Lore - REMASTERED – Episode 45: First Impressions

Episode Date: February 20, 2023

In this remastered classic episode, we revisit the story of Mary Toft and her unusual pregnancy. This episode features brand new narration and scoring, plus an exclusive new bonus story at the end. Researched, written, and produced by Aaron Mahnke, with music by Chad Lawson, with additional help from GennaRose Nethercott and Harry Marks. ———————— Lore Resources:  Episode Music: lorepodcast.com/music  Episode Sources: lorepodcast.com/sources  All the shows from Grim & Mild: www.grimandmild.com ———————— This episode of Lore was sponsored by: SimpliSafe: Secure your home with 24/7 professional monitoring for just $15 a month. No contracts, no salespeople, just simple and easy security. Sign up today at SimpliSafe.com/Lore to claim a free indoor security camera plus 20% off your order with Interactive Monitoring. BetterHelp: Lore is sponsored by BetterHelp. Give online therapy a try at BetterHelp.com/LORE, and get on your way to being your best self. To advertise on our podcast, please reach out to [e-mail], or visit our listing here.

Dorothy Ford stood next to William Street inside his own church while a visiting priest performed their marriage rites. It was November 27 of 1667 in Southpool, a village in Devon, England, and the church was packed. Most people hadn't actually expected the wedding to take place, so they'd all come out to witness the miracle. They hadn't doubted it because William Street had been the rector of their own parish. They hadn't doubted the couple's love for each other, or that Street was 66 years old,

and they certainly hadn't doubted it because the original wedding dates had been postponed. They doubted it because William Street had died a year and a half earlier in a riding accident. His funeral was followed by a series of community dreams. Multiple people in Southpool began to have nightmares, and all of them were eerily similar. In each, Street himself would appear and tell them that he couldn't find peace. Only his wedding could do that. After months of this, with dozens of people reporting the same dream-like demands from

their dead clergymen, the village relented. The church was decorated for a wedding, Street's coffin was exhumed, and Dorothy stood beside it while the priest married them. Afterward, Street was reburied, and the vision stopped. Dreams are a funny thing, aren't they? We don't always remember them when we wake up, but when we do, they often leave us feeling entertained and informed. We see them as signs of things to come, of glimpses into treasured memories.

They often seem real enough that we hope for dreams of lost loved ones. In our dreams, we might take flights, or travel the world, or run as if we're waist-deep in a pool of water. But they aren't always a source of completion and peace. In fact, dreams can often leave us feeling uneasy, even frightened, because sometimes our dreams can turn into nightmares. I'm Aaron Mankey, and this is Lore. Dreams have held deep cultural meaning since the earliest days of humanity, and that meaning

has always varied. Depending on when and where in history you pick, dreams have been viewed as either a blessing or a curse. They've revealed unknown truths to rulers, and warned others of impending danger. Or, you know, so they thought. In ancient Egypt, if you had vivid dreams, you were considered special. How they proved that, I have no idea, but they were so obsessed with it that they built special sleeping rooms where people could go to help them dream better.

Because practice makes perfect, right? The Greco-Roman world was full of dream interpretation. They even had a god devoted entirely to dreams, named Morpheus. The ancient Hindu scriptures known as the Veda divide our existence into three distinct states, the waking, the sleeping, and the dreaming. But even without the attachment of religion, dreams have long been seen as a predictor of things to come. Whether we call them premonitions or dark omens, the things we see in our sleep have

long been viewed by some as a preview of what's about to happen, and history is full of stories that claim to be true life examples. John Brody Innis was a clergyman and close friend of Charles Darwin. In 1919, he recorded a story from his time in Germany decades earlier about two friends who had fallen into an argument over the love of a young woman. One friend was an American, and the other a Hungarian nobleman. And when the American felt slighted, he challenged the Hungarian to a duel. The two men set a date, and the Hungarian was given his pick of weapons.

When he picked cavalry sabers, the message was clear. This would be a fight to the death. Now all they had to do was wait. A week before the duel, John was called to the American's quarters to see something. The man claimed to have had a vivid dream the night before, a dream in which he was wounded in the face before killing the Hungarian. John wrote that the American stood before him with a large red welt on his face, a product, he claimed, of his dream.

