Day 984

Missed Tide and Weeping Fuel Line

"Boat's due in thirty minutes at high tide. Barometer's steady at 984 — that's our best sign," Kevin said. "Generator's running clean, Yanmar's ready. I'll hold VHF 16 and shortwave 2182. You take the trimethoprim now, broth after. Ankle stays elevated."

Kevin stood at the cottage window before dawn in oilskins, binoculars raised toward the grey horizon where the supply boat should appear at high tide. The barometer read 984 hPa, steady. He held radio watch on VHF 16 and shortwave 2182. Jenny sat at the kitchen table with her ankle propped on a driftwood splint, a fresh sea beet poultice steaming under gauze, the trimethoprim dose and warm broth waiting beside her.

The tide window passed. No vessel appeared. Rain fell steadily. The barometer held at 984, then 982 by midday. Kevin logged silent contact attempts. Jenny spread seed packets on the table, ankle elevated, watching the thickening sky.

In the afternoon Kevin inspected the generator fuel line on the porch. The marine-grade hose repair at the bracket rub point was still weeping. "Clamp's stretched. Won't hold another tide cycle," he said. Jenny cradled her coffee and the oilskin seed pouch, too exhausted to move.

Evening brought them back to the kitchen table with broth and the north ridge soil chart. Pocket seven showed pH 6.2, volcanic ash, north aspect — the only viable spot for her grandmother's seeds, but a fracture line cut through it past the stability line. Kevin raised the supply boat on shortwave; only static and a mainland news fragment about a building collapse answered. The generator fuel line kept weeping.

At night Kevin tightened the clamp on the fuel line bracket, stopping the diesel weep. Jenny reapplied the sea beet poultice, noting the swelling had not increased. The radio yielded only a news bulletin about a prisoner exchange. The barometer read 982 hPa, steady. High tide lapped at the dock pilings.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning Watch and Engine Prep

Kevin stands at the cottage window in oilskins, binoculars raised toward the grey horizon where the supply boat should appear at high tide. Jenny sits at the kitchen table with her ankle propped on a driftwood splint, a fresh sea beet poultice steaming under clean gauze, the trimethoprim dose and warm broth waiting beside her. The barometer on the wall reads 984 hPa, steady, and the shortwave radio crackles with static on Tom's frequency as Kevin begins his 0530 radio watch.

Kevin maintained radio watch on VHF 16 and shortwave 2182 while the supply boat failed to appear during the high tide window. Jenny took her trimethoprim dose and sipped broth, monitoring her ankle infection. The barometer held steady at 984 hPa but the sky continued to darken with no vessel sighted.

🔧 Kevin07:57

Boat's due in thirty minutes at high tide. Barometer's steady at 984 — that's our best sign. Generator's running clean, Yanmar's ready. I'll hold VHF 16 and shortwave 2182. You take the trimethoprim now, broth after. Ankle stays elevated.

adjust binoculars, scan horizon toward mainland channel; key VHF radio to channel 16, transmit "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel, over"; set shortwave to 2182 kHz, listen; place trimethoprim tablet and tin mug of warm broth on table besi

💭 thought

Barometer holding at 984. Steady's better than falling but the cloud deck's dropped another fifty feet since 0400. If the coxswain's got any sense he'll run the tide window — two hours from high water, that's 0600 to 0800. Generator's clean. Yanmar's impeller seated, fuel line holding. Ditch bag by the door. Jenny's ankle crossed the line yesterday; she needs the resupply antibiotics more than I need to breathe. Tom's frequency's dead. Nineteen days past his birthday and the mic's still cold.

🌿 Jenny07:58

The wind is shifting north, Kevin. Check the longwire tension before it catches.

Reach for the seed tin, fingers tracing the cold metal, swallow the pill dry with a grimace.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't show, the seeds will rot in the tin while I'm roting in this bed.

