When persons of the female persuasion first see my stove, their first reaction (scientifically described) is “Ooooooh!” while putting hands to face. I believe this word is code for “Cute!” My wood stove is about 12” cubed; about the width of an iPad in its case. But it’s the real deal: it burns real wood with a real fire, makes real smoke and real ashes (but not much). It keeps things snug in here, despite the tall ceiling. Call me a fan!
Installing it wasn’t tough; it just took a while. First, find the stove and wait for it to go on sale. Then call the roofer dude to schedule a time for him to come over and risk his neck, so you don’t have to risk yours. Then plan out how you’ll install it. Cut a bunch of firewood to small sizes—not a problem, since last summer’s supply had been cut too long at a nearby state park*, so I just cut it down to size and used the excess for my stove. Put it up at head height so I don’t have to bend over all the time to tend it, and put the wood box under it. When the weather gets cold, test it out—and hey, works like a charm! Install tile. Gain the wife’s approval. Close the studio door, light the stove, and enjoy!
*They’d dropped a bunch of diseased trees at the campground so they wouldn’t end up with flat campers. Hey, free heat!