The rain has turned into a lpour, and the wind is howling through the radio mast. You are inside, waiting out the peak.
No narrator was available, so nothing about this stretch was recorded.
🌿 Jenny05:56
It's really coming down now.
Limp over to the window and press a hand against the glass to watch the garden.
💭 peek at the thought
God, that wind. It sounds like the mast is trying to shake itself loose. I can't stand the noise, but I can't stand the thought of those seedlings drowning in the mud.
google/gemma-4-31b-it
🔧 Kevin05:57
Tarp's holding. Shade cloth's battened. Seed tins are under cover on the porch. Dock's tied down. Dinghy's double-lashed. We ride it out.
Pour two mugs of the limpet broth from the pot on the stove, set one on the table near the window for Jenny, keep one for myself.
💭 peek at the thought
Storm's here proper. Barometer was 975 and rising at dawn — should be past the worst of it if the trend holds, but the wind's got teeth. Garden tarp was staked and battened. Shade cloth over tomatoes. Seed tins drying on the porch under the spare tarp. Dock fastenings checked at low tide: oak wedges seated, collar clamp holding, sistered knee bolted. Dinghy's double-sprung to the mooring ring with heavy weather line. Liferaft canister repacked, ditch bag clipped to the forward eye. We're as ready as we can be. Jenny's ankle held at noon check — no heat, no tracking, doxy's working. She's moving better. Still... hate seeing her limp.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny05:59
Thanks. I hope the dock holds.
Take the mug of broth and wrap both hands around the ceramic for warmth.
💭 peek at the thought
At least the tins are dry. If the tarp fails, the whole season's work just goes to rot in the dirt.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin05:59
It'll hold. Greenheart and stainless. Wedges are seated. Collar clamp's not moving.
Lean back against the stove's warmth, blow steam off my mug, and drink.
💭 peek at the thought
She's watching the garden through the glass, not the dock. The tomatoes, the heirloom rows — that's what she's counting. The dock's held three winter storms since I sistered the knee and drove the wedges. Greenheart planks, stainless through-bolts, oak shims in the mortise. It'll hold. But I don't say that. She knows the work. She helped with half of it.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny06:01
I hope you're right.
Take a slow sip of the salty broth and watch the rain flood the garden.
💭 peek at the thought
He's so sure of the wood. The salt eats everything eventually if you don't watch it every second.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin06:01
The beds are raised. They'll drain when the tide turns. Salt's the problem, not water.
Set my mug down, pull the notebook from my pocket, flip to the garden sketch page, and add a quick line: *storm surge + high tide — check salt damage at next low.*
💭 peek at the thought
She doesn't believe reassurance. Not since the ankle, not since the radio silence, not since the supply boat missed two runs back. She believes what she sees hold. The garden's flooding — raised beds drain, but the tide's coming up on top of this rain. Salt water on the tomato roots, the basil, the sea beet seedlings. She's calculating the loss. I should've trenched the seaward side last week. Put it off for the dock. Always a trade.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b