Kentucky's most misspelled word, according to study
According to the study, Kentuckians struggle most with spelling 'people,' and the same goes for South Dakota and Virginia.
'This years most misspelled words violate many phonics rules, contain silent letters, contain double letters, originate from other languages, and use tricky suffixes. Words that contain silent letters: scissors, through, pneumonia, character, daughter. Words with irregular vowel sounds: different, people, through, character, daughter. Words that use tricky suffixes like -ture, -ate, -ence: temperature, character, appreciate, patience, compliment, protective. Words that contain difficult consonant blends: scratch, school, schedule, cancelled. Availability of autocorrect in all devices results in misspelling common words like 'beautiful' or 'necessary'. Studies suggest heavy reliance on autocorrect weakens spelling skills over time. Some researchers call it digital amnesia. We simply forget things that we delegate to technology. Misspellings might be on the rise not because we know less, but because we need to know less.'
A spokesperson for WordUnscrambler.pro
In New Jersey and Illinois, it's 'congratulations' that trips people up.
Kentucky's most misspelled word, according to study
Kentucky leaders unite in 3rd request for disaster declaration
Fallen Scott County sheriff's deputy remembered on second anniversary of passing
New Yorkers have a hard time with different.
But the biggest outlier is Vermont, where the most misspelled word is 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.'
Definitely – 33 500 searches.
Separate – 30 000 searches.
Necessary – 29 000 searches.
Believe – 28 500 searches.
Through – 28 000 searches
Gorgeous – 27 000 searches
Neighbor – 25 500 searches
Business – 24 200 searches
Favorite – 23 000 searches
Restaurant – 22 500 searches
Alabama – Different
Alaska – Tomorrow
Arizona – People
Arkansas – Quesadilla
California – Appreciation
Colorado – Sergeant
Connecticut – Schedule
Delaware – Beautiful
Florida – Compliment
Georgia – Necessary
Hawaii – Luau
Idaho – Definitely
Illinois – Congratulations
Indiana – Taught
Iowa – Through
Kansas – Different
Kentucky – People
Louisiana – Through
Maine – Pneumonia
Maryland – Character
Massachusetts – Beautiful
Michigan – Scratch
Minnesota – Successful
Mississippi – Beautiful
Missouri – Temperature
Montana – Appreciate
Nebraska – Beautiful
Nevada – School
New Hampshire – Protective
New Jersey – Congratulations
New Mexico – Appreciate
New York – Different
North Carolina – Secret
North Dakota – Daughter
Ohio – Crochet
Oklahoma – Patience
Oregon – Business
Pennsylvania – Scissors
Rhode Island – Cancelled
South Carolina – People
South Dakota – Beautiful
Tennessee – Broccoli
Texas – Protect
Utah – Definitely
Vermont – Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
Virginia – People
Washington – Appreciation
West Virginia – Beautiful
Wisconsin – Different
Wyoming – Beautiful
WordUnscrambler said it looked at Google Trends search data for 'How do you spell' and 'How to spell' from Jan. 1, 2025, to May 19 to come to these conclusions.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
New York Times
18 hours ago
- New York Times
‘Like Many New Yorkers, I'm Quietly Curious About My Neighbors'
Her System Dear Diary: I live in an old, ramshackle building in Brooklyn Heights, and, like many New Yorkers, I'm quietly curious about my neighbors. There's the man upstairs who is learning to play the bass, practicing the same four chords over and over late into the night. There's the young guy who stands outside with one of those toys — the ball on a string you try to catch in a little cup. What is that called? But the neighbor I notice the most is an older woman I will call June. She is small and elegant and mostly keeps to herself. But every so often, I'll find her standing in the doorway, smoking a cigarette, and we'll talk. June has lived in the building for nearly 30 years. She uses a walker, and even with it, her steps are slow and careful. You get the sense that coming downstairs for a cigarette is no small task. So she's devised a system: In her mailbox downstairs, she keeps everything she needs — packs of Camel Lights, a small lighter and two stiff coupons that she wedges into the door frame to keep the front doors from locking. That way, she doesn't have to carry anything, not even her keys. 'Too much trouble otherwise,' she explained to me once. Submit Your Metropolitan Diary Your story must be connected to New York City and no longer than 300 words. An editor will contact you if your submission is being considered for publication. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
