Thirteen years ago, when I moved to Oregon, we lived in a yurt in the forest on the north slope of a hill in the coast range. When winter came (okay, mid-Autumn) we would all stroll a few miles up to the top of the hill, gather the logs that had been abandoned by the salvage loggers after a big fire, and drag these things down to our home. If that didn't warm us up adequately, we set about cutting them into stove-size pieces with a misery whip. Still cold? Time to split and stack.

Such a regimen really cut down on the amount of wood that needed to be burned over the course of the winter.

Now I just wish the denizens of this state would either learn how to heat their abodes without burning wood or else learn to do it without smoking out an entire square mile.