A freshly felled log is roughly half water by weight, and that water has to go somewhere before the wood will burn properly. Every kilogram of it must be boiled off, and the energy for that comes out of your fire rather than into your room. Burn wood at 50 per cent moisture and you can lose well over half its potential heat to nothing more useful than clouds of steam.
The trouble doesn't stop at lost warmth. Damp wood burns cool and smouldering, and cool smoke deposits tar and creosote on the inside of your flue. That's the sticky, glossy black coating that narrows the chimney over a winter, smells acrid when the fire is lit, and is the usual fuel for a chimney fire. It also blackens stove glass within an evening and leaves ash that clags rather than crumbles. Dry wood, by contrast, lights readily, burns with a clear flame, and gives you that steady, radiant heat worth sitting in front of.
The accepted benchmark is a moisture content below 20 per cent, with 15 to 20 per cent being the sweet spot for most stoves and open fires. Wood sold in small volumes in England must now be certified as under 20 per cent, so a reputable supplier should be able to tell you the figure without hesitation.
The only way to know for certain is to test it yourself. A basic two-pin moisture meter costs about the price of a bag of logs, and it earns its keep within a season:
If the average comes out above 20 per cent, stack it, cover the top, and leave it be. It will be ready next winter.
Your hands and ears are surprisingly good judges once you know what to look for. Pick up a log and compare it with one you know is dry — seasoned wood feels noticeably light for its size, because the weight you're feeling in green wood is largely water.
Density is what determines how much heat a log holds and how long it lingers. Dense hardwoods burn slowly and leave good embers; lighter woods flare brightly and die quickly. A mixed load is often the most practical answer.
Never burn treated timber, painted offcuts or driftwood. The first two release nasties into your room, and salt-laden driftwood corrodes a stove or liner from the inside.
Seasoning doesn't stop when you buy the logs. A stack that sits in damp shade will quietly climb back above 20 per cent, undoing months of good work.
With genuinely dry logs, the fire becomes an easy pleasure. Build it top-down — a couple of small split logs at the base, kindling crossed above, a natural firelighter on top — and light from above. The flame travels down into the wood instead of fighting its way up through cold fuel, so you get a clean start with far less smoke.
Once it's caught, give it air, then ease the primary control back as the fire establishes. You're looking for a bright, lively flame with a faint blue base, not a lazy smoulder. Keep a basket of dry splits and a few larger pieces to one side, put the kettle on the hob, and settle in with a book. That's the whole point of the exercise: a warm room, a clean flue, and an evening that stretches out quietly in front of you.