🔧 Kevin07:58

Longwire's down to the ceramic and tape. No tension to check — aerial shattered three storms back. I'll verify the coax run and insulator seal before the squall hits.

set binoculars on table; move to porch door, step outside; inspect shortwave mast bracket, ceramic insulator, self-amalgamating tape seal; tug coax run at feed point, check for chafe; glance at barometer through window; return to kitchen

💭 thought

Wind backing north means the longwire'll flap itself apart if the insulator tape lets go. Self-amalgamating tape held through the last blow but UV's eaten the edges. She took the pill dry — throat's raw from the fever. Good she's eating the tin's weight instead of asking what's in it. LB's initials. She hasn't said.

🌿 Jenny08:00

Just make sure the insulator is seated. The salt is high today. storiesDO: Sit back at the table, wrapping both hands around the warm mug of broth, watching the clouds thicken.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast; if that rig goes, I'm cut out.

🔧 Kevin08:00

Insulator's seated. Tape's holding at the feed. Salt crust's the risk — I'll wipe it down with the damp cloth before the squall drives it wet.

step back onto porch; retrieve clean cloth from shelf; wipe ceramic insulator and tape junction, remove salt crust; inspect coax entry at mast bracket for water ingress; scan horizon again with naked eye; return inside, set cloth to dry on

💭 thought

Salt crust on the insulator's the real killer — tracks across the ceramic, arcs when the voltage spikes. She's watching the sky like she's reading a chart. The broth's good; she needs the salt and warmth. Tin E sits on the stove shelf warming through, seal dry. She hasn't opened it. Neither have I.

🌿 Jenny08:02

Don't stay out too long. The sky is the wrong color.

Take a slow sip of the broth, the warmth spreading through my chest, and watch the first drop of rain hit the glass.

💭 thought

He's always focused on the hardware while the world is literally closing in.

🔧 Kevin08:04

Twenty minutes to the tide window. I'm not staying out.

step back inside, close porch door against the first spit of rain; latch it; move to radio shelf; key VHF 16 — "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel, high tide window open, over"; monitor shortwave 2182; glance at barometer — 984 steady; set

💭 thought

She's right. That green-grey bruise to the northwest — not rain, not yet. The wind's still light but the swell's already pushing into the cove, hitting the dock pilings with a hollow thump. Barometer steady at 984 but the rate of fall yesterday was three millibars in six hours. If it holds this track we're in Force 7 by noon. Boat's window closes at 0800. Twenty minutes.

🌿 Jenny08:04

The radio's quiet. Keep watching it. continuedDO: Lean forward, resting my throbbing ankle on the chair leg, listening for the static to break.

💭 thought

If that boat doesn't show in this window, the seeds are just ghosts in a tin.

🔧 Kevin08:06

Nothing on 16. Nothing on 2182. Generator's steady. Yanmar's warm. If he's crossing the bar he'll be silent till he clears the race. Five minutes to the window's midpoint.

keep eyes on VHF, hand near key; watch horizon through rain-streaked window; note swell timing against dock pilings; log barometer reading — 984, steady — in radio notebook; wait

💭 thought

Quiet's the worst sound. Twenty minutes into the window and not a peep on 16 or 2182. The coxswain knows this coast — if he's not transmitting he's either not coming or he's already in the race and too busy to talk. Rain's spitting harder now, horizontal on the porch glass. Swell's hitting the dock rhythmically, eight-second period, big enough to shake the pilings. Jenny's ankle throbbing where she can see it. She's listening like I am.

🌿 Jenny08:06

Still nothing.

Tighten my grip on the warm mug, watching the steam rise and vanish into the grey light of the kitchen.

💭 thought

The silence on the radio is heavier than the storm.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · morning

Missed Window

Rain falls steadily on the cottage roof. The barometer reads 984 hPa and steady. The supply boat did not arrive during the high tide window. Kevin sits at the radio shelf, headphones on, logging another silent contact attempt. Jenny is at the table, seed packets spread before her, ankle elevated, watching the grey light through the window. The generator runs. The Yanmar is warm. The tide is turning.

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

🔧 Kevin08:09

Barometer's holding at 984. Generator's steady. Yanmar's warm. Next high tide at 1800. I'll have the dinghy ready by 1700.

Log the missed contact in the radio notebook, then stand and stretch stiff legs before moving to the porch to check the dinghy's mooring lines and the Yanmar's fuel line one more time.

