Ulfredsheim is a group of dear friends, who enjoy camping and hanging out together. Our camp often has 20 or more period pavilions around a large hearth where we gather at night. Nothing too glaringly modern out in plain sight, nothing but torchlight, candles and fire for light. As you walk into our camp you step into the past, although when and where is a little hard to determine, as it's not unusual to see a Mongol yurt next to a Norse A-frame tent and an Irish round house or a Italian renaissance pavilion.
It's easy to forget what century you're in almost any time of the day within the confines of our camp, especially at night around the leaping flames of a campfire, voices raised in song or swearing oaths. Extemporaneous skaldic poetry from someone whose shadow is thrown tall against the trees, with a horn full of homemade mead raised high. The warmth on your front and the cold on your back, as your eyes follow the sparks swirling up from the fire into a sky blazing with stars.
We celebrate those who inspire us to learn something new, and in turn to teach our own skills to others. We sew and make felt, weave and wool waulk, serve feasts, repair armor and hold fight practice. Jarl Sir Ulfred has a mighty crop of squires, and his former squires have gone on to become Knights, Kings and Dukes.