The sun rose over the quiet countryside, casting a golden hue across the fields. Morning dew sparkled on the leaves, and the scent of fresh earth filled the air. In a small village nestled between gentle hills and winding streams lived a cheerful little girl named Bibi. She was known for her big smile, her curious mind, and her love for the garden her father had carefully tended for years.
That morning, Bibi woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. She stretched her arms and jumped out of bed, her heart full of excitement. Today was special. It was the day she planned to harvest sweet potatoes from the garden—sweet potatoes her dad had planted months ago but hadn’t had time to check on lately due to work. Bibi wanted to surprise him.
“Dad’s going to love this,” she whispered to herself, slipping on her boots and tying her messy hair into a ponytail.
Outside, the air was cool and fresh. The garden stretched behind their small wooden house, full of vegetables, herbs, and fruit trees. But it was the sweet potato patch at the far end that Bibi had her eyes on. The vines had grown thick and leafy, crawling along the soil like green carpets. Bibi remembered helping her dad plant them—how he’d shown her the right way to space the seedlings and cover them with soft soil.
Now it was time to see what had grown beneath the earth.
She grabbed a small shovel and began digging carefully, pulling the vines aside. After a few minutes of patient digging, her eyes lit up.
“Yes!” she squealed. “Sweet potatoes!”
One by one, she unearthed the orange tubers, brushing off the dirt and placing them in a basket. Some were small and round, others long and twisted. She marveled at their shapes and sizes, each one a little surprise from the soil.
By the time she was done, the basket was almost full. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and beamed with pride.
“I did it!”
Carrying the basket into the house, Bibi tiptoed through the kitchen. Her dad was still asleep in his room, snoring gently. She didn’t want to wake him just yet. Instead, she filled a pot with water and placed it on the stove. She washed the sweet potatoes, peeled a few, and chopped them into thick chunks. Some she left whole, just the way her dad liked them.
The fire crackled softly under the stove, and soon the kitchen was filled with a warm, sweet aroma. Bibi stood on a small stool, peeking into the pot and stirring gently with a wooden spoon. She added a pinch of salt, just like Dad did, and even a few slices of ginger to make it special.
As the sweet potatoes boiled, Bibi set the table with care. She laid out two bowls, two spoons, and even picked a little flower from the garden to place in a jar as a centerpiece.
Finally, the door creaked open.
“Bibi?” her dad’s voice was sleepy but curious. “What’s all that smell?”
Bibi ran to him with a grin. “Good morning, Dad! Come to the kitchen—I made something for you!”
He rubbed his eyes and followed her, still in his slippers. When he saw the table and the pot on the stove, he stopped in surprise.
“Did you… cook something?”
“I did!” Bibi said proudly. “I harvested the sweet potatoes from the garden and boiled them for us to eat! I wanted to surprise you.”
Her dad smiled, the kind of smile that reached his eyes. He walked over and hugged her tightly.
“You’re amazing, Bibi. I can’t believe you did all this by yourself.”
“Well… I remembered how you did it before. I tried my best.”
They sat down together, and Bibi served him a steaming bowl of soft, golden sweet potatoes. He took a bite and closed his eyes.
“Mmm. These are perfect. So sweet, and the ginger is a nice touch.”
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
They ate together quietly, the morning light pouring in through the window, the birds still singing outside. It was a simple meal, but to them, it felt like a feast.
After breakfast, her dad took her hand and led her out to the garden.
“You know, you’ve got a real gift for this,” he said. “How about we start a new patch together—maybe carrots or beans this time?”
Bibi nodded eagerly. “Yes! And maybe next time, I’ll make soup!”
They laughed together, kneeling in the soft earth, already dreaming about the next harvest. The garden, once just a patch of land, had become something more—a place of love, learning, and sweet surprises.
From that day on, Bibi became more than just a helper in the garden. She became a gardener in her own right, taking care of the plants with patience and joy. And every now and then, she’d cook something with her harvest—always thinking of her dad, and the smile he’d have when he tasted what she made.
Because for Bibi, the best part of harvesting sweet potatoes wasn’t just eating them. It was sharing them with someone she loved.
The End.
Would you like me to format this as a blog post or turn it into a children’s picture book format too?
