Day Sixty-Three: Strange Happenings by the Sea (Part One)

When I woke up today, it was still before dawn. The thunderstorm that raged through most of the night had woken me several times. Even in my state of utter exhaustion, the deafening thunder forced me awake. Fortunately, the storm subsided late into the night, allowing me to finally get some proper rest.

Upon waking, a dull ache coursed through my entire body, banishing any lingering sleepiness. I went downstairs and brewed myself a cup of lemon tea, leaving out the honey. I hoped the tartness would jolt me awake and dispel the lingering fatigue. It worked wonders—the first few sips sent a sharp tingling through my teeth and left my brows furrowed for quite a while.

It was the lemon’s flavor that brought me back to full alertness, as if a cool spring had washed through my mind, clearing away the haze and leaving me lucid. When I opened the door, I was surprised to find the rain had stopped. The storm clouds had all dispersed. Though the sun had yet to rise, I sensed the day would be pleasant, perhaps even rainless.

From the nearby tall trees, droplets still dripped intermittently, and the ground was littered with leaves torn down by last night’s violent rain, a testament to the storm’s strength. Concerned, I walked a circuit around my treehouse. The results were reassuring: I inspected nearly every joint, especially where the ropes bound the trees and beams together. Save for some slight loosening from the swaying, everything remained sturdy, with no effect on the structure’s integrity.

Nonetheless, I found a small branch and wedged it into the gap, tightening the rope against the tree for extra security. The vines I’d planted were thriving, showing no signs of withering as I’d feared. It seems I had underestimated their resilience.

Originally, I’d planned to return and sun-dry some more salt, but the weather gave me pause. My salt stores were running low, and now that I had both a basin and a large bucket, fetching seawater was much more efficient than the old days with just a plastic bottle. But today’s weather was odd—the wind was blowing in the opposite direction. Normally, the sea breeze comes inland, but today it was blowing out to sea. I hadn’t encountered this since arriving on the island. Perhaps it was a sign of further rain or clear skies, I couldn’t say.

Puzzled but unconcerned, I headed to my small vegetable patch. The seedlings were growing well, though one potato sprout had toppled over near the drainage channel—likely a victim of last night’s floodwaters. I tried to prop it up, hoping to save it, but its stem had already snapped. It wouldn’t survive. I sighed and looked away.

The seeds I’d sown in drift bottles were growing much faster than the potato sprouts, even though I’d planted them at the same time. The seedlings from the bottles already stood half a centimeter taller. My garlic had also sprouted, green shoots poking above the soil. Soon, they’d be large enough to harvest—though not nearly enough to live on. My plan was to dig up the bulbs when mature, divide them, and plant them anew. After a few cycles, I’d have a whole patch of garlic.

By now, the sun had risen. The sky was exceptionally clear, and for the first time, I could see the distant hilltops that were usually shrouded in mist. This was a pleasant surprise. The clouds, too, were different—no dense, stormy masses, nor fluffy white fair-weather clouds. Instead, they were high and wispy, streaked across the blue expanse—a beautiful sight that filled me with peace.

Yesterday’s batch of arrowroot starch was another important task. Lifting the lid from the pot, I saw the water had separated into two layers, the cloudy starch settling at the bottom. I carried the basin outside and set it on the table to dry in the sun for a couple of days. Once the water evaporated, the starch would be ready.

I wondered if my fishing net by the shore had been blown away, washed out, or chewed through by animals. The thought worried me. “Why not go and check?” No sooner had the idea formed than I acted on it.

Now that I had lemons, the thought of fresh sea fish was irresistible. I could already imagine the crispy skin and steaming flesh, finished with a drizzle of lemon juice—the thought made my mouth water. Even a simple steamed fish, with a few lemon slices laid on top, would infuse the meat with a refreshing, tangy aroma.

As I made my way toward the shore, chewing on some fruit to stave off hunger, visions of all kinds of delicacies filled my mind—especially those I’d enjoyed in the past. The images were so vivid I nearly drooled as I hurried through the forest. Once the cravings began, they were hard to shake off. Though reason tried to intervene, the longing was too strong. In comparison, the sweet, juicy fruit tasted dull and waxy.

It wasn’t until I reached the coastal woods and approached the fishing net that these fantasies finally faded, leaving my mind clear again.

But something was wrong—the net had been disturbed!

I couldn't tell if it had been moved by a person, animal, or perhaps the sea breeze. I had set it parallel to the shoreline, but now one end faced directly out to sea. Thankfully, I'd weighed it down with stones; otherwise, who knows if it would even still be here.

Upon inspection, I found several holes—small tears where the net had been gnawed or bitten. Four in total, perhaps the work of rats, though I couldn’t be sure. Still, it was no serious problem. Some thin vines from the nearby forest served as makeshift twine, and I patched the holes quickly.

With the net repaired, I set out to cast it. The waves were unusually strong today, churning even this usually calm stretch of water. Fewer fish were schooling near the shore.

Just as I reached the spot near a large tree’s roots and was about to cast the net, a thunderous crash startled me so much I dropped it. My heart barely had time to settle before another boom echoed out.

“Boom!”

“Boom, crash!”

I walked toward the source of the sound…