This guy gets it.
“The cozy comfort of a crackling fire—and the very necessary warmth it generates—is a rhythm that feels to me more like a wave: either you catch it and ride it out through winter, or, if your timing is off, it crashes over you. […] Mounded up on the front lawn, the half cord looked like an impressive amount of wood. But when my neighbor Kevin came by the house a few days later, he asked if I had found firewood for the winter. Gesturing to the porch, where I had by then neatly stacked the logs, I told him about the locust. He assured me that he had seen the logs—he was worried that they wouldn’t be enough.”