Even the married ones brought their problems home and hashed them over with Mama. Visiting at Aunt Nancy's in the winter time was like joining Byrd's itinerary to the South Pole and discovering upon arrival that your mukluks were missing, and moths had riddled your parka. Each bedroom was a separate deep-freeze unit. Hovering close to the kitchen range or circled around the pot-bellied heater, it was fairly comfortable, by spurts and spells. For fuel, sometimes there was wood and coal, corncobs in season, but the old faithful was cow chips.
Chips make a hot fire but are quickly consumed, so it takes a lot of feeding.
A couple of the kids could keep warm just carrying in the fuel and toting out ashes. The ordeal of retiring to the bedroom kept rearing it's terrifying head. Returning to the house, you could back up to the stove and warm your hind side while goading yourself into making the bedroom run. No form of medieval torture could have been more agonizing than undressing and climbing into bed. Gil had it all figured out.