💭 thought

Another window missed. She's sorting seeds like nothing's wrong. Her ankle's crossed the line — I can see the heat from here. If the boat doesn't make the next tide, I'm taking the dinghy out myself.

🌿 Jenny08:09

Generator's holding pressure. I'll check the fuel line again tonight. Keep radio on 2182 until 1800 - if nothing by then, we prep for tomorrow's window.

walk to generator shed and inspect fuel line connections for weeping seals while Kevin prepares dinghy

💭 thought

984 hPa and holding means we're in the danger zone - boat's delayed, infection's spreading, pocket seven waits but I can't risk the crossing without proper conditions.

🔧 Kevin08:10

I'll check the generator line. You stay off it. Radio stays on 2182.

Walk to the generator shed, wipe rain from the fuel line connections, inspect each ferrule and clamp for weeping diesel, and tighten the bracket at the tank rub point if needed.

💭 thought

She's managing the engine while running a fever. Stubborn as a seized bolt. I'll check the fuel line — she shouldn't be on that ankle.

🌿 Jenny08:10

Just watch the pressure. The broth is still getting cold for me.

sits at the table, picks up grandmother's seed tin, and traces the edge of the metal with a thumb.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the machine while my leg is rotting. If that boat doesn't come tomorrow, these seeds are just ghosts in a tin.

🔧 Kevin08:12

Broth's coming. Pressure's steady.

Return to the cottage, ladle hot broth from the pot on the stove into a tin mug, set it on the table beside her, then glance at the generator's pressure gauge through the window before resuming the radio watch.

💭 thought

She won't rest. Won't eat. Just traces that tin like it's a compass. I'll bring the broth and check the pressure myself.

🌿 Jenny08:12

Thank you, Kevin.

takes a slow, shaky sip of the broth, feeling the salt and warmth as she watches the grey sky darken.

💭 thought

The heat from the mug is the only warmth in this room. My leg is throbbing in time with the rain.

🔧 Kevin08:16

Trimethoprim at 1800. I'll set the alarm.

Sit back at the radio shelf, pull the headphones on, key the VHF — "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel, over" — and log the time, barometer 984, sea state worsening.

💭 thought

Hands shaking. Fever's climbing. She needs the antibiotics in her, not just the broth. Next dose at 1800 with the tide.

🌿 Jenny08:16

Jenny — opens the seed tin, pulls out the packet for pocket seven, and stares at the tiny seeds in her palm.

💭 thought

If the infection hits the bone, I'll have to use the IV. I can't let the seeds rot in the tin first.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · midday

A Quiet Stretch

Back at the cottage.

Kevin maintained radio watch at the desk, logging the steady 982 hPa barometer and calling on VHF and shortwave with no response but static and a distant news broadcast. Jenny sipped hot broth, warming her hands on the mug while watching the thickening sky through the window, her ankle throbbing but stable under the poultice.

🔧 Kevin08:20

Radio's dead both sides. You need another blanket?

Check the wood stove, add a split of spruce from the stack by the door, then sit at the radio desk and run through the VHF and shortwave frequencies one more time — 16, 2182, 2670, the trust's working frequency — logging the time and barome

💭 thought

The cottage feels smaller with the storm pressing against the windows. Jenny's on the porch with the blanket pulled tight, broth mug warming her hands. The radio's quiet on both bands — no supply boat, no coast guard, nothing but static and the occasional Spanish trawler fragment. Barometer's holding at 982 but that steady reading's the dangerous kind. Means the low's sitting on us.

🌿 Jenny08:20

I'm fine. Just... cold.

Lean back against the chair and close my eyes against the throbbing in my ankle.

💭 thought

My leg feels so heavy I can't even lift my foot, and the heat is still moving upward.

🔧 Kevin08:22

Mug's half full. Drink it while it's hot.

Pour the last of the broth from the pot into her mug, set the pot back on the stove, then return to the radio and key the mic on 2182 — "Sorrel Island calling supply vessel, Sorrel Island calling, over" — wait thirty seconds, then switch to

💭 thought

She's not fine. The fever's still climbing — saw the flush on her neck when she turned. Ankle's throbbing bad enough she can't hide the flinch. But she'd bite her tongue before admitting it, and pushing just makes her dig in.

🌿 Jenny08:22

Thanks.

