Chainsaws growl in the woodyard of Red Mesa as bark curls away in thick ribbons. Pine pitch hangs in the cold air, sharp and sweet. A pickup truck idles nearby, its bed stacked with short logs sized for wood stoves and fireplaces across the Utah side of the Navajo Nation. Warm Elders, a family-run nonprofit, grew from a simple idea: no one should face winter’s cold alone.

Nearly 10,000 families on the Navajo Nation rely on firewood for heat each winter. Gathering it is no small task. Many homes in the Four Corners region sit far from forests, and sourcing firewood often means driving long distances to the La Sals or San Juans. The work requires trucks, tools and the physical ability to cut and haul heavy timber. A pickup filled to the cab holds one cord of wood, yet families can burn up to 10 cords a season, especially in poorly insulated homes or when firewood also serves as a cooking source.

It’s a reality Herbert Stash grew up with on the reservation – a gap he hopes to mend with Warm Elders.

The nonprofit grew out of Stash’s own experience providing for family. In 2020, while caring for his mother in Red Mesa, he learned of neighbors who had no way to collect wood. “Taking care of elders is a big part of our culture,” Stash said. “They tell us of the weather changing or insects moving underground. Our job is to make sure they have enough firewood. They never explicitly ask. But we must listen.”

Many elders were homebound, managing medical issues and needing fires burning around the clock. At first, Stash and his family cut, hauled and delivered wood themselves, paying out of pocket. The need soon exceeded what one family could sustain. In 2024, he officially founded Warm Elders.

The nonprofit’s name reflects more than heat. “It’s that warm embrace from an elder who appreciates what you’re doing; you can’t duplicate that,” Stash said. “But this is the closest I can get to that feeling.”

Today, the organization delivers free firewood to more than 200 households each winter, prioritizing elders, veterans and people with disabilities. Families near Red Mesa can pick up wood, while volunteers deliver to those who can’t leave home, sometimes driving more than 50 miles to reach remote households.

The work is multigenerational. Stash’s three sons, brothers and mother all pitch in alongside neighbors and volunteers with varied skills. “There’s a job for everyone,” he said, from first-time helpers to sawyers, drivers, grant writers and organizers.

Education happens in the work itself. Stash learned these skills in his youth and now teaches his children and other young people on the reservation. They start by hauling branches and stacking logs before graduating to saw work.

“Some elders have lost the ability to use the body given to us,” Stash said. “I tell my kids, ‘You’re still walking, using your hands. Use them to help somebody.’” Able-bodied volunteers who don’t qualify can work in exchange for firewood.

Warm Elders has expanded beyond firewood, but everything it offers remains free. Stash hopes to help families access safer, more efficient stoves and build sheds to keep wood dry. His wife and mother coordinate clothing drives that provide thermals, jackets and blankets, extending protection through the coldest months.

The work depends on partnerships. The Wood For Life initiative, through the San Juan National Forest Foundation, redirects timber from forest restoration and fire prevention to Indigenous communities. Community donations and groups like Alliance for Green Heat help fund equipment.

The work follows long-held practices of respect for the land. “When we cut down a tree, we’re cutting down a spirit. If we take something from the mountains, we must pray or leave an offering,” Stash said.

Each morning before the saws start, Stash steps into the woodyard with his coffee. As the sun crests the horizon, he inhales the scent of bark and piñon pine. “We live in the desert, but that smell – it’s so refreshing,” he said. “If I can bring a little of that to the elders, that’s all I hope for.”