In the sleepy town of Hamlin, New York, we lived on a pleasant five-acre piece of property up until just two years ago when we headed south and out of state. We had the house in Hamlin built, and the fill needed to go around the base of it was gathered by digging what was essentially a humongous hole in the backyard. Our son Scott was seven years old when we moved in, and upon learning this hole would become a pond, he suggested we name it Ducks Pond. I asked what we would do if there were no ducks, and quite naturally he decided it would be called… yes, you guessed it. "No Ducks Pond" was born, still without water and certainly without ducks.
One heavy winter and wet spring later, the hole had filled with water and we had a pond. My husband Joe obtained a permit to stock it with fish, thereby officially declaring it to the county as No Ducks Pond. He filled it with grass carp, bass, and perch all so that the kids could enjoy fishing in their own backyard, despite the fact that the property butted up against a wonderful creek that flowed with fish and spilled into Lake Ontario. Joe felt that it would be nice for the kids to have something even closer and easier to fish in than the creek. That’s just the kind of dad he is. We had wonderful times by that pond, some spent having campfires by the fire pit Joe and Scott built next to it, some fishing, or throwing rocks into it, and some just picking “corn dogs" (what the kids called cattails) from along its banks. Over the time we lived in that home we all fell in love with No Ducks Pond. My father put together for us what looked like a cock-eyed old sign, and I painted our pond’s name with pride on it, along with a few corn dogs for decoration.