Search Stories

One of the great things about Site Meter is that you can see the search phrases that lead people to your blog. Every once in a while, I scan through the "Referrals" page, just for kicks.

The all-time winner is " emotionally unavailable men." You just wouldn't believe how many women out there are trying to understand why they keep falling for emotionally unavailable men. If any of them figure it out, I hope they explain it to me.

The next most popular is some combination of the words "Amish, celery, and recipes." More than a year ago, I did a Sunday Scribble, a character sketch about a young girl at the Farmer's Market. It still draws people to my blog several times a week. Who'd a thunk?

"Person helicopter" is a biggie, too. Somehow, I doubt that this post helps them much.

One day last week, people in two different locations googled the phrase "how a pond smells" and got this post in their results. I'd forgotten this one, and it was fun to read again. But really, the question of why people would google to find out how a pond smells....well....that question just won't leave me alone.

Were they writers looking for ideas? Kids writing papers for school? Why in the world would anyone who wants to, not know how a pond smells?

Just in case you're still out there, let me take a stab at it for you.

In autumn, the trees on the bank shed their leaves and their identities. The sumacs rage against the dying of their light. The pond smells like wood smoke and mushrooms, wet leaves and dying dreams.

In winter, a thousand geese gather out there, thankful to find open water and a safe haven so near a cornfield. The pond smells like the wet lining of an insulated boot. Like week-old bathwater mixed with goose feathers and gratitude.

In spring, babies are born on its banks and plants emerge. The pond smells like a fresh stick of Juicy Fruit. Like warm rain and new grass and hope.

In summer, thunderstorms race across our Midwestern skies. The pond smells like ozone and dust carried in a harsh wind. It smells like hay and horses and, sometimes, like something rotting in the heat. For the heron and the gaggle of geese, for the pin duck and for me, it smells like home.