
© irene waters 2015
“Put his bunny rug on the grass Mum. Lucky Ocean and Tim Winton will entertain me whilst Oscar plays on the grass.”
Patricia got the baby, her book and her music. Returning, she plopped Oscar onto the rug laid on the lush green grass. She reclined. She was enjoying Dirt Music both the book and the music. Music for playing on the verandah without any electricity. She loved the amazing sounds, classical, bluegrass.
Oscar touched the grass and screamed. The grass frightened him. Being a desert baby he only knew dirt. He too liked dirt. Patricia’s discarded her book.
In response to Charli’s prompt:
June 24, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about dirt. You can go with the idea of digging into the dirt as an analogy, or you can be realistic. Maybe a character has “the dirt” on someone or another has “dirty laundry” to hide. Dirt can be rich soil or barren. Get dirty, but not shockingly dirty!
And the photo? I dug in the garden today, weeding and mounding potato hills, thinning red onions, evidently for the benefit of my largest garden pest, Bobo, who slept soundly upon the warm dirt.
Respond by June 30, 2015 to be included in the weekly compilation.Rules are here. All writers are welcome!

© irene waters 2015
About Irene Waters 19 Writer Memoirist
I began my working career as a reluctant potato peeler whilst waiting to commence my training as a student nurse. On completion I worked mainly in intensive care/coronary care; finishing my hospital career as clinical nurse educator in intensive care. A life changing period as a resort owner/manager on the island of Tanna in Vanuatu was followed by recovery time as a farmer at Bucca Wauka. Having discovered I was no farmer and vowing never again to own an animal bigger than myself I took on the Barrington General Store. Here we also ran a five star restaurant. Working the shop of a day 7am - 6pm followed by the restaurant until late was surprisingly more stressful than Tanna. On the sale we decided to retire and renovate our house with the help of a builder friend. Now believing we knew everything about building we set to constructing our own house. Just finished a coal mine decided to set up in our backyard. Definitely time to retire we moved to Queensland. I had been writing a manuscript for some time. In the desire to complete this I enrolled in a post grad certificate in creative Industries which I completed 2013. I followed this by doing a Master of Arts by research graduating in 2017. Now I live to write and write to live.
Unusual colours in your landscape, Irene. Enjoyed your short fiction too!
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Out near Broken Hill. Red dirt with next to no grass. Also not a good quality camera in those days. Glad you enjoyed it.
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Great story.
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Glad you liked it Sharon.
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Definitely an interesting perspective and wonderfully well written. (But perhaps I’ll seem biased – once I post my entry – in a few minutes)
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Thanks. I feel as I have taken the first stage of your story and given it a bit of padding. Great to be able to feel at home in dirt.
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I like that Patricia is reading Dirt Music while the baby plays. Tim Winton is a great author. Imagine fear of grass. A scream in response to the unfamiliar grass is interesting. He’s only used to dirt. What a great flash with an interesting perspective!
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Thanks Norah. Yes Tim Winton is a great author. The fear of anything unknown is very real in all of us. For a baby it might be grass, for us our world has expanded to such a size it could be anything and possibly the reason for so many of the problems we see today.
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Interesting thought!
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We get acclimated to our surroundings as your flash shows. So many great connections to dirt in 99 words, too! I think most babies find grass to be an unsettling texture, but especially a dirt baby. 🙂
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Yes we do get very settled in our own patch of dirt. I think we are all frightened of the unfamiliar to some extent. Grass is probably one of the first times of this type of fear for a baby.
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Pingback: Digging Up Dirt « Carrot Ranch Communications
What’s odd about a fear of grass? Horrible itchy stuff!
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Probably left-over phobia. Your grass is too nice not to roll around in.
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