I’d announced to the backyard my intention to make a pond there, but no frogs had volunteered to serve as architects. So, it was up to Sergey and me to design and build it. A lot of online reading about wildlife ponds, frog ponds, toad ponds, amphibian ponds, etc. ensued.

After what felt like years’ worth of moonlighting as a pond researcher, I finally convinced Sergey that our creation wouldn’t become a cesspool populated by breeding mosquitos and venomous snakes. Or, more accurately, his naturally kind-hearted desire to support my hopes and dreams outweighed his many qualms. It was now time to start procurement.

While nearly every source I read told me I’d need to use a plastic liner, I fixated on the idea that we could make an all-natural clay-bottomed pond. After all, our yard is nothing but heavy clay! You can practically scoop some up and build a vessel. I read about a delightful technique of “puddling” clay by stomping on it to squeeze out all the air.

Ever reliant on empirical testing, I dug out a small hole in the backyard and filled it with water (though I didn’t stick my feet inside). And lo and behold! The water drained, just as all the guidance had predicted. Alas, gotta use the plastic.

The other pond-building necessity was rocks and pebbles, which would hold the liner down and provide habitat for animals and beneficial bacteria. We made several trips to a nearby landscaping stone supplier so I could repeatedly scrutinize every case of rocks. Round or angular? Gray or brown? Small, medium, or large? The pond had to be beautiful! Only the finest rocks would do! 

I settled upon the types of rocks and liner I wanted after much deliberation. Next came the agonizing process of calculating quantities. In retrospect, our calculation of how many tons of rocks we needed turned out to be pretty accurate. The liner size estimate was less so. When we unfurled it, it looked like we had enough to install a swimming pool!

Late December arrived, and with it, my annual break from work, a sacred two-week period to rest, relax, and get caked with cold mud. Over several exhausting days, we excavated the pond—or, more accurately, Sergey hand-dug the pond while I uselessly shaved off shreds of clay (heavy clay is truly heavy). 

The pond is an oval of about six feet by seven feet, one foot deep around the edges, sinking down to three feet at the center. Before we lined it and added the rocks, it looked like the half of an avocado without the pit.

If my calculations are right, the pond holds around 300 gallons. Thanks to some heavy rainstorms—Alabama earns its ranking as one of the wettest states in the country—it filled up soon after we finished our work.