I LIVE WITH A COOKSTOVE AND LOVE IT

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Each time I stand cooking at this stove I think of all the fine old women who must have stood just as I, meditating as they stirred a bubbley pot. The date of manufacture is 1864, so probably a hoop skirt has been worn here too.

During the course of a meal's preparation, I bend and stoop and squat many times to fill the fire box or punch around to liven the coals. Needless to say, this is good for my matronly waistline.

Then, of course, there is that special treat of going to the wood shed, or wood pile here in the Ozarks. It gives me a chance to listen to the songs of a variety of birds and enjoy nature a bit while I load my arms with the aromatic cedar wood. It seems only natural for me at this time to thank my Creator for allowing me to be cast in the lot that I am.

Ah, the wood chopping . . . the inevitable wood chopping. When my strong-armed husband cuts the wood, he hauls it to the house in blocks to be split later. He and the boys do this chore for the most part but, sometimes, I enjoy taking a whack with the axe.

Most of the time I miss the block completely and stab the ground. When I am able to hit the block, the axe mostly bounces off the silly thing (and my sons double over with laughter). Once in a while I am able to strike a cruel blow and split a block. Then, of course, I am filled with incentive and wear myself down trying for a repeat performance. By the time I have a pitiful little pile of wood, I am hot as a pistol. One ole timer put it well: "My wood warms me while I'm cuttin' it and again when I burn it."

Though my accomplishments are not great on my wood choppin' days, I can eat like a horse and not worry about calories. In fact, I haven't thought much on dieting since being here in the mountains. There's no need. We work hard, we eat wholesome foods, we sleep nearly ten hours a night and the calories take care of themselves.

We are in bed before nine each evening unless we feel reckless, and then we stay up another thirty minutes to read a few more chapters. Six o'clock in the morning finds me searching for the light string in my little kitchen and preparing to lay my fire.

THE STOVEPIPE OVEN

While looking for a wood range to buy, my Husband and I were browsing in a local hardware store here in the Ozarks and found a quaint little stovepipe oven. The first I had ever seen, but the salesman said they'd been around for as long as he could remember. He said they fit between the first and second joint of the stovepipe on a heater or range and the heat scurrying up the pipe gets the little oven hot enough to bake anything you like. It's plenty big for a loaf of bread, cakes or a hen, yet. Just perfect for the small family.

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