That same morning, John was summoned to the Hungarian's home, where he heard something even more fascinating. The nobleman told John that he had also had an odd dream the night before. In his, he claimed that the American struck him down and killed him. The dream frightened the man so much that he issued what John called a handsome apology to the American, and the duel was called off. Both men were happy with that. This idea that the things we experience in our dreams can somehow have a physical effect

on us after we wake up is an old one. Dreams, it's been said, have the ability to manifest, to take shape and walk among us. And it's not just about premonitions and visions of the future. Some believe that dreams can take physical shape. For example, take the story of a young woman from Scotland in the early 1800s. She was unmarried, but in late 1816 she became pregnant and sought to make things right and reached out to the courts for help. The woman was asked who the father was, and she identified him as one John Woods, a respectable

local gentleman. After hearing the woman's claims and being called to court over them, Woods adamantly denied them. He said, in fact, that he wouldn't believe he was the father unless his own name was written across the child's face. The young woman was devastated, and rightly so. And the tragedy weighed on her constantly, more and more as the baby inside her grew. And then, in 1817, the woman gave birth to a healthy son.

Healthy, except for some markings on the baby's eyes. It confounded the doctors, and so the mother and child were sent to Edinburgh for a more educated inspection. Professors, faculty, and experts in other fields were all brought in, and each of them left the room completely astonished. There, written on the boy's right eye in tiny letters, was the name John Woods. On his left, it simply said, born 1817. John Woods, to his credit, had been waiting and watching.

When he caught word of what the doctors had discovered, he bolted. No one ever saw him in town again. And one last story. Joseph Merrick was born in England in 1862. In his early childhood, he started to develop growths on his skin. His face became enlarged and covered with lumps that led to him being eventually known as the Elephant Man. For years, he toured England and Europe with human novelty exhibitions.

Today we would call them freak shows. During his lifetime, the accepted theory about the cause of his condition was that Merrick's mother had been frightened by an elephant when she was pregnant. Somehow, the traumatic event had embedded itself so firmly in her mind that the image manifested itself in her son. And as fantastical as it might sound for a pregnant mother's thoughts to have a real physical effect on her unborn child, it wasn't an idea limited to popular rumor or the musings of university professors.

In fact, in the 18th century, something happened that left the medical world and everyone else completely baffled. They had a term for it, like so many other mysteries in life. Centuries ago, it was referred to as maternal impression, and it was a way of explaining the unexplainable. According to the theory, strong emotional events in the life of a pregnant woman could have a lasting impact on her unborn child. It was a backwards approach to things that were outside the scope of our understanding,

though. They looked at the evidence after birth and made assumptions about what caused it. Joseph Merrick's story is a perfect example of that logic. Why did his body begin to deform and twist? Well it must have begun in the womb. And this logic was applied to things like birthmarks, depression, and congenital diseases. If a baby seemed to be born with it, they chased that cause back to the life of the pregnant mother.

And pregnancy is something that Mary and Joshua knew all too well. They were a young, poor couple from Godelming, a village in Surrey, England. They rented a small home on a farm that they were both required to work, although Mary was in the field much more than Joshua, who was also working as a clothier. Now that word, clothier, might make his occupation sound fancy, but believe me, it wasn't. Joshua's family, the Toffs, had lived in the area for well over a century, and for a long time had been prominent successful clothiers. Apprentice records from the mid-1600s always listed family members among the masters in

their trade. And of course, with all that prominence, came wealth. It's easy to imagine that the family grew very used to a certain standard of living. And then, manufacturing pushed its way onto the scene. Records started to show signs of that wealth and prominence slipping. When master clothiers were listed as dying inside workhouses instead of their own shops, the signs were pretty obvious. And this was the generation that Joshua was born into.

Raised on tales of former glory, Joshua and his family now lived as peasants. At the risk of projecting, it probably stung a bit. The couple married young, and within five years, Mary had given birth to three children. Then at the age of 23, she became pregnant again. If you were poor and working in the fields to pay your rent in 1726, pregnancy wasn't enough to get you pulled off the job. So like everyone around her, Mary worked. She worked long and hard, and she did it day after day after day, well into her pregnancy.

One day, she and another woman were in the field. There's no date for the story, but a safe guess would be sometime in late May of 1726. And while they worked, they talked. At some point, though, the other woman pointed over to the edge of the field, and Mary followed the gesture. There, nibbling on some weeds, was a rabbit. Or as they would have called it three centuries ago, a good home-cooked meal. The women tried to catch it, but they failed.

