The Watersprite’s Hair
“Dad, what’s that?” Ian asked, pointing at long strands of dried, gray algae.
Every fall, the Erickson Water Garden at the Overland Park Arboretum is “turned off.” The pumps that create this truly delightful brook are winterized and the brook is dry until spring. This leaves a streambed filled with dried mud, rocks and festoons of dried algae on the rocks that look like hair, flowing in the breeze.
“It’s the Watersprite’s hair,” I told Ian. “Do you want to hear more?”
“Yes,” Ian answered, but without much enthusiasm. James joined us as I began to speak.
The Watersprite lived in the brook. Since she was the same color as the water, nobody could see her, but they could hear her laughing and talking as the water flowed over the rocks and waterfalls. Although she couldn’t be seen, people knew that she was there, not just by her laughter and water talk, but because they could see her long, beautiful hair under the water, flowing with the current. The Watersprite loved her hair, and she would comb it for hours as the water flowed over her.
One day, a tall, handsome man walked up to the brook and looked in. As the Watersprite looked back at him she fell in love and talked to him, begging him to stay. The man couldn’t understand her and walked on. For the first time in her memory, the Watersprite was sad. She wanted this tall handsome man to return and be with her.
The next day, the man returned to the brook and the Watersprite tried and tried again with all her might to talk to him, but the man couldn’t understand. When he left her again, she wept and the current carried away her tears.
On the third day, when the man came back, the Watersprite decided to leave her home and go with him. She couldn’t. Her long, beautiful hair kept her tied to the rocks in the streambed. Frantically, she tugged and pulled at her hair, trying to get loose, but to no avail. Desperately, she picked up a jagged rock and hacked at her beautiful hair, finally cutting it loose.
The Watersprite jumped out of the brook and ran to the tall, handsome man. The man turned and looked at this beautiful, young woman and fell in love with her. They were married and lived happily ever after.
The Watersprite’s hair never grew back. Every time she looked in the mirror, her roughly cut hair reminded her of her sacrifice for the man she loved.
“The end,” I said.
The boys stood still in the silence. A stick caught Ian’s eye and he raced for it with James following closely behind.
“That was a lead balloon,” I thought critically, and we continued our walk.
The next week, when we came to the arboretum, Ian ran ahead and reached the brook before anyone else.
“Look, Dad,” he exclaimed, pointing down at the dry streambed, “the Watersprite’s hair!”
Bill Bartlett lives in Belton with his wife and two sons.