Wrap both hands around the warm mug to Feel the heat and take a slow sip of the broth.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come tomorrow, I'm going to run out of antibiotics before the infection actually clears.

🔧 Kevin08:24

(nothing — just a nod, letting her drink)

Stay at the radio desk, notebook open, log the 1200 position report: barometer 982 steady, visibility poor, sea state 4-5, no vessel contact.

💭 thought

Good. Broth's staying down. That's something. The warmth helps — her fingers were white-cold when she came in. Radio's still dead. Barometer hasn't moved in an hour. Either the high's building or the low's stalled right on top of us. Neither's good for a crossing.

🌿 Jenny08:24

Jenny — look out the window at the thickening sky and watch the way the wind moves the sea grass.

💭 thought

The clouds are getting heavy; they look like they want to press down on the roof.

🔧 Kevin08:26

Wind's southwest, steady twenty. Gusting higher on the ridge.

Glance at the barometer again — 982, needle hasn't trembled — then stand and walk to the porch door, pull it open a hand's width to feel the air: cold, salt, rain coming.

💭 thought

She's watching the grass lay flat. Reading the wind like she reads the plants — seeing what's coming before it arrives. The gusts are steadying from the southwest. If the supply boat's coming, it'll be fighting a head sea the whole way. Coxswain's got maybe two hours before the tide turns against him.

🌿 Jenny08:27

(a small sound escapes - almost a sigh) It's holding then.

Shift uncomfortably on the chair, the metal frame biting into my thigh, and pull my knees up slightly against the pain in my ankle.

💭 thought

If the longwire goes down before the boat comes, I'm completely cut off.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Late afternoon radio watch and seed sorting

Kevin is at the radio desk, notebook open, logging another silent cycle. Jenny sits at the kitchen table with the oilskin pouch of heirloom seeds spread before her, the driftwood cane leaning against her chair. The sky has darkened to a flat grey, and rain spits against the porch glass.

Kevin stepped onto the porch to inspect the generator fuel line and found the weeping bracket still leaking despite the marine-grade hose repair. Jenny remained at the table, cradling her coffee and the oilskin seed pouch, too exhausted to move. The rain hammered the roof and the barometer held at 983 hPa, offering no promise of a weather window for the longwire rig.

🌿 Jenny08:29

Still nothing on the radio?

Reaches out to trace the edge of the tomato seed packet with a trembling thumb.

💭 thought

The barometer is dropping again. If the wind hits Force 6, the longwire rig is useless, and I'll be too weak to climb the ridge even if the boat shows up.

🔧 Kevin08:29

Nothing. Static on VHF. Shortwave caught a Spanish coastal broadcast — forest fires near Vigo. Nothing local.

Log the 1330 check in the radio notebook: time, frequency, barometer 982, nil contact. Then stand, stretch the stiffness from my back, and walk to the kettle.

💭 thought

She's tracking the tremor in her own hand. The infection's eating her strength and she knows it. I should have rowed yesterday.

🌿 Jenny08:31

He's right about the static. I'll check the antenna connections again when the wind lets up.

Leans forward to examine the heirloom seed packets more closely, running a finger along the edge of the sea beet seeds, then sits back down heavily on the stool.

💭 thought

Vigo fires might be our only link to the world, but they're miles from here and the boat's not coming. My ankle burns when I shift - the infection's pushing faster than the poultice can hold.

🔧 Kevin08:31

Aerial's gone, Jen. Insulator's taped but the wire parted at the mast. Need calm to rig a new longwire. Wind's not dropping.

Fill the kettle from the tank tap, set it on the stove. Pull two mugs down. Spoon coffee into both while the water heats.

💭 thought

She's reading my mind again. The longwire's shredded — insulator's patched but the aerial wire itself is gone from the last blow. No connection to check. She knows that. She's giving me something to do.

🌿 Jenny08:33

The mast bracket's still aligned from yesterday's repair. If we can get a few hours before Force 6 really kicks in...

Carefully lifts the oilskin pouch of seeds, feels the weight of grandmother's promise against her palm, then sets it gently beside the coffee mugs.

