A couple of days ago while eating a baked sweet potato (hot, filled with butter and delicious) my mind reverted back to baking potatoes in the oven of a cast iron, wood burning stove. After lunch was over, potatoes and peanuts were placed in the oven, where enough heat would be retained to bake potatoes and parch peanuts, ready for us when we got home from school.
I do not recall that we ever baked potatoes in the fireplace but some people did. Dad used to tell the story one of his female cousins told him. She had attended a revival service one night and decided to ask the minister to have supper with her that night, not expecting by any chance he would accept, but he did.
As they entered the house she saw her mother sitting by the hearth, smoking her pipe. The girl called out,"What's for supper, Ma?" Her mother responded, "I don't know 'bout you, but thar's mine," and pointed to the fireplace where two potatoes were baking in the ashes.
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