The Growth of A Sprout | Teen Ink

The Growth of A Sprout

June 14, 2022
By Mira-VP BRONZE, Rochester, New York
Mira-VP BRONZE, Rochester, New York
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I’m the young girl walking on the trail next to the road with my siblings, picking up daisies to make a chain with, crouching in the grass picking flower after flower, making a promise to keep them alive, but once I get into the car, I’ll forget about them. They’ll fall out of my hand, to the trash ridden floor, as I fall asleep in the car. The quiet hum of the highway and gospel music streaming from the speaker lulling me to an inevitable sleep. We’d walk a quarter of a mile or so, enjoying the spring sun, the pines reaching towards the sky while our feet crunched on dead needles and pine cones. The peace of the walk soon be shattered by one of the twins whining that they need to eat something right then, “Or Else.” Then, life wasn’t plagued with the worries of what had to happen next. Life was spontaneous and issues were small. The biggest problem in an eight year old’s life is deciding which flavor of ice cream to choose. 

We all start as sprouts in the ground, vulnerable to the world around us. We don’t know anything but to eat, breathe and keep growing. Soon enough, growig into something bigger, not huge and all-knowing, but our skin becomes thicker and we start to soak in more knowledge from our roots. A small sapling becoming more independent in life.

Me, a ten year old in her mother’s weathered van, on her way to her first sleepover summer camp. It was a ways away from the city, but somehow the hills and the emerald trees they passed felt familiar, like she’d been visiting them her whole life. They passed houses every few miles, each connected to a large barn, some looking new, others looking like they were hundreds of years old, decrepit and about to crumble. Finally when they got to the camp, the girl was the most excited she’d ever been in her life. She took her suitcase and practically dragged her mother to the check-in area. Something happened, though, when she got to her cabin. She clasped onto her mother’s hand not wanting her to leave, wanting to go home. All of her excitement died when she saw all of the other girls, smiling all in pairs or groups. All her life she wanted to be part of one of those groups, but as she saw the others she just wanted to go home. 

The first few days at camp were miserable, she’d cry at night because she just wanted to go home, but it was the harsh truth of life. She found that the only comfort was, when everyone was sleeping, she’d go to the back of the A-frame she slept in and look outside. She sat on the edge, her legs dangling over the edge, brushing the multicolored grass and leaves that lay damp on the ground. One night her routine changed when another little girl came up behind her on one of the nights she sat out. “Can I sit with you?” It was those five words that melted the sadness that gripped onto her heart. She smiled up at the other girl inviting her into her nighttime ritual. With a small gesture, I, the girl, had her first close friend. 

The roots are what help trees grow. They soak in the sunlight, water and nutrients, strengthening the plant every day. The Sequoiadendron Giganteum, or the Sequoia, is a tree that grows from a sapling to something bigger, something majestic. If a plant could rule all the others it would be the Sequoia, their height and size towering over all of the others. The sprouts and seedlings looking up to them wondering if they’d grow to be that tall while the others respected them for their knowledge. They would know all of the secrets of the earth from their lifespans of thousands of years, each generation gaining a little more height and wisdom. The small trees learning from them making their bark thicker and understand the world around them a little better. 

Climbing a tree or reaching the top of a hill fills you with success and pride. You aren’t the first one and you won’t be the last, but the small accomplishment and the joy it fills you with is unmatched. Especially when you’re in a competition. My knees may be scraped and I’m breathing so heavily that I may suck in all of the air around me, but I still feel like I’ve won a gold medal. “That’s not fair- I mean I let you win” my brother said when he caught up to me as out of breath as I was. 

“A win is a win.” I was smirking at him and an idea popped through my head, that day I was determined to win. I pointed to my mom and sister who were standing at the bottom of the hill, they knew that they’d be used as a prop in our game so they stayed in their spot, smiling and shaking their heads. “Last one to the bottom is a rotten egg.” we got into our places and counted out. 

Three 

Two

One

We were gone, laughing through the whole race, crashing into each other as we tried to make the other fall down. The momentum of the hill carried us further than where my mom and sister stood, but it was apparent that I was the one who won. I fell to the ground cackling and rolling. “Rotten egg rotten egg, you are a rotten egg.” I chanted over and over, rubbing it in his face that I was the one who won. My family is bad at losing and winning, gloating too much when someone wins and having a sour attitude when they don’t, so my brother just stood to the side, frowning. Being the mean older sister I was, I kept teasing until our mom came over to us. “You gotta stop teasing, just because  you won doesn’t mean you have to antagonize him.”

“Yeah, don’t antagonize me” my brother pipped up, and again I was rude. 

“You probably don’t even know what that means.” Once again my mom shot me a warning glare, “Enough. The joy shouldn’t be in the winning, but in the game and the togetherness, right?” I mumbled my answer, giving a half apology to my brother, but it was all forgotten a few minutes later when we were back on our walk. 

I didn’t appreciate it at the time but the things my mom said about being kind to others were correct. My mom is like the Sequoia, tall, elegant, and seemingly all-knowing, the way she’s handled her whole life, something I aspire to do. I admire the way she is always organized even when everything around her is chaotic she always has a clear plan.

The middle of a tree’s life, I think, is the most important. The tree is big enough that it’s growing a little more, not completely, but it's adapt to its environment. The adolescence of a tree determines if it has what it takes to go from being a sprout to becoming a Sequoia.

Being a teenager is an experience that is hard to classify. Is it hard or easy? Do you need skill to conquer it or is it something that’s wild and can’t be controlled. You do nothing while doing everything at the same time. You’re a shapeshifter and a rock, slightly changing yourself while still being one core person. She is the person who puts on a pretty face, but it’s not actually her, it’s a disguise, but since we’re always caught up in ourselves we don’t notice her attempts. He is loud and says he hates life, which he does, but is it actually as bad as he says? He breaks the rules, a face of indifference always present but deep down he really does care. A rebel without a cause as some might say. We are adapting to our environment, which is life. Our actions determining if we will grow into something that can thrive. I am, and always will be the girl picking daisies on the trails I roam. The girl who is apprehensive but overtime finds where she fits. The girl with scraped knees and a bad attitude. The girl who is a shapeshifting liar who is still shaping her future. I am the girl who started as a sprout, grew into a sapling and aspires to be a strong and tall Sequoia. I am the girl who grew and is still growing. 


The author's comments:

This work is a creative nonfiction piece that I had to write for my creative writing class. The assignment was to create a braided essay weaving a personal topic with one or two other things to compare and contrast them. If I'm being fully honest, though, I had no idea what I was going to create. I had many different ideas about how to make this essay, but couldn't figure out how to execute it. My creative writing teacher told me that I should choose something I'm familiar with and something else that interests me that I could find more information about that I could use for it, and I instantly thought about trees. Nature and plants have always been interesting to me and every writer knows that nature is something that can be used poetically, so I decided to use that. I also had the element of personal growth and that is how The Growth of A Sprout was created. The creative essay was supposed to be comparing personal growth with the growth and development of a tree in an interesting (and I hope) creative way. 


Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 0 comments.