A few days later, they saw it again, and like the first attempt, failed to get their hands on it. And that must have been frustrating. So it's no wonder that Mary had a dream that night. She described it months later, and even then, it was still vivid in her mind. In the dream, she was sitting down in the field. Her skirts piled up in her lap, and there, curled up in the folds of the fabric, were not one, but two rabbits.

They were finally hers. It wasn't long after the dream that she started to have complications with her pregnancy. For a while, the couple had thought that perhaps she had even miscarried. But by early September, she was still pregnant and growing. So she continued to work in the fields, continued to hope, and continued to have weird dreams about rabbits. On the 27th of September, Mary went into early labor. She sent word to her mother-in-law, Anne Toft, to help her.

Anne, who wasn't experienced midwife, arrived later that day, and by the evening, Mary was in the final moments of birth. But something was wrong. Something was so wrong, in fact, that Anne, a woman who had delivered eight children of her own, as well as dozens of others in the village, felt out of her league. So she called for John Howard, the physician in nearby Guilford. Maybe he would know what to do, she thought. When Dr. Howard arrived, he asked Anne to bring him up the speed on the delivery so far, and

then examine the situation for himself. And then, like Anne, he stared in disbelief at what lay on the sheets in front of them. It defied logic, but it was right there for his eyes to see, still wet and still covered with blood. Mary Toft, you see, had not given birth to a baby at all. Something had come out of her body, but it wasn't what anyone had expected. It was a large handful of pieces of an animal. Each piece was hairless, as if it had been skinned, but despite that, it was still easy

to recognize what the creature had been. It was a rabbit. Dr. Howard was understandably horrified, but also skeptical. He told the others in the room that night that he wouldn't believe it to be true until he delivered the head, and for a while that seemed like it wasn't going to happen. Labor had stopped, and Mary rested. For days, it seemed as if the events of that night were going to fade into memory and be written off as a medical oddity and nothing more.

But one week later, Mary went into labor again. This time, Dr. Howard was present, and it appears that he got his wish. Mary delivered the rabbit's head. At this point, Howard decided that Mary needed more observation, so he had her moved from her home to his own. Maybe it was just the action of a concerned physician, but it also could have been an attempt to discover if the unnatural births were really just a hoax. Surely, he thought, Mary wouldn't be able to keep up the act if she were right there

under his roof. But the mystery continued. In the days that followed, Mary proceeded to give birth to more and more rabbits. Sometimes they came days apart and sometimes closer together, and each time Dr. Howard was right there, a 30-year veteran of childbirth to help her through the ordeal. He reported that he would often place his hand on her belly and feel movement as if whatever was inside of her wanted out. This went on long enough that Howard even gave Mary some money to make up for the work

that she was missing out on. I think that's also a good sign that Howard was fascinated. How could he not be, though? He was delivering rabbits. From a human. By early November, according to the doctor's own count, Mary had given birth to a total of nine rabbits. They were all dead, all hairless, and all young.

It was mind-boggling and defied all logic and reason. Mary, however, was just getting started. After delivering nine rabbits personally, Dr. Howard decided it was time to bring in more experts, so he sent word to Nathaniel St. Andre, physician to the royal household. Andre brought a friend with him named Samuel Mullinot, who worked as secretary to the Prince of Wales. The men arrived and found that Howard had amassed a collection of the delivered animals, all arranged in glass jars filled with a clear liquid.

They set to work examining the samples, studying their color and features, and then the men opened the jars and took the pieces out. Now, when I was in college, we dissected pigs in my biology class. Just to that experience, I have images in my head of metal trays containing dead animals, with pins holding back flaps of gray skin. I'm sure it wasn't pretty, but it was a good way for them to see things that Dr. Howard might have missed. These men were trying to be scientific and analytical.

After all, if these births were fake, then there must be a clue hidden somewhere in the animals themselves. According to a later report, the lungs floated in water, which suggested that the animals had breathed air at one time. But while that information was persuasive, both men were present at a number of new births, each producing the same result. More dead rabbits. And the longer they stayed there in Dr. Howard's house, the more difficult it was becoming

to not accept what their eyes were seeing. After the 15th rabbit was born, news was sent back to King George, who responded by sending his personal surgeon to investigate a man named Syriacus Alleres. Alleres arrived just in time to witness the 16th birth, but right away, he noticed some odd circumstances. First, prior to the birth, Mary seemed to walk to the bed with her knees held tightly together. It was as if he suggested she was afraid something might fall out.

