Woodfired Potatoes


One minute I’m worried my kids are turning into a product of their urban environment and the next I’m convinced that they are hillbillies! Greeted by the waft of wood smoke as I arrived home I thought “That’s nice. The first wood fire for the season.” It was then as I rounded the back of my car that I found the Clampetts had descended on my front porch. Some scorched potatoes sat impaled on a wooden skewer suspended over a smoky, charcoal mess that I could still just identify as wood shavings from the guinea pigs hutch as two children, still in their school uniforms, darted busily fuelling and fanning the embers. Hmmm. Deep breath and asses the whole picture before I jump to conclusions: A small table with my favourite tablecloth was “reserved” with a tea light candle flickering alluringly, a menu had been lovingly prepared and two sets of twinkling little eyes watched me from soot smeared faces. Grinning from ear to ear, their eyes searching for approval, it was then that I realised that the iPad held only limited appeal when it was compared to the limitless imagination that play can create.



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