Where Still Water Meets Me: A Love Letter to Clear Lake

 Hometown Roots

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There’s a place where the air smells like bonfires and lake water. Where sailboats dot the horizon at sunset and the coffee at the corner café tastes like a hug in a mug. That place is Clear Lake, Iowa—and it’s not just where I’m from, it’s where I still reside today.

I’ve walked its gravel roads, cheered under its Friday night lights, and danced in the glow of the Surf Ballroom’s history. And now, I get to raise my daughter here, in the same town that raised me. The stillness of the water, the kindness of neighbors, the pride of growing up somewhere that always knew my name—these are pieces of home I carry and now get to pass on.

And I want to share them with you.

This series is a collection of poems, stories, and reflections inspired by the place that shaped me and still surrounds me. Some will make you nostalgic, others might make you laugh or tear up—but all of them come from that quiet, steady place where still water meets me.

We’re starting with a poem. It’s the one that sparked this whole idea, the one that tugged at my heart and whispered, “write this down.”

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Where Still Water Meets Me

I come from where the cornfields kiss the sky,
Where sailboats drift and summer sings nearby.
Clear Lake—the name etched deep in my bones,
Where every winding street still feels like home.

I know the rhythm of the Friday night lights,
The echo of guitars on Surf Ballroom nights.
We dance in the shadows of rock 'n' roll dreams,
And wade through waters more honest than they seem.

The scent of bonfires, the gravel road dust,
Neighbors wave, no reason—just because they trust.
We grow with the seasons, gentle and slow,
Like dandelions daring the prairie wind to blow.

My roots run deep with small-town pride,
A heart shaped by lake days and wide open skies.
No matter how far my footprints roam,
Still water calls me—still water is home.

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Whether you’ve been to Clear Lake or just have a hometown of your own tucked into your soul, I hope this series reminds you of the places that made you who you are.

I’d love to hear about your own hometown roots. What place shaped you, and what memories do you hold close? Share your stories in the comments below—I can’t wait to read them and connect over the things that make us who we are.

Thanks for starting here, with me.

Love,

Ariella’s Mama