Vogue
6 days ago
- Vogue
The Simple Pleasures of a Stoop Vegetable Garden
During World War II, American families grew 'victory gardens' in their backyard—a patriotic way to fight food shortages and help troops by diverting the need for fresh fruits, veggies, and herbs. In a way, the collection of plants currently sitting on the stoop of my Brooklyn apartment is its own little kind of victory garden. A concerted effort to care for something tangible, that also may just feed me at some point this summer (as long as I stick to my watering schedule). Earlier this year, I interviewed a series of New Yorkers about what they were buying ahead of Trump's potential incoming tariffs. Julia Fox, star of Uncut Gems and girl about town, told me, 'I bought seeds to plant my own food, just in case.' At a time when everything seems to be a recession indicator, a vegetable garden may be the most hopeful one to consider. This isn't my first summer spent trying to keep plants alive on my porch. Last year, my tomato plant limped along as I went out of town, only to come back and revive it at the last possible moment. I ended the season having enjoyed exactly five juicy little tomatoes. But they were undoubtedly delicious—sun warmed and bursting with flavor. As I've seen more people in my online universe talk both jokingly and semi-seriously about curating a vegetable garden of their own in particularly insecure times, I thought it might be a nice occasion to brush up on a few tips and tricks in caring for your own little collection of pots and planters with the help of Corey Blant, the director of urban agriculture at New York Restoration Project (a program which, fun fact, was founded by Bette Midler in 1995). NYRP works in partnership with communities all over New York City to create and preserve community gardens and green spaces. It's never too late to start Each winter, I tell myself that I'll start early on my planting projects, but the reality is life often gets in the way of planting seeds early in the season. The good news, according to Blant, is that it's never too late to start on something. 'Not two hours ago, I planted zucchini from seed at a garden in Astoria,' he tells me over FaceTime, his face tan and his fingers dusty from a day in the soil. While he notes that at this point in the season, it's too late to plant delicate lettuces, it's prime time for squash, eggplant, and zucchini, all of which thrive in summer heat. Blant adds that herbs are a great option no matter what point in the season—'mint is going to be super vigorous, [as well as] sage and basil.' Come mid-August, you can even start to plant seeds for cold-loving veggies like cauliflower and kale. If planting straight from seed is intimidating, head to your local hardware store and pick up a few starts (baby plants ready to go into the ground), which can be a little more forgiving. This year, I've set out my pots with a mix of tomatoes, habanero peppers, and basil, and despite the current temps climbing towards 100 degrees, I've been faithfully watering them and watching as my first little veggies begin to appear. Make the most of what you have Whether you have a backyard plot, a free stoop or a little space on your fire escape, make the most of your space. If you're building a garden in a yard, go for a raised bed with quality soil or compost. 'Start with that super high quality, super nutrient dense soil,' Blant says. Soil, sun, water… if you give the plants as much of that as possible, you're setting them up for success from the jump.' On my stoop, I use a mix of pots that I've amassed over the year, using the bigger ones for plants that I know tend to take over, like tomatoes. Smaller pots house basil and herbs. I try to use pots that have holes in the bottom for drainage, along with a saucer to catch the water that tends to spill out when I douse them. I picked up soil from my local hardware store, and also take the chance to grab NYC-made compost when I come across it at a farmer's market or other local event (as an ardent composter, it's a full circle moment!).
