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Is There Such a Thing as Too Many Blueberries?

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Cultivated blueberries. (Photo: Steven DePolo/CC BY 2.0)

The wild blueberry harvest, up in the blueberry barrens of Maine, starts in July and goes to early September. In these parts of the state, north past Acadia and the touristed summer haunts, there are stretches of land where all you can see are blueberry bushes, low to the ground, for hundreds and hundreds of acres.

Blueberries grow naturally here, in the acidic soil, and for decades growers have been working to better understand them, in order to coax the bushes into producing more fruit. In the past 30 years, they’ve succeeded more than ever before, so that yields have almost doubled since the 1980s.

But as the supply of wild blueberries has increased, so has the production of their fatter, cultivated cousins, which in America is three times as large as of wild blueberries. At the same time, blueberry cultivation has spread around the world, to Mexico, Chile, New Zealand, Spain, Poland, South Africa, and China. There are more blueberries being harvested now than at any other point in history—so many that despite the industry’s best efforts to market them, there are more blueberries than people are ready to eat.

The blueberry industry is nowhere near the scale of Big Corn, but blueberries are now big enough business that when supply is high and prices drop low, the government considers stepping in. There may not be Big Blueberry yet, but the industry has enough economic heft and political clout that in the past few years the USDA has increased its spending on blueberries. The danger is that, like Violet Beauregarde, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory's famous girl-turned-overstuffed-blueberry, the industry will get so large and plump it will be helpless without assistance.

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Wild blueberries, ready to be picked. (Photo: Allagash Brewing/CC BY 2.0)

Most of the fruits and vegetables we eat were tamed long ago, but the blueberry is relatively recent acquisition. The first cultivated crop of blueberries was harvested just a century back, in 1916, and it created a split in the blueberry world.

Today, two main types of blueberries are sold in North America. The fat, farmed blueberries, the ones you’ll usually find fresh at grocery stores, likely come from New Jersey, Michigan, Washington, and Georgia, and in the winter are imported from further south. The smaller, wild ones, from Maine and Canada, are more likely to show up in the frozen food section or in packaged or prepared food. 

The wild relatives of most fruits and vegetables are no longer of much interest to us as foodstuff, but these northern, wild blueberries are unusual. They remain tasty little balls of sweet-tart fruit, and while they’re not domesticated, they are under the influence of humans.

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Blueberry barrens in Maine. (Photo: Wild Blueberry Association of North America)

Wild blueberry bushes are survivors. They thrive in Maine and Canada along glaciated plains that are inhospitable to many plants. Unlike cultivated blueberries, wild blueberries can’t be planted—and when they do spread, they grow slowly, so that a new stand can take a decade to become productive. But they do well in disturbed places: when a fire sweeps through, they’re the type of plants that jump right back and start working as fast as they can.

“If you get a blow down in the forest, they respond rapidly and produce fruit so that birds and bears eat and distribute it,” says David Yarborough, a wild blueberry specialist at the University of Maine Cooperative Extension. “We’re taking advantage of that adaptive strategy to produce a wild crop in a commercial manner.”

In other words, wild blueberry farmers try to create conditions for blueberry bushes to produce as much fruit as possible and swoop in to collect it. In practice, that means controlling weeds, maintaining a regular cycle of burns, and bringing in extra bees to help with pollination. These strategies have dramatically increased the Maine harvest from an annual average yield of 55 millions of pounds from 1985 to 1995 to an annual average of 93.5 million in the past decade.

At the same time, though, cultivated blueberries were going through their own boom. In 2014, world production hit one billion pounds, and one industry group estimated production in North America alone could hit one billion pounds by 2020.

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Blueberry barrens turn bright red in the fall. (Photo: Wild Blueberry Association of North America )

Despite the antioxidants, despite the smoothie trend, despite blueberry industry efforts to find new ways to use blueberries, that is too many blueberries. Prices have dropped; for U.S. wild blueberries, which compete with Canadian crops, the exchange rate, which means Canadian farmers can offer an even lower price, is hurting too.

This summer, the USDA chose to support both the cultivated and wild blueberry industry by buying up a portion of those massive piles of blueberries. These buys are part of a food assistance program, funded by taxes on imports, and every year the USDA has some discretion on what it purchases. One of the aims of the program is to support farmers by keeping prices from bouncing around too much, but the industry has to make a case to the agency that it should be included.

In 2013, for instance, wild and cultivated blueberries ranked fourth and fifth, by dollar amount, in the program’s contingency purchases (after turkey, chicken products and potatoes, but ahead of cranberries, grapefruit juice and catfish products). When the wild blueberry industry asked for the USDA to buy blueberries in 2015, though, the agency declined.

The wild blueberry industry has found new ways to take advantage of government purchasing, too, by making the case for including frozen blueberries in a fresh fruit program for school lunches. But these sorts of strategies have become more necessary as overall blueberry production has grown. “We as a commodity group have received bonus buys off and on since the mid-2000s,” says Nancy McBrady, the executive director of the Wild Blueberry Commission of Maine. “It’s taken on a different color and a sense of urgency these last couple of years.”

