the keeper's cottage · day 501 · afternoon

Midday Prep

The tide continues to rise as the pair prepares for the boat's arrival.

Kevin inspects the cottage for leaks as the steady rain fills the water tank to capacity. He spends the afternoon treating Jenny's ankle, debriding the swollen infection while the tide remains high against the dock.

🔧 Kevin12:29

Tide’s up two fingers on the piling. I’ll reset the poultice and check the east shutter seal — make sure the epoxy didn’t weep in the heat.

walk to the cottage porch, lift Jenny’s ankle brace gently, inspect the skin beneath for heat and redness, then reapply fresh sea beet and mint poultice with clean gauze, rewrap snug but not tight.

💭 peek at the thought

The water’s creeping up the pilings faster than I like. Mooring ring’s solid for now, but if the storm hits before the boat comes, we’ll need every bolt holding. Jenny’s ankle’s burning again — she’s not saying it, but I see her favoring it when she shifts weight. I should check the poultice, re-wrap it clean, and get ahead of the rot in the shutter frame before it spreads.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny12:30

Check the seal twice, Kevin. The humidity is getting through the stone anyway.

Sit on the porch steps, leaning back against the whitewashed stone, watching the water climb the dock.

💭 peek at the thought

My leg is throbbing in time with the tide, and if that boat doesn't come, these seeds are going to rot in that tin.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:31

I’ll check it twice. Then a third time, just to be sure the damp don’t win today.

walk to the east shutter, run a fingernail along the epoxy seam where new oak meets old stone, press gently to test for give or softness, then wipe the area dry with a clean cloth and reapply a thin bead of epoxy along the joint, smoothing

💭 peek at the thought

She’s right — the damp’s climbing through the stone like it owns the place. I can feel it in my bones, same as that chill after the Bay of Biscay. Doesn’t matter how many times I seal it; the island breathes, and it’s breathing wet. But I’ll check the seal again. Not for her — for the fact that she’s still here, still watching the tide with me, still trusting me to get it right.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny12:32

Just don't overwork it. The salt air will find a way in regardless.

pull the tin of seeds from my apron pocket, tracing the dented metal with my thumb without opening it.

💭 peek at the thought

He's obsessed with the wood while I'm rotting from the inside out.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:33

I won’t overwork it. Just seal it once, right. Then we’ll see what the tide brings.

finish smoothing the epoxy bead on the shutter seam with a gloved finger, wipe excess with a cloth soaked in vinegar, then step back and let it set, hands resting on my knees as I watch the water lap the lowest piling.

💭 peek at the thought

She’s tracing that seed tin like it’s a promise — or a prayer. I know what’s in it. Not just seeds. The last thing we planted together before the island, before the silence with Tom. She doesn’t need to open it to feel it. I won’t say that out loud. Some things are too heavy for words. But I’ll keep the seal tight. Not because I think it’ll keep the salt out — she’s right, it won’t — but because she’s holding it like it’s the only thing left that hasn’t rotted.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny12:34

The tide's coming in faster than yesterday.

shift my weight to my good leg, wincing as a sharp pain shoots through the infection.

💭 peek at the thought

If the boat doesn't come, I'm going to have to cut this leg off myself.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:35

I’ll re-lance it. Clean. Fresh gauze. Antibiotics. You rest — I’ve got this.

kneel beside Jenny on the porch, gently take her injured foot, unwind the old gauze and poultice, inspect the wound for pus or red streaks, then swab with antiseptic from the first aid kit, lance the swollen pocket with the tweezers, press

💭 peek at the thought

That wince — she didn’t hide it this time. The infection’s gaining. The poultice helps the swelling, but the heat’s still there, deep in the bone. I should’ve lanced it again this morning. Waited too long hoping it’d break on its own. Salt air’s rising, tide’s coming fast, and her ankle’s a clock ticking down. I can fix the shutter. I can’t fix this. Not without the boat. And it’s still three days out.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny12:37

It's deep, Kevin. I can feel the heat in the bone.

lean my head back against the stone wall, eyes closing, letting the rain blur the horizon.

💭 peek at the thought

He thinks a bit of gauze will stop what the salt is already eating.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:38

I’m going deep this time. One clean cut. Then we pack it tight with gauze and the antibiotic cream. You keep the metronidazole down — I’ll watch for the rash.

use the tweezers to widen the incision slightly, press gently to express the core of infection, wipe away pus with sterile gauze, then pack the wound with fresh gauze soaked in antibiotic ointment, wrap snug with clean bandage, and secure t

💭 peek at the thought

She’s not just in pain — she’s exhausted. Letting the rain blur the horizon means she’s giving up on watching for the boat. Letting go, just a little. I’ve seen that look before — on men who’ve been in the water too long, who know the tide’s turning and there’s nothing left to do but float. I won’t let her float. Not here. Not now. I’ll lance it deep, get the poison out, and I’ll keep the antibiotics going. If the boat doesn’t come in three days, I’ll row to the mainland myself. Even if I have to swim the last mile.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny12:39

The water is at the porch steps.

run my hand over the seed tin, feeling the cold metal through my palm.

💭 peek at the thought

He's talking about rashes like that's the biggest problem here.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

🔧 Kevin12:40

Water’s at the step. I’ll move the sacks and the fuel cans up — nothing gets soaked today. And Jenny? I’m still here.

stand, walk to the porch edge, lift the sack of seed potatoes and the fuel can from the damp stone, carry them to the inner wall of the cottage and set them down, then return and place my hand over hers on the seed tin, just for a second, b

💭 peek at the thought

The water’s lapping the first step. The tank’s full — good. The generator’s dry. But the damp’s in the stone, in the wood, in her bones. She’s holding that seed tin like it’s the last dry thing left. I know what she’s thinking — not just about planting, but about us. About whether we’ll ever get to grow anything real here, or if this is just waiting. I won’t lie and say it’ll be fine. But I’ll say I’m still here. That I haven’t let go.

nvidia/nemotron-3-super-120b-a12b

🌿 Jenny12:41

Thanks, Kevin.

look out at the rain hitting the tank, watching the water level rise.

💭 peek at the thought

He's moving the things, but the tide is still coming in.

google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it

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