The morning sun peeked gently over the hills, casting golden light across the fields. Birds chirped cheerfully, and the scent of earth filled the air. It was harvest season in the village, and all the farmers were preparing to collect the black beans they had planted months ago.
Uncle Phong stood at the edge of his field, wearing his wide-brimmed hat and holding a worn but trusted basket. His rows of black bean plants stretched far across the gentle slope, their pods full and ready to be picked.
From the nearby path came a familiar sound: tiny footsteps and a high-pitched voice calling, “Uncle Phong! Wait for me!”
It was Bibi—Uncle Phong’s neighbor and the most energetic little helper in the village. Bibi was only eight years old, but her enthusiasm for helping out on the farm was unmatched. She loved learning new things and never missed a chance to lend a hand.
But today, Uncle Phong noticed something different. Bibi’s right hand was wrapped in a soft cloth, and she held it carefully against her chest.
“What happened, Bibi?” Uncle Phong asked, concerned. “Is your hand hurt?”
Bibi looked down, a little embarrassed. “I tripped yesterday while I was chasing the ducks. I fell and scraped my hand on some rocks.”
Uncle Phong knelt down beside her. “That must have hurt. You should rest, little one. Harvesting black beans takes two good hands.”
Bibi shook her head firmly. “I can still help! My left hand is just fine! I don’t want you to do all this work by yourself.”
Touched by her determination, Uncle Phong smiled. “Alright, Bibi. But you must promise me you’ll stop if it starts to hurt, okay?”
“I promise!” Bibi beamed.
With that, the two walked into the field together. Uncle Phong taught Bibi how to check if the pods were ready: they had to be dry and crisp, and the beans inside should rattle when shaken. Bibi quickly learned to twist the pods off gently with her left hand and drop them into her little basket.
At first, things went slowly. Bibi struggled a bit, only using one hand, and sometimes she dropped the pods before they made it into the basket. But she didn’t give up. She moved from plant to plant, humming a happy tune and chatting with the birds that fluttered nearby.
Uncle Phong worked beside her, keeping an eye on her hand. He admired her courage. Most kids her age would have stayed home, playing or resting. But not Bibi—she had a heart full of kindness and a spirit that never backed down.
After a while, Uncle Phong called for a break. “Let’s sit in the shade for a bit, Bibi. I brought some steamed corn and coconut water.”
They sat beneath a large tamarind tree, enjoying the cool breeze. Bibi took a sip of the sweet coconut water and smiled.
“Uncle Phong,” she said, “do you think I’ll be a good farmer someday?”
Uncle Phong looked at her warmly. “Bibi, you already are. Being a good farmer isn’t just about strong hands—it’s about caring for the land, working hard, and helping others. You’ve got all of that already.”
Bibi grinned from ear to ear.
After their break, they returned to work. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and the field slowly filled with the scent of crushed bean pods and dry earth. Uncle Phong whistled a cheerful tune while Bibi sang along, making up silly lyrics as she worked.
Suddenly, a small group of children appeared at the edge of the field. It was Bibi’s friends—Lala, Minh, and Tien.
“Bibi!” Lala shouted. “Why are you working with a sore hand?”
“Because Uncle Phong needed help, and I wanted to be useful,” Bibi called back, lifting her basket proudly.
The kids ran over, curious and impressed.
“Can we help too?” Minh asked.
“Of course!” Uncle Phong laughed. “The more the merrier!”
Soon, the field was buzzing with activity. The children picked black beans with giggles and laughter, turning the hard work into a game. They had bean-picking races, made funny shapes out of bean pods, and even invented a “black bean dance” that made everyone laugh.
Bibi led the group, showing them what Uncle Phong had taught her. Though her hand was still sore, her heart was light. She felt proud, not just for helping, but for inspiring her friends to join in too.
By late afternoon, the once-full field looked neat and clean. Dozens of baskets sat in rows, overflowing with shiny black beans. Uncle Phong wiped his forehead and looked around in amazement.
“I’ve never finished harvesting this fast,” he said. “Thanks to all of you!”
The children cheered, and Bibi stood tall, her cheeks flushed with pride.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in orange and pink, Uncle Phong gave each child a little bag of black beans to take home. “These are for your families,” he said. “To thank you for your kindness and hard work.”
Bibi looked at her bag and hugged it tight. Then she looked at her wrapped hand and smiled.
It still hurt a little—but not as much as before. And in her heart, she knew that helping others, even when things aren’t perfect, is one of the most special things anyone can do.
That night, as she lay in bed, Bibi listened to the crickets singing outside her window. Her body was tired, but her spirit was glowing. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Good night, Uncle Phong. Good night, black beans. I’ll help again tomorrow.”
And with that, Bibi drifted into dreams filled with laughter, sunlight, and fields of endless possibility.