Has the world reached its capacity for blueberries? The industry doesn't think so, of course. The cultivated industry talks about introducing new markets to blueberries. (An industry report notes, "Ten years ago, we were told that Latin Americans did not like blueberries. Today Mexico is one of our leading markets for frozen blueberries. Now the rest of the Americas—the area from the Panama Canal to the Arctic—are turning on to blueberries!") 

The wild blueberry industry likes to talk about how wild blueberries have an extra-high wallop of antioxidants, and in our health-obsessed age, it looks like that’s paying off: as Eater reported in July, they’re showing up everywhere from lobster salad to Panera scones and Clif bars. Perhaps the world's fruit fans just doesn't realize yet how many blueberries they want.


India’s Deadly, Flexible Whip Sword Takes Years to Master

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A martial artist uses a multi-bladed Sri Lankan variation of a traditional urumi. (Photo: Angampora/CC BY-SA 3.0)

Whips are the coolest weapon, just ask Indiana Jones. Of course, someone like Ned Stark would say the same thing about his sword. But the Indian martial art of Kalaripayattu has both of them beat with the urumi, a sword that acts like a whip.

The urumi hasn’t regularly been used as an actual weapon for generations, but even as a demonstration weapon, it is still incredibly dangerous. Especially to the user.

The urumi (which can be translated as “curving sword,” and is also known as a “chuttuval”), hails from southern India. The historic weapon was saved from the erasure of time when it was incorporated into Kalaripayattu martial arts, an Indian fighting style that is considered one of the oldest in the world. Incorporating elements of yoga and performative dance, Kalaripayattu movements look like violent but graceful choreography. Urumi fighting is no different, it is just far more dangerous to those who would attempt to learn the skill.    

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Sparring with dual-bladed urumi. (Photo: Zzvet/Shutterstock.com)

Like any sword, the urumi comes in a number of varieties, with a variable length, and even a variable number of blades, but they all follow the same basic construction. Usually simpler than more elaborately decorated sword weapons, at its simplest, the urumi consists of a hilt connected to a thin, flexible steel blade. The handle is usually protected by a crossguard and knuckle-guard. The long blades extend somewhere between four and six feet in length (or even longer in some cases), and around an inch in width, but the aspect that makes the weapon unique is that the steel is always thin enough to flop around. Almost like a cartoon-version of a rubber sword.

Given the urumi's unique construction, wielding it is also an art unto itself. Since the flexible blade is no good for stabbing, it is slung around similarly to a traditional leather whip. In order to make continuous strikes with the weapon, it must stay continually in motion so that the momentum which gives the blade its slashing power is not lost. This usually requires the user to swing it over and around their head and shoulders in furious arcs.

While this makes the urumi incredibly hard and dangerous to use, it also provides it with one of its major benefits as a weapon. When the blade curves around the sword wielder in quick arcing slashes, it creates a defensive bubble of flying metal that an opponent would be reckless to get close to. In addition, it makes a terrific weapon for defending against multiple opponents, both by providing a good barrier at a number of angles at once, and for the long, wild attacking arcs the steel whip provides.   

Urumi sparring incorporates small buckler shields that are used to deflect direct swings of the weapon, but when the urumi was used in actual combat, it was said to have had the added benefit of curving around the edges of enemy shields, landing cuts even when blocked.

As an added bonus of having a wildly flexible blade, the urumi could be tightly rolled up for easy travel and concealment. In fact, it has often been worn as a belt.

Of course all of this versatility comes at a price. As you can imagine, winging metal whips around your delicate face flesh at high speeds can easily result in a missing nose, or other mishap. Wielding the urumi correctly and safely takes years of training, learning techniques for everything from bringing the blade to safe stop, to altering the rotation of your swings without slicing your arm off.

In the hierarchy of Kalaripayattu weapons training, the urumi is usually taught last due to the high degree of difficulty in wielding the weapon. Sometimes, students begin their training using a piece of cloth instead of the metal blade, so that they can master the intricate moves of the urumi before picking up any steel, learning a graceful flow and rhythm to their swings.

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That's a long urumi. (Photo: SukhwinderSinghNihangSingh/CC BY-SA 3.0)

All of this training is required to wield an urumi that has only one blade, however many variations of the weapon have multiple steel belts radiating from the handle like a slashing flog. Without question, the more strands on a given urumi, the more difficult it becomes to wield, but the more deadly it becomes to the opponent. According to one source, there was a Sri Lankan version of the urumi that had 32 blades, and was usually double-wielded, with one in each hand, although evidence of this is hard to find, and also… seems like suicide.

While use of the urumi is today relegated to demonstrative bouts by Kalaripayattu masters, the weapon still springs up in popular culture from time to time. The weapon can be found in tabletop roleplaying games like Pathfinder, and urumi-wielding warriors can be summoned as troops in the 2007 strategy game Age of Empires III: The The Asian Dynasties. There was even a 2011 Indian historical drama called, Urumi, which prominently featured the main character using the weapon.

It might not be as popular as Indy’s whip or Ned Stark’s broadsword, but the urumi is too badass to die.      

