Getting the Wood In

A splendid winter experience is cozying up to a fine fire in the woodstove, as it radiates its warmth throughout the house. On the most bitter days, when the wind howls threateningly outside, we can stand close to the stove, slowly rotating, and feel the heat seep deeply into our aging bones. Wail away, Old Man Winter!

Our woodstove—being the sole source of heat for the house—is essential, so it’s warmth is something that we’ve sought to dependably provide. (More on that mission below.) It’s gratifying not to have to be subject to the whims and capricious supply lines of the gas and oil companies. And if the electric power goes out in a storm, not to worry; it has no impact on the woodstove.

We live in an underground house, so we burn about one-third the wood that our conventionally-housed neighbors do. We consume a cord and a half of wood each winter—a modest amount, of which I get more and more appreciative, as I age.

But all those advantages of our wood-burning routine come at a cost: the labor required to saw, haul, and split the wood. (There is no free lunch.) If those tasks are bungled, burning wood to heat one’s abode can transform from a pleasure into a grim ordeal. Over the nearly 30 winters that I’ve stoked a woodstove, I’ve learned a few lessons on how to successfully gather firewood (or not). There have been more than a few times when I miscalculated (cut too little) or was slow in splitting and stacking my wood supply. Then later in the heating season, I was scrambling to find and burn inferior wood—stuff that was too green, damp, or too decayed and punky. Rather than luxuriate in those cozy times around the stove, we found ourselves fighting smoky fires, cursing crappy logs, and shivering in the resulting chill.

The best guarantee of building a backlog of high-quality wood: get your butt out in the woods a year or more ahead of time and do the work. It’s mostly a question of discipline. We have plenty of oak trees—one of the primo woodstove fuels. Rarely do I have to cut down a live one—storms seem to do the job for me. (That’s nice. It’s an intimidating experience toppling a three-foot diameter oak.) The trees are reasonably close to the house. So we are quite blessed by a handy, high-quality wood supply. I simply have to avoid procrastinating and dive into my wood labors.

Yep, it sure is nice to load up the woodstove in the evening with hard, dry logs and then get up the next morning to find a hot bed of ashes waiting, into which I toss a couple of picture-perfect logs. The teakettle is swiftly whistling. It’s even nicer to know that there’s a big pile of well-seasoned logs, just outside the door.