Second, Dr. Howard eagerly suggested that Alleres deliver the first rabbit, but after it was done, he wasn't allowed to examine her further. The final oddity was something that he kept to himself that day. After helping with the birth of the first piece of dead rabbits, Alleres was ushered out of the room by Howard, but he managed to smuggle a partial rabbit with him. In a private room, Alleres set about dissecting it and discovered something remarkable. Its bowels were full of pellets, pellets that contained corn and hay. Alleres made an excuse and left Guilford early, heading back to London to report his findings

to the King. Once King George was up to speed, he ordered St. Andre and Melano to return as well. When they arrived, they brought news that Mary Toft had given birth to yet another rabbit. Her 19th, in fact. And that was apparently it for the King. He wanted to properly get to the bottom of the matter, so he ordered that Mary be brought to London for examination there. And at this point, word was spreading about Mary and her miraculous deliveries, so she

was discreetly put up in an out-of-the-way, low-cost boarding house without Dr. Howard, mind you, and St. Andre was assigned to keep a watchful eye on her. And then something amazing happened. The births stopped. For Alleres, who'd already been suspicious up to this point, this was the final straw. He had a judge sent to the boarding house to question Mary and get the truth out of her. But the judge was met with silence. Mary didn't want to talk about it, and he left empty-handed.

So Alleres dug around for the truth in other places. And that's when he struck gold. First, Dr. Howard approached him after Mary's arrival and asked for help. Mary had been out of work for a long time now, he told Alleres. Considering how much of a medical marvel she was, he suggested that perhaps the King might grant her a pension. Howard asked Alleres to make that request, and Alleres, being a smart man, sought right through it.

Second, Mary's sister Margaret was caught smuggling a rabbit into the boarding house. She claimed that it was a meal for Mary, but that'd be a pretty tough sell given the circumstances. Then it came to light that Mary's husband Joshua had been pretty busy over the previous weeks buying all of the rabbits he could find. The younger, the better, apparently. And finally, when word got out that Mary herself had tried to pay the porter of the boarding house to go out and buy her a rabbit, the authorities had all the evidence they needed. She was taken into custody in early December of 1726 and immediately questioned about the

mysterious births. How, they asked her, did you pull off such a hoax? Mary, for her credit, denied the hoax entirely. She claimed that she had asked the porter to buy her the animal because she was hungry. She insisted that she was currently pregnant with more rabbits, and despite all the questions that were being thrown at her, she refused to budge from that declaration. That is, until she received an offer that she couldn't refuse. One of the men who had been questioning her, a Sir Richard Manningham, was a prominent

physician in London. He had been brought in as an expert in the field, having specialized in pregnancy and birth for much of his career. On December 6th, he looked at Mary from across the room and told her that if she did not confess, he would, and I quote, perform very painful operations and experiments on you to discover your secret. Mary took just one night to think it over. The following morning, she confessed to the hoax.

Historians are a bit torn about what Mary's motivation really was. Some view her as a woman caught up in something bigger than herself. They think that she was the victim of a mother-in-law with a hunger for fame and fortune, and a local doctor with his eyes set on moving up the medical ladder. Others, though, see her as a shrewd and careful individual. She planned every last detail, they say, and orchestrated all of the events, from chasing the rabbit with a neighbor woman to the purchase of rabbits, all without anyone noticing. Maybe no one thought that she was capable of it.

Finally, no one would have expected a woman to skin and cut up a bunch of young rabbits and then insert them, well, you get the idea. It's hard to know for sure whether Mary believed in some strange detached way that her dreams and emotions were truly creating the rabbits inside of her. It is clear, though, that enough of the world around her believed that it was possible. For a couple of months, at least, it appeared that all of London was falling for it, hook, line, and sinker. Either way, Mary's adventure seems to have been a chase for glory.

She wanted the fame and all that came with it, the attention, the money, the renown. She'd married into a family that had once been prominent and important, so perhaps she just wanted to do her part in restoring them to that position. But after her confession, that House of Lies came crashing down, and it took a lot of the key players with it. Two years after Mary's trial, Samuel Mullinow became sick and collapsed while on the floor of the House of Commons. His old friend St. Andre was there to treat him, but he died a few weeks later.

