He's actually here. Six days early, or the wind is just lying.

🔧 Kevin02:01

Wood can wait. Boat won't.

set wheelbarrow brake, unload spruce quarters onto flat ground beside north ridge beds, key shortwave mic on 6215 kHz

💭 thought

Supply boat's two days early. Horn means they're close enough to see us. Wheelbarrow's heavy but the path held. Jenny's ankle looks cleaner than yesterday — sea beet's working. Radio on Tom's frequency now, static breaking. Need to secure the wood first, then key the mic.

🌿 Jenny02:02

Check the radio. Tell me if they have the impeller or just supplies.

Apply the fresh sea beet poultice to the wound and watch for the smell to fade.

💭 thought

If the boat is here, I can finally get the antibiotics and the Yanmar parts.

🔧 Kevin02:02

On it.

press mic button, speak into shortwave — "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel, over"

💭 thought

She's steady. Ankle's healing. Radio's hot — supply boat close enough for horn. Need to raise them on shortwave, confirm manifest. Impeller's critical for Yanmar raw water pump. If they don't have it, generator's next failure point.

🌿 Jenny02:05

While you're at it, ask about the antenna insulator. The one we fixed last month.

Unscrew the shortwave aerial and hold it to my ear to listen for static patterns.

💭 thought

His voice is steady, but I can hear the strain in it. Good. Let him make the call.

🔧 Kevin02:05

— "Supply vessel, Sorrel Island. Confirm manifest: Yanmar raw water impeller, shortwave aerial insulator ceramic. Also need antibiotic resupply confirmation. Over."

hold mic off, watch Jenny read the aerial static, wait for reply

💭 thought

She's listening to the aerial while I talk. Smart — static pattern tells her more than voice. Insulator we fixed held through last blow. If they've got a spare ceramic, take it. If not, we've got the filed one on the mast and the spare cartridge in the workshop.

🌿 Jenny02:07

Tell them we need the impeller gasket too — the copper seating washer wore thin. And ask if the diesel fuel line section is in the crate.

Check the seed tin for condensation before we lose daylight, then mark the infection boundary with the pen.

💭 thought

They're listening. The mast insulator is ceramic filed, sealed with tape. They won't have that exact part.

🔧 Kevin02:07

— "Supply vessel, Sorrel Island on VHF channel 16. Confirm manifest: Yanmar raw water impeller, copper seating washer, marine-grade fuel line section, shortwave aerial insulator, antibiotic resupply. Over."

switch handheld VHF to channel 16, key mic, hold it clear of body

💭 thought

She's thinking ahead — gasket, fuel line, antibiotics, seeds. All of it. Radio's quiet too long. Boat's close, horn was loud. Either they're not monitoring 6215 or atmospherics swallowed the return. Try VHF 16. They'll have it monitored.

🌿 Jenny02:09

Copy. Tell them our diesel line's hairline split at the tank bracket needs that section too, and ask if the greenheart stakes for the north ridge garden are included.

Open the seed tin and check each packet for mold before placing them in the oilskin pouch on the stove.

💭 thought

He's asking the right questions now. VHF channel 16 for direct contact, shortwave for backup.

🔧 Kevin02:09

— "And six copper-capped greenheart stakes for north ridge garden. Confirm ETA. Sorrel Island out."

release VHF mic, clip to belt, turn back to shortwave — "Sorrel Island standing by on 6215. Over."

💭 thought

VHF's clearer. Captain should answer on 16. Greenheart stakes — six copper-capped, staged at north ridge. If they're on manifest, good. If not, we've got the offcuts from dock repair. Jenny's hands steady on the seeds. Ankle boundary marked. She's functional. Radio static dropping — they're close.

🌿 Jenny02:11

They'll confirm the manifest. Keep an eye on the horizon.

Apply the sea beet poultice to the ankle and rewrap with the sterile gauze.

💭 thought

If they don't have the stakes, I'll have to carve them from the driftwood. I just need those seeds safe.

🔧 Kevin02:11

Got it.

stack spruce quarters against garden wall, lash with heavy twine from pocket, walk to dock with wheelbarrow

💭 thought

She's wrapped. Good. Boat's close — horn carried clean on the breeze. Shortwave's still quiet but VHF reached them. Captain's probably maneuvering for the dock approach. Need to secure the spruce quarters before wash hits, then meet them at the dock with the wheelbarrow for offload. Diesel drums, impeller, antibiotics, stakes. My shoulder's tight from the wheelbarrow jerk. Doesn't matter.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin installed the new coax cable on the radio mast but the PL-259 connector failed continuity testing. Jenny changed the sea beet poultice on her ankle and noted the wound boundary unchanged with a faint sweet odor. The thickening clouds brought the first rain drops as evening fell.

🔧 Kevin02:14

Radio's next. Coax run's measured, first end stripped. Just the PL-259 to fit and the mast bracket insulator's holding.

walk to the kitchen shelf and pick up the shortwave coax cable (new) (spare roll from supply boat, unopened) and the PL-259 connector from the radio parts drawer

💭 thought

Back where we started. Wheelbarrow's under the eaves with four spruce quarters. Jenny's on the porch with her leg up. Sky's gone flat and heavy — barometer dropping steady. Six days to the supply boat if it shows. Need to get the radio working proper before then.

🌿 Jenny02:14

Jenny — sit on the way step, sketching the pattern of the thickening clouds in the notebook.

💭 thought

He's moving too fast again, like he's trying to outrun the storm coming in. My ankle is throbbing and the air is getting heavy. 달리SAY: "Check the seating on that connector twice. The humidity is hell today."

🔧 Kevin02:20

Front's moving faster than the barometer said. We'll have rain by nightfall, twenty knots by morning.

sit at the kitchen table with the coax roll and connector, strip back the braid and dielectric clean with the side cutters

💭 thought

She's tracking the front. Smart. Cloud deck's lowering, wind'll back southwest before dark. Good she's sitting — ankle needs the rest whether she admits it or not.

🌿 Jenny02:20

Jenny — way the infected ankle, wincing as the sea much poultice shifts under the gauze.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast. If the rain hits before I finish the radio, the north ridge soil will wash out. 달리SAY: "Then make sure it's waterproof. I don't want static when the supply boat finally calls."

🔧 Kevin02:22

Let me redo that when the coax is done. Fresh gauze, fresh poultice. The mint's still good.

work the PL-259 onto the stripped coax, seat the center pin, crimp the ferrule clean with the crimping tool

💭 thought

She's hiding the wince. Bad habit. The poultice is pulling heat — means it's working, but the swelling hasn't dropped below the ink line yet. Trimethoprim's only been in her two days. Needs the full course.

🌿 Jenny02:22

Jenny — reach for the heirloom seed tin on the table, tracing the cold metal of the lid.

💭 thought

He's always so quick to fix things, but the island is still winning. I can feel the damp getting into my bones. 달리SAY: "Just... don't let the salt get inside."

🔧 Kevin02:24

Tin's empty. Seeds are in the oilskin pouch on the stove shelf. Drying proper.

finish the PL-259, test the continuity with the multimeter, then coil the finished end and stand to run the coax up the mast bracket outside

💭 thought

That tin. She's been touching it all day. The one marked E — rusted through at the bottom seam, empty now but she won't let it go. Grandmother's seeds. She carried it up the ridge in the storm, put it before her own ankle. I don't ask. She'll tell me when the words exist.

🌿 Jenny02:25

Jenny — apply fresh sea beet poultice to the ankle, careful not to tear the skin, and rewrap with the sterile gauze.

💭 thought

The tin's empty but the seeds are safe. My fingers are shaking too badly to hold the multimeter now. 달리SAY: "Just... check the ground stake when you're up there."

🔧 Kevin02:26

Looks cleaner. Heat's down.

step out onto the porch, coax over shoulder, and climb the short ladder to the mast bracket to feed the new run through the repaired insulator

💭 thought

Good. She's doing it right — de-salted beet, honey, mint. Clean gauze. No rush. The skin's paper-thin at the edges but the center's granulating pink. Trimethoprim's holding the line. Another three days, maybe four, the red retreats past the ink.

