Some kids, with their parent's permission, start the Helping Hands Club. They're out to help anyone they can, however they can, within reason. -- The New Guy
They met in Tal's Mum's gazebo, where the shade was plentiful and the area to do plans in was large. Tal had a knack for making hir plans larger than they needed to be.
Ann's Da was in charge of the tools and materials for the simpler plans, and he helped with a lot of the making that they all agreed was best. On the occasions where food was necessary, Dan's dads were ready to help with any baking.
Which left Fitz and his Rennie's big van as the transport. Yet Fitz was also the one who knew at least something about any solution that came to hand. Which came in handy whenever Tal's plans got too elaborate.
Today, they were planning verge gardens.
"No trees," insisted Fitz. "Trees have roots that mess up footpaths and roads. People complain when that happens and then other people'll come and rip up everything."
Ann took in a deep breath and blew it out between their lips. "Okay. So. Vegetables only? Is there fruit that doesn't grow on trees?"
"Grapes. Passionfruit. Raspberries, blackberries, strawberries... lots of berries, actually."
"Papaya," said Fitz. "But lots of stuff like that is tropical. We need to talk to Gramgrams about what'll work wild."
The group groaned. Gramgrams wasn't anyone's grandparent, strictly speaking. They were the neighbourhood old kook who knew about a lot of weird things. And they had one price for their help. Sweat equity. Weeding the yard, sorting out a room's worth of dusty old boxes. Laundry. Dishwashing. Gramgrams needed a lot of help.
"I know," sighed Fitz, "but we are the Helping Hands. So we help where it's needed."
[Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash]
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