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In Juneau, there are two things you can never have enough of: non-cotton clothing and dry firewood. Okay, maybe bungie cords. And snow shovels. Oh, and ranch dressing - that stuff goes with everything.

The point is, while I find myself awash in all manner of neoprene, bergelene, capilene, and polypropylene - the SE AK Petro-Chemical Collection, a fashion designer might call it - I'm down to the dregs of my wood stash, and it's not even Halloween yet. We're looking at seven more months of winter, at least. And my wife likes it hot. Seriously. She's been known to break out the arctic sleeping bag in the middle of July.

Sad for me, then, as well as our heating bill (and, yes, the environment, let's not forget about the environment), that the giant teetering covered storage rack I built this past August with the intention of cramming full by Labor Day stands completely empty. Well, aside from the hammer and box of fasteners I left intending to finish nailing it off. D'oh.

One more week of cold, clear nights, and I'll be down to the "Burn Only in Case of Inevitable Power Outage" reserve.

Not that I'm complaining about power outages. We're lucky to have electricity at all. At least that's what I tell myself every time it goes out. And it does go out, taking our oil burner along with it. Did I mention my wife likes it hot? That arctic bag in July - that's inside the house, in addition to two comforters and a quilt. And a husband.

Anyway, I bet I'm not the only one around town who intended to stockpile several seasons worth of firewood this past summer, then went ahead and didn't. As we speak, I suspect there are more than several Juneauans - or are we Juneauites? Juneau-Americans? - with a long-neglected soaking wet jumble of unsplit logs in their yards, secretly considering just writing a check and getting a few cords of the dry stuff delivered. Under cover of darkness, obviously, and without mentioning where it came from - just like all that Costco salmon you Vacu-sealed™ and froze as if you'd caught it yourself. (BTW: If no self-respecting Alaskan buys firewood - or fish, for that matter - how come it's sold all over town?)

So, last week I made up my mind to start chopping and stacking wood every morning, first thing. Well, first thing after drinking a pot of coffee, skimming the new Cabela's catalog, checking my email, and looking at baseball statistics for an hour. Unfortunately, even with that liberal definition of "first thing in the morning," this resolution is turning out to meet with the same success as those all-too-familiar intentions to get back into jogging again.

That's odd, because while I've always hated running, even when I was in shape, I actually enjoy chopping wood. I really do. Mostly, that's because unlike almost everything I've had to learn how to do since I moved up to Alaska, it requires no further skill than the ability to apply blunt force to a large object I'm only going to wind up burning anyway so who cares how bad I mangle it?

Chopping wood is a serious stress-reliever. It can also be strangely meditative, a great mindless task to do while you're trying to think. Or trying not to think, which is sort of the same thing. It's good, wholesome, honest work that humankind has been doing since the advent of, well, fire.

Above all else, chopping wood is the best activity for procrastinating this side of Guitar Hero 1-3. Plus, it's a lot better cardio. It's like you're getting legitimate exercise for a change and you're not taking care of anything on your "To Do" list at the same time. Plus, you feel like you've spent your time engaged in a worthwhile pursuit just because your forearms are sore and your hands are full of splinters.

Come to think of it, that may be my problem. If I really want to put up some wood, I should probably plan on doing something else. I mean, who procrastinates chopping wood with chopping wood? That's just silly.

Of course, for me, this is not a matter of survival, the way it used to be in Juneau and still is in many parts of Alaska, and the world, for that matter. Fire is a luxury, a way to lessen our family's fossil fuel consumption and add "atmosphere" to our annual New Year's Day brunch. It's an excuse to keep a blowtorch in the living room.

I also realize that I could convert our woodstove to burn pellets. But I ask you: if I did that, what would I do with my chainsaw? What could I find as my excuse to get out of the house when my parents are in town?

Stay warm.

• Geoff Kirsch lives in Juneau. His column appears every other Wednesday.