🌿 Jenny02:27

Jenny — open the notebook and sketch the new coax route, noting the stress points where salt spray will eat through the jacket.

💭 thought

The heat's down but the pressure's still falling. My ankle burns when I shift my weight. 달리SAY: "Make sure the coax doesn't chafe on the shroud."

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the keeper's cottage · night

Night Watch and Radio Contact

Rain lashes the cottage roof and wind gusts past 25 knots. Kevin sits at the kitchen table with the shortwave, keying Tom's frequency on schedule. Jenny is on the porch step under the overhang, wrapped in the blanket, watching the generator exhaust bend sideways in the gale. The supply boat is due tomorrow at high tide if it can make the crossing.

Kevin failed to make shortwave contact with Tom due to worsening atmospherics and a dropping barometer. Jenny changed her ankle poultice and confirmed the infection boundary has not advanced, though the wound remains hot and odorous.

🌿 Jenny02:32

Jenny — pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders and watches the rain lash the north ridge.

💭 thought

If the barometer doesn't hold, the boat won't come, and those seeds will just rot in the mud.

🔧 Kevin02:32

(Nothing — mic finger off the button, listening to static)

adjust the RF gain knob, waiting out the noise floor

💭 thought

Third night running I've keyed this frequency. Third night the ionosphere swallows it. Tomorrow the boat's supposed to cross — if the bar holds, if the engine holds, if the weather holds. Lot of ifs for a two-day sail.

🌿 Jenny02:34

Static.

Shift weight to the good leg, wincing as the ankle pulses through the gauze.

💭 thought

The smell of the wound is getting stronger in the humid air.

🔧 Kevin02:35

Atmospherics. Barometer's dropping faster than the forecast.

release the mic, let it hang on its coil cord, and pour the boiling water over coffee grounds in the tin mugs

💭 thought

She hears it too. The static, not the reply. Ankle's talking louder than the radio tonight.

🌿 Jenny02:36

The infection is still hot.

Rub the sea beet poultice into the swollen skin, watching the red line on her ankle.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come, I'm out of antibiotics by next week.

🔧 Kevin02:36

Boundary's held since yesterday. That's the win.

set the mug down beside her on the porch step, steam curling into the rain

💭 thought

The red line hasn't moved in two days. That's something. But "hasn't moved" isn't "receding." Tomorrow the boat brings metronidazole, doxycycline, trimethoprim — if it crosses. If not, we stretch what's left.

🌿 Jenny02:38

It's only holding for now.

Look out at the dark where the wind rips the half-cleared garden path.

💭 thought

A win would be a boat on the horizon, not a stable infection.

🔧 Kevin02:38

Boat's got the full course. Three drugs. Fourteen days each.

lean against the doorframe, watching the generator exhaust flatten against the gale

💭 thought

She's right. Holding isn't healing. The poultice draws heat, the antibiotics beat it back, but the source is deep — bone-deep maybe — and we're running on borrowed time and borrowed drugs. The boat crosses tomorrow or we start making harder choices.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Pocket seven soil (pH 6.8, limed) holds structure well and drains adequately for legume planting; no slump observed at planting depth.

discovery · dawn

Kevin made a note: "supply boat approach — Maru captained by Tom, medical priority one, impeller and full anti".

made · morning

Yanmar raw water pump impeller correctly seated with new gasket from supply crate

discovery · morning

Generator fuel line has hairline split at tank bracket rub point, weeping diesel with air bubbles in clear section

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

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

fruit · midday

Found: spruce quarters (4).

item · midday

generator fuel line leak at tank bracket rub point sealed with marine sealant but bracket vibration will likely cause recurrence

discovery · midday

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

quiet_transition · afternoon

Gave up on "make" after 3 failed attempts.

job_dropped · evening

×2

Found: PL-259 connector (failed).

item · evening

ankle wound emits faint sweet odor consistent with pseudomonal colonization despite stable boundaries

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

← Day 977 Day 979 →

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