St. Andre somehow managed to retain his position as the royal physician for a while, although the king took away his salary for the services. Interestingly, on the same night that Mullinow died, St. Andre eloped with Mullinow's wife, or widow, you get the point. And naturally, that aroused suspicions. Mullinow's cousin accused St. Andre of murder. St. Andre's career was never the same after that. His new wife lost her position in the court of the queen, and the couple retired to an

estate outside of London. He died at the ripe old age of 96. On January 7 of 1727, after carrying on their hoax for months and then undergoing weeks of questioning, Mary Toft and Dr. John Howard were brought before the judge's bench. For his involvement, Howard was fined the equivalent of $140,000 in modern currency, and then released. He went home and continued to practice medicine for another three decades. Mary though was charged with, and I quote, being an abominable cheat and imposter in

pretending to be delivered of several monstrous births. She was sent to Tottlefield's prison for, well, they weren't really sure, being deceitful, tricking a lot of people, cruelty to animals. Mary's story was complicated after all. She was released in April, just a few months after arriving. To be honest, the court wasn't sure what charge she could be held on. They didn't have an official sentence for pretending to give birth to rabbits. Plus, crowds were gathering outside the prison each day to catch a glimpse of her.

It was annoying, better to just let her go home, they figured, and I can't blame them. Mary went back to her house and her family, and back to work in the fields. Within weeks, she was pregnant again. In February of 1728, she went into labor and gave birth. It was a baby girl. For a very long time, birth was a process filled with mystery. And of course, wherever there are questions, someone is always ready to step in and offer an answer.

In the case of Mary Toft, we got to see the general public express those unusual answers in their readiness to believe her story. But the concept of maternal impression wasn't limited to Mary's story, or even her generation or country. In fact, we've chased down one more powerful example. Stick around through this brief sponsor break to hear all about it. This episode was made possible by Simply Safe. If you're a regular listener, you know that I always recommend Simply Safe Home Security.

And I'm not the only one. U.S. News recently named Simply Safe the best home security system of 2023, and CNET recently awarded them their editor's choice for home security. There are so many reasons why Simply Safe is trusted by experts and customers alike. I'd like to think it's the simplicity of their setup process, something that me, not a tech-savvy guy, managed to do in about 30 minutes. Or maybe it's their 24-7 professional monitoring service that costs under $1 a day, less than half the price of traditional home security systems.

Or perhaps it's the fact that you can lock and unlock your doors, access your cameras, and arm or disarm your Simply Safe system from anywhere. Customize the perfect system for your home in just a few minutes at SimplySafe.com-slash-lore. Go today and claim a free indoor security camera, plus 20% off your order with interactive monitoring at SimplySafe.com-slash-lore. There's no safe, like Simply Safe. This episode is sponsored by BetterHelp. It wasn't until I was in my early 30s when I realized that I'm a verbal processor.

It turns out I have a much easier time tackling challenges in my life when I have another person to talk about it with. That's something that I wish I had known a long time ago. Getting to know yourself can be a lifelong process, especially because we're always growing and changing. Therapy is all about deepening your self-awareness and understanding, because sometimes we don't know what we want or why we react the way we do until we talk things through. BetterHelp connects you with a licensed therapist who can take you on that journey of self-discovery

from wherever you are. I know from personal experience that therapy can empower you to be the best version of yourself. If you're thinking of starting therapy, give BetterHelp a try. It's entirely online, designed to be convenient, flexible, and suited to your schedule. Just fill out a brief questionnaire to get matched with a licensed therapist and switch therapist at any time for no additional charge. Discover your potential with BetterHelp.

Visit betterhelp.com slash lore today to get 10% off your first month. That's BetterHelp, H-E-L-P dot com slash lore. When the idea of maternal impression was popular, it laid the blame for birth defects and other problems squarely on the mother. After all, only someone with monstrous thoughts could have bred such a monster of a child, right? But why do we consider someone to be monstrous? What is monstrosity, really?

According to an essay titled The Uncanny, published by Sigmund Freud in 1919, the difference between fantasy and horror is a matter of where the action takes place. In fantasy, the fantastical thing is happening in an environment where that's normal. For example, dragons may exist in a world where they're as common as dogs and cats. Horror, on the other hand, allows that fantastical or monstrous thing to bleed into our world, like a demonic spirit or an evil clown. So by that standard, pregnancy and birth might also be considered uncanny in their liminality. A child on the verge of being born is straddling between two worlds, crossing between realms.

