One of the many blessings of living with the land and by the land as a shaman is the occasional glimpse into the spirit world of the land–treasured moments close to those shy, ethereal beings profoundly linked to trees and brooks, stones and sky, brother bear and sister doe. This afternoon, as I cut firewood at Bushcraft One, the new campsite for the bushcraft/homestead school, I paused to rest, standing near a birch tree. I felt something like a twiggy hand pass through my hair and thought at first I had brushed a hanging branch, but looking up and around, I saw the branches were high up the tree. There was absolutely nothing that could have touched me; only the twiggy hand of a woodland sprite. Thus, we call this forest the Elfwood.