💭 thought

The longwire's dead again. And my hands won't be steady enough to splice new wire with the wind howling. But Kevin's coffee is ready - maybe the warmth will help me think straight about pocket seven.

🔧 Kevin08:33

Mast's solid. You're not climbing it. Not with that leg.

Pour coffee into both mugs. Set one in front of her. Keep the other. Sit opposite at the table. Watch her face.

💭 thought

She's right about the bracket. The through-bolts held. But she's planning work for a body that can't do it. Her ankle's past the pen line. Fever's climbing. She'll try to climb that mast if I don't stop her.

🌿 Jenny08:34

I know. I just need the wind to stop screaming.

Wraps both hands around the warm mug, letting the heat seep into her cold palms while she watches the rain lashes the window.

💭 thought

He's right, I'm a liability today. But if I don't plant these seeds soon, they'll just rot in the tin like I am.

🔧 Kevin08:34

Drink it while it's hot. I'll check the generator fuel line again — that bracket rub's still weeping.

Take a sip of coffee. Stand. Walk to the porch door. Pull on the oilskin jacket hanging there. Step out onto the porch.

💭 thought

The wind's not stopping. Barometer's stuck at 982. This isn't a front moving through — it's settling in. Supply boat missed the window. Next tide's 0600. If the coxswain runs it. If the channel's clear. If.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening radio watch and shared broth

Kevin returns from the generator shed, soaked through his oilskin, and sits opposite Jenny at the kitchen table. The kettle sings on the stove. The shortwave crackles with static. The barometer reads 983 hPa steady. Outside, the tide is high and the wind gusts against the shutters.

Kevin and Jenny sat at the kitchen table reviewing the north ridge soil chart for pocket seven. Kevin attempted to raise the supply boat on shortwave but received only static and a mainland news fragment about a building collapse. The generator fuel line continued weeping at the bracket rub point despite the clamp.

🌿 Jenny08:37

The generator's holding, but the line is still weeping.

Reaches for a dry towel and slides it toward him without looking up.

💭 thought

He's dripping on the floor. I'm too tired to go get a towel.

🔧 Kevin08:37

Aye. Weeps at the bracket rub. Clamp's stretched. Won't hold another tide cycle.

Take the towel, wipe hands and face, then wrap it around my neck. Reach for the tin mug of broth she left steaming.

💭 thought

The towel's clean. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

🌿 Jenny08:38

We'll need new clamps when the boat comes.

Tightens grip on the oilskin seed pouch under the table.

💭 thought

If the generator goes, we're in the dark. I'm so hungry.

🔧 Kevin08:38

If the boat comes. Barometer's 983 and steady. That's not a crossing window.

Sip the broth slow. Let the warmth settle in the gut. Watch her hands on the pouch.

💭 thought

She's holding that pouch like it's the only solid thing in the room. The boat's not coming tomorrow. Barometer says so. She knows it too.

🌿 Jenny08:41

He needs to know about pocket seven. We can't wait for the boat.

Slams the oilskin pouch onto the table with enough force to make the tomato seeds jump.

💭 thought

He's watching my hands. I can't let him see how they shake.

🔧 Kevin08:41

I'll raise them on shortwave at 0600. If the aerial holds. If the skip hears through the static.

Set the mug down hard. Push back from the table. Walk to the radio shelf and flip the power switch. The set hums alive, static thick as wool.

💭 thought

Pocket seven. The slump zone. pH 6.2 but the soil's moving. She wants me to radio the trust. Tell them the north ridge is failing. She's right. And she's terrified.

🌿 Jenny08:43

Tell them the generator's leaking, the infection's spreading, and I need those impellers and IV fluids now.

Pulls the pen from her pocket and marks a fresh line up her calf, then reaches for grandmother's seed tin.

💭 thought

He's leaving. Good. Let him go. I'll plant the seeds myself.

🔧 Kevin08:43

I'll say it. But the shortwave's barely reaching the mainland on a clear night. With this aerial and this pressure —

Pick up the mic. Thumb the side button. "Sorrel Island calling. Sorrel Island calling. Over." Static eats the words. Try again. "Sorrel Island calling. Medical update. Patient condition deteriorating. Request supply status. Over."

