I’d been working on a unit of lessons about Lewis and Clark and learning a lot about the rich history of Missouri. As I walked the path beside the big lake, I breathed in the cool air and enjoyed the soft October light. A few bicycles whizzed by. I passed women in running pants with arm bands hooked to I-pods and kissing couples out for an evening stroll.
On my left a sign caught my eye that said “Dripping Springs ~ Scene of the tragic death of the lovelorn Indian girl whose broken heart is said to have given the lake it’s sorrowful name, “Creve Coeur”.
In all my fifteen years in St. Louis, I’d never heard this story! I was so pleased with my discovery that I made Jeremy and Sophia return to the park with me a few weeks later so I could take some photos. At the time I was hoping to capture the beauty of fall, but it was a little early.
In the end it was my husband who captured most of the images. He went into full-on nature photographer mode. As he shot, I secretly promised myself that one day I’ll know the names of Missouri trees and wildflowers, like a real poet.
These are the infamous “Dripping Springs” up close:
As a writer and would-be poet it’s hard to pass up such a story, so I’ll share some of the thoughts I jotted in my notebook thinking it might make a poem one day:
Broken Heart Lake
Late October sunset
at Dripping Springs.
Sliver of moon rising,
her sweet ghost hovers
beside me.
Silver light
glistens off the
tears on her cheek.
Winter is on its way,
she knows he’s
never coming back.
Only jagged rocks
remember the name of a native girl,
whose sorrow gave birth
to a lake.
***