Los Angeles Times
7 days ago
- Los Angeles Times
My last garden
Someday we will leave this house where we've lived, incredibly, for close to 45 years. Maybe a new McMansion will push us away, looming over us and blocking the winter sunrise I watch from our living room, cup of coffee in hand. Maybe we'll decide to move near the kids, instead of visiting them for stretches. Or maybe my husband or I will take a bad fall, making even the three steps to our front door insurmountable. Maybe that will be the moment we go. My mother stayed in her house past the point of being able to disperse a lifetime of family photos, books and the rest. So, like Egyptian royalty, she cocooned with it all. Neat stacks of New Yorkers she 'intended' to read filled an entire bookcase in her bedroom. The 1940s Toby jugs she collected in Victoria, Canada, as a young Navy WAVE officer nestled, bubble-wrapped, in a closet, some carefully glued back together after the 1994 Northridge earthquake. So much 'sparked joy' for her, or at least a duty to preserve. I'm determined to live lighter — certainly to die with less — and I have made some progress giving things away. But my husband and I struggle with the bigger decision of moving: knowing when and to where, that's the trick. Our ruminations and the recent deaths of friends infuse our life here in Los Angeles with a preciousness which, as summer rises, centers on my small garden. The Meyer lemons have ripened into big, juicy softballs. The Valencia blossoms have morphed into countless tiny green oranges. That tree predated us in this house and remains so prolific that in some years local food-bank gleaners have bagged 500 pounds of ripe fruit. Jasmine flowers spill over our brick planters. The trumpet tree's exotic scent lures nocturnal moths into its bright yellow cone petals. Taking out the trash after dark sometimes feels like a visit to Bloomingdale's fragrance counter. My night-blooming cereus, once a small potted plant, now the size of Audrey II from 'Little Shop of Horrors,' is on its third round of buds. Pollinators come calling as dusk descends and the 8-inch flowers languidly unfurl their white petals. Sometimes a dozen or more blooms open over an evening — like the Hollywood Bowl's Fourth of July fireworks finale, minus the '1812 Overture.' Of course, I can buy fresh lemons and flowers wherever we end up living. But there is such quotidian joy for me in these lemons and those flowers. I'm a negligent gardener. Rainstorms invariably seed a carpet of weeds; my winter lettuce bolts before I notice. Bare spots need new plants. I should spend a solid week out there, plucking, fertilizing and replanting. Even so, things mostly grow. I would miss the trees in our 1948 tract. Jacaranda blooms a couple of blocks over dust cars and make a canopy of lavender. In fall, tiny yellow blossoms from the golden rain trees carpet our street. Still, my husband and I are beginning to feel old here. Young families replace neighbors who've died or moved. Little girls in pink leotards twirl on their lawns. Halloween is a big deal on our street again. All as it should be. Our fellow seniors, some longtime friends, still briskly walk the streets. But ramps for wheelchairs and sturdy railings have appeared on some front porches. Local real-estate agents pester us long-timers to sell. Simplify your life, they helpfully suggest. Move to a condo or near your children before it's 'too late.' I'm still upright, yet each year I feel the decision drawing closer. The kids and young grandchildren live in the Northwest, which we love, and being there full time we'd be more a part of their lives. However, at our age, moving means giving up not just this house but, realistically, any house and, likely, a garden. How I will miss my weedy little Giverny. An older neighbor planted sweet peas every year so that the vines wound up her chain link fence. The spring after she died, her house vacant and her presence sorely missed, a mass of flowers reappeared, all color and delicious scent. Whenever we move on, I hope the next gardener will delight in the magenta alstroemeria flowers that emerge every spring, unbidden. Or perhaps as the agapanthus blooms — those swaying lavender balls — knock gently against her family's car as she backs out of the driveway, she'll shake her head at the magic of it all. Molly Selvin, a former staff writer for the Los Angeles Times and editor-in-chief of the California Supreme Court Historical Society's Review, writes for Blueprint magazine and other publications. This article was produced in partnership with Zócalo Public Square.
