It was a breezy Saturday morning when Bibi woke up to the smell of something warm and delicious drifting into her room. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, her little nose sniffing the air like a bunny.
“Mmm… something smells sweet,” she murmured, hopping out of bed and padding into the kitchen in her fuzzy socks.
There, in their cozy little kitchen, stood Dad in his favorite apron—the one with dancing vegetables printed on it. He was carefully peeling orange sweet potatoes, humming a tune that Bibi couldn’t quite place but somehow found comforting.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Dad said with a big smile. “I thought we’d have roasted sweet potatoes for breakfast today. What do you think?”
Bibi’s eyes lit up. “Yay! I love sweet potatoes!”
Dad chuckled. “I know you do. And I got the good ones from the market yesterday. Orange, sweet, and perfect for roasting.”
Bibi clambered onto the stool beside the counter. “Can I help?”
“Of course,” Dad said, handing her a small wooden spoon. “You can mix them with the honey and cinnamon while I finish peeling.”
They worked together like a well-oiled team. Dad chopped the sweet potatoes into bite-sized pieces while Bibi carefully poured in a drizzle of golden honey, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and a dash of love—her secret ingredient. Dad winked when she said that.
Soon, the oven was warming the kitchen with heat and the most mouthwatering smell. As they waited, Dad poured them both warm cups of milk, and they sat by the window, watching a few squirrels chase each other across the yard.
“I think sweet potatoes remind me of someone,” Dad said, taking a slow sip.
“Who?” Bibi asked, turning to him.
“Grandma.”
“Your mom?” Bibi tilted her head. “I don’t remember her much.”
Dad’s smile grew soft. “Yeah. She used to make the best roasted sweet potatoes. Not too sweet, not too dry. Just right. We’d sit on the porch and eat them when the leaves started to fall.”
Bibi imagined a younger version of Dad sitting on a porch, holding a warm sweet potato in his hands, laughing with his mom. She liked the picture it painted in her mind.
“Where is Grandma now?” Bibi asked gently.
Dad looked thoughtful for a moment. “She moved to the countryside a few years ago. She loves her garden and peace and quiet.”
“Why haven’t we seen her in a long time?”
“Well… life got busy, and Grandma likes her quiet life. But maybe it’s time we paid her a visit.”
Bibi’s eyes widened. “Really? Today?”
Dad looked at the oven and then at Bibi. “Why not? We can take some of these sweet potatoes with us. I think she’d like that.”
Bibi clapped her hands in excitement. “Road trip!”
By the time the sweet potatoes were ready—golden, caramelized, and steaming—the two of them packed a little picnic basket. Dad wrapped the roasted treats in foil to keep them warm. Bibi added a small bouquet of daisies they picked from the front yard.
They hopped into the car, tunes playing on the radio, and set off toward the countryside. The city slowly melted into fields of green and golden sunlight. Bibi pressed her nose to the window, watching the cows and windmills pass by.
After about an hour, they turned down a narrow gravel road lined with tall trees. At the end stood a small wooden house, cozy and charming, with vines climbing its walls and a cat sunbathing on the front porch.
Dad parked the car and took a deep breath. “Here we are.”
They walked up to the door, basket in hand. Dad hesitated, then knocked gently.
After a moment, the door creaked open, and there she was—Grandma, with her silver hair tied in a neat bun, a floral apron around her waist, and a look of surprise on her face that quickly turned into the warmest smile Bibi had ever seen.
“Sammy?” Grandma said, her voice catching. “Is that really you?”
Dad stepped forward, a little teary-eyed. “Hi, Mom.”
Without another word, they embraced. Bibi stood there, unsure what to do, until Grandma turned to her with open arms.
“And you must be Bibi,” she said.
Bibi grinned and ran into the hug. “Hi, Grandma!”
Grandma held them both for a long time, then stepped back. “Come in, come in! I was just making tea.”
Inside, the house was filled with the smell of herbs and something baking in the oven. There were plants on every windowsill, old photos on the walls, and a warmth that felt like a blanket you never wanted to take off.
They sat at the kitchen table, and Dad pulled out the basket. “We brought you something.”
When Grandma unwrapped the foil, her eyes lit up. “Roasted sweet potatoes? Just like I used to make.”
“We made them together,” Bibi said proudly.
Grandma took a bite and closed her eyes. “Mmm… just right. You two did a perfect job.”
As they sipped tea and munched on sweet potatoes, the room filled with laughter and stories. Grandma told Bibi about how Dad used to get sticky fingers from eating too many sweet potatoes, and Dad told Grandma how Bibi once tried to grow a sweet potato in her sock drawer.
“Did it work?” Grandma asked, trying not to laugh.
“Not really,” Bibi giggled. “It got moldy.”
After lunch, Grandma showed them her garden, full of vegetables and flowers. Bibi found a corner where real sweet potatoes were growing and got so excited she started planning her next science experiment.
As the sun began to set, Dad looked at Grandma and said, “We should come more often.”
Grandma nodded, her eyes shimmering. “You’re always welcome here.”
Bibi hugged her tightly. “Can we come back next weekend?”
Grandma smiled. “I’ll even let you help me in the kitchen.”
As they drove home, the sky painted itself in oranges and pinks. Bibi leaned against Dad, holding his hand.
“That was the best day ever,” she whispered.
Dad squeezed her hand. “Sweet potatoes and surprises, huh?”
“Sweet potatoes and Grandma,” Bibi corrected, smiling up at the sky.
And from that day on, sweet potatoes always tasted a little more special.