💭 thought

She marked past the old line. The red's climbing. IV fluids. We don't have IV fluids. The trust won't have IV fluids. She knows that. She's making me say it anyway.

🌿 Jenny08:44

They aren't listening, Kevin. They never are.

Opens the seed tin and stares at the varieties in pocket seven with trembling fingers.

💭 thought

The static is a wall. It's eating the island whole.

🔧 Kevin08:44

They're listening. Just not answering.

Set the mic down. Turn the squelch. Scan 2182, 4125, 6215. Nothing but atmospheric noise. Pull the chair over to the table. Sit opposite her. Reach for the tin. "Show me pocket seven."

💭 thought

She's right. They're not. The static doesn't even have the decency to change pitch. But I'll sit here all night if that's what it takes. She needs to hear me trying.

🌿 Jenny08:47

The soil pH is 6.2, volcanic ash, north aspect. It's the only place that could work.

Slides the chart across the table, showing the marked pocket seven with its red wax notations and slump warning.

💭 thought

He wants to see it. He's afraid too.

🔧 Kevin08:47

The fracture line cuts through it. Your notes say "past stability line." That ground moves, Jenny.

Lean over the chart. Finger traces the red wax fracture. The three weep zones. The GPS coordinates she cross-referenced from the Carex transect. Meet her eyes.

💭 thought

She's memorized it. The coordinates. The pH. The slump. She's planning to plant there anyway. Ankle burning, ridge sliding, and she's laying out rows in her head.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · night

Night watch and seed sorting

Rain hammers the cottage roof. The generator runs rough in the shed, fuel line weeping onto the floor. Kevin sits at the radio with the mic in hand, scanning frequencies. Jenny works at the table by lantern light, sorting heirloom seeds into packets for pocket seven. The barometer reads 982 hPa, steady. High tide laps at the dock pilings.

Kevin inspected the generator fuel line bracket and tightened the clamp, stopping the diesel weep. Jenny monitored the barometer and reapplied the sea beet poultice to her ankle, noting the swelling had not increased. The radio yielded only a news bulletin about a prisoner exchange.

🌿 Jenny08:49

Kevin, check the barometer again. The drop is too fast.

Label a packet of tomato seeds with the date.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come tomorrow, these seeds will rot in the tin just like my resolve.

🔧 Kevin09:08

982. Holding. Has been for three hours.

glance at the barometer on the bulkhead, then key the mic for 2182 kHz — "Victor Zero, Sorrel Island, radio check, over"

💭 thought

She's right about the drop rate, but the needle's been stuck at 982 for three hours. That's not fast — that's stalled. The real tell is the generator vibration changing pitch when the weep hits the hot block.

🌿 Jenny09:08

Copy that, Kevin. I'm seeing 982 steady too." (pause) "The generator's fuel line weeps worse when I lean over it.

Press thumb against the barometer reading, then reach for the sea beet poultice to check the ankle swelling.

💭 thought

Three hours isn't long enough to know if it's holding or just waiting to fall.

🔧 Kevin09:12

Don't lean over the shed. Fumes'll take you down before the fuel does.

set the mic down, rise from the radio desk, and cross to the generator shed door to inspect the bracket clamp with the 19mm wrench in hand

💭 thought

She shouldn't be bending over a hot generator with that ankle. The weep's at the bracket rub point — metal fatigue from vibration, not pressure. Clamp won't hold forever.

Open this scene on its own page →

What changed

Jenny is well again.

healed · dawn

The supply boat came.

supply_arrived · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

shortwave longwire rig: 0% (stalled).

project · dawn

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

quiet_transition · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

A tangle of driftwood and flotsam has washed up on the beach.

driftwood · afternoon

A new project: Yanmar prep for crossing.

project_started · afternoon

generator fuel hose abraded through at bracket rub point despite marine-grade replacement; clamp holds but hose material failed at contact

discovery · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

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

fruit · evening

Found: north ridge soil chart with pocket seven marked.

item · evening

pocket seven on north ridge has pH 6.2, volcanic ash soil, north aspect — only viable spot for grandmother's seeds but fracture line cuts through it past stability line

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

Yanmar prep for crossing: 10%.

project · night

← Day 983 Day 985 →

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