Hot Potato

It was really cold out and The Old Farmer 

decided it was time to take us out into the wild

for a cookout. The old fashioned way.
None of these civilized picnics with the grill and charcoal stuff. 

We trekked through the snow to the field at the far side of the garden

from the farmhouse. There The Old Farmer lit a wood fire

and got it going good. We picked up any sticks and limbs we

found around to help stoke it. 

When there was a good bed of coals he put foil wrapped potatoes

deep back under them, pushing with a stick.
Then we had to wait, and wait, "how much longer!" 

Sitting in the snow around the fire we shivered and chatted for an hour,

until the taters would be ready. 

When the Old Farmer deemed it had been long enough
he raked the foil packages out with another stick,
digging until he found them all. Hot potato, hot potato!
Tossing from hand to hand to unwrap them hot potatoes

which were charred on the outside and did not look to appetizing! 

Ah, but inside they were light and fluffy
and so good to have something hot to eat on that cold day outside.