It makes sense that the act of birth would instill superstition in those who bring life into the world, just as death tends to do. And this is why the label monster is thought by some to be a way for society to deem a person as incompatible with our world. They clash with the status quo, and they contain elements that do not belong beside each other. People such as Fedor Jeftichu, who was also known as Jojo the dog-faced boy. He was born in St. Petersburg, Russia in 1868 with a condition called hypertrichosis. Those affected by hypertrichosis grow hair all over their face and often their body,

hence its other name, werewolf syndrome. A zoologist named Fedor Brant, and yes, it seems that Fedor was a popular name at the time, once described Jeftichu thusly. The hair on his head was dark blonde, light reddish on the forehead, and pale yellow gray on the lower part of his face. On his torso and limbs, with the exception of the hands, feet, neck, and inner side of the arms, the hair was almost colorless, thick, and up to six centimeters long. And what was the reason for someone to be born in such a way?

Until before the days of genetic testing and advanced medicine, the answer was a lot simpler. Maternal Impression In this case, hypertrichosis was the result of the mother being scared by a dog while pregnant. When Fedor was very young, he toured as a sideshow act with his father Adrian, who also had been born with hypertrichosis and was known as the wild man from the Kostroma Forest. There are two plausible stories surrounding their relationship. The first is that Adrian truly was Fedor's biological father, and it would make sense given the similarity of their conditions.

The other is that Adrian adopted Fedor, who had been born to Russian peasants and had come from the Kostroma region of the Russian Empire, just like Adrian. However, getting to the truth is difficult now, since the legend surrounding the two performers simply paints them as a father and son duo. Those who believe the adoption story claim that Adrian once had a wife and two children. The children had died at a very young age, and so Adrian, seeing Fedor on display, chose to take him under his wing and show him the ropes of being a successful sideshow act. Adrian was something of a rock star on the sideshow circuit, and much of the money he

made was spent on booze. He eventually died of alcoholism, leaving Fedor an orphan and a ward of the state. Fedor, however, continued to tour with various other showmen until one man in particular came to see the hair-covered wonder for himself. Adrian looked, and he knew he had to work with him. That man's name? P.T. Barnum.

Barnum brought Fedor on board his famous sideshow when the boy was 16 and got to work weaving an origin story made for the tabloids. According to the showmen, Fedor, or Jojo the dog-faced boy, had been discovered living in the forests of Russia with his even wilder father. The hunters who had found them took Jojo to Barnum, who tamed him and placed him in his American Oddities Museum. In some tellings, the hunters killed his father for being too feral to take a live. But regardless of how it was told, the story worked.

According to one source, Fedor was earning $500 per week as a sideshow act. That's roughly $15,000 today. Few performers made more than that. Fedor was often seen sporting a tight-buttoned Russian military suit, staring at the audience as the lights rose, their anticipation mounting. Then he would let out a terrifying growl that shocked and amazed. Barnum made sure to highlight his resemblance to a dog as part of the show. Fedor couldn't pretend that he didn't look a certain way.

Those were in the cards that he had been dealt, but that didn't mean that he had to sit there and take abuse from audiences or even Barnum himself. In 1898, several years after his employer's death, the 30-year-old Fedor organized a number of Barnum's former sideshow performers in protest against their being labeled freaks. His activism helped them win the legal right to be advertised as prodigies instead, which was granted the same year. After that, Fedor continued to tour all over the world, giving audiences everywhere a glimpse at something that they had never seen before, a man covered entirely in hair.

Sadly though, while in Greece in 1904, Fedor Jeff Dachoe became sick with pneumonia and passed away. He was only 36 years old. This episode of Lore was researched, written, and produced by me, Aaron Mankey, with additional help from Jenna Rose, Nethercotts, and Harry Marks, in music by Chad Lawson. Lore is much more than just a podcast. There is a book series available in bookstores and online, and two seasons of the television show on Amazon Prime Video.

Check them both out if you want more Lore in your life. You can find information about all of those things over at LorePodcast.com. You can also follow this show on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube. Just search for Lore Podcast, all one word, and then click that follow button. And when you do, say hi. I like it when people say hi. And as always, thanks for listening.