Correction: The caption of the header image has been changed to reflect that the weapon pictured is a Sri Lankan variant of the urumi. Also, a reference to the birthplace of the urumi has been changed from "the Indian state of Tamil Nadu," to  "southern India."

Watch These Awkward Elevator Rides From an Old Episode of Candid Camera

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Elevator rides can be awkward. The tiny space forces passengers into close quarters as they slowly scale up and down buildings. In this clip from a '60s episode of the American hidden camera show Candid Camera, the first unsuspecting rider, a middle-aged man in a trench coat, gets an even more unusual elevator experience. As other passengers follow behind him the man finds all of them oddly facing the back wall.

“You’ll see how this man in the trench coat tries to maintain his individuality,” says the host of the show, Allen Funt. The man in the trench coat rubs his face and nose in confusion at the other passengers. “He looks at his watch, but he’s really making an excuse for turning just a little bit more toward the wall.”  

In the 1960s, social conformity experiments got all the laughs. The 1962 Candid Camera episode “Face the Rear” tested the Asch conformity experiments. Polish psychologist Solomon Asch developed the series of studies in the 1950s, investigating how individuals succumbed to or defied a majority group, and the effects of such behavior. And what better environment to conduct these psychology experiments than in an elevator recorded by the Candid Camera crew.

Today, psychologists and researchers still turn to and Asch’s experiments, the famous Candid Camera clip popularly shown in psychology classes. “Conformity is all around us,” Jennifer Wosmek, a psychology professor at Bethany Lutheran College, told Free Press.“But it’s hard to get at systematically.”

Wosmek and colleagues at Bethany Lutheran College replicated the elevator experiment in 2011, and found similar awkward situations seen in the 1962 clip. People turned around to match the other passengers without question, while others confusedly asked if there was a second door that opened. They also found that men conformed more fully, while women often only did so partially. Younger people also conformed much more often than older.

Perhaps the Candid Camera victim who gets the most laughs is the young man who enters the elevator at the 1:20-mark. The Candid Camera crew in the elevator turn multiple directions in the elevator—each time the doors open, the young man has also turned to face the same way. He even follows along without question when the men take of their hats and put them back on.

While the experiment on the prank television show was for laughs, it also reveals how powerful conformity can be.

Every day we track down a Video Wonder: an audiovisual offering that delights, inspires, and entertains. Have you encountered a video we should feature? Email ella@atlasobscura.com.

The Spacecraft Rosetta Died to 'Go Out Now in True Rock 'n' Roll Style'

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An artist's rendering of Rosetta just before impact. (Photo: ESA)

Over 11 years ago, the European Space Agency launched the Rosetta spacecraft, which was sent about 350 million miles into space to study a comet with the unwieldy name of 67P/Churyumov–Gerasimenko (most commonly just 67P).

On Friday, Rosetta died, after scientists here on Earth steered it onto 67P's surface, crash-landing the spacecraft in an intentional kamikaze maneuver. 

The scientists, many of whom have been working on Rosetta for the majority of their careers, could've also put the craft to sleep, and perhaps gotten one more round of data when 67P next came across a brighter part of our atmosphere. But they went the kamikaze route instead. 

Why? It was possible that Rosetta would never wake up again, for one. And also: rock 'n' roll.

"It's like one of those '60s rock bands; we don't want to have a rubbish comeback tour. We'd rather go out now in true rock'n'roll style," one scientist told the BBC.

Fair enough. Rosetta has already brought the ESA reams of data about 67P, including a lot of images. It took its last picture just moments from hitting the surface. The photo is blurry because Rosetta's camera was not designed to take photos so close up. 

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(Photo: ESA)

"Farewell Rosetta; you've done the job," said European Space Agency mission manager Patrick Martin, according to the BBC. "That was space science at its best."

The Battle Over Where 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' Was Written

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The house in Brunswick, where the owners claim that Stowe wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin. (Photo: David Jester)

When Harriet Beecher Stowe penned Uncle Tom’s Cabin, her residence was a drafty, colonial style home in Brunswick, Maine. For over a century, The Stowe House at 63 Federal Street has been touted as the location of where the famous anti-slavery novel was composed. That Beecher Stowe’s novel was written in this quaint Maine town is not in dispute, but in recent years, what residence gets to claim fame to it has been.

Over the last two years, a local family has challenged this bit of history. There is now ongoing litigation between them and Bowdoin College, which owns Stowe House.

Surrounded by the rapidly expanding campus of Bowdoin College, Arline Lay’s home is New England quintessential. Black shutters adorn crisp, white painted clapboard, and a white picket fence runs along the sidewalk. This house at 28 College Street, named Angel’s Home, is where the Lay family claims Uncle Tom’s Cabin was truly written.

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The Stowe House at 63 Federal Street in Brunswick, Maine. (Photo: David Jester)

It wasn’t until 2014, when the house was put up for sale, that the claims of Harriet Beecher Stowe’s connections to the home became public. That year, Angel’s Home went on the market for a hefty price of $3 million, with just about every listing for the six-bedroom home mentioning its alleged connection to Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Historical significance or not, this was a surprising price tag for a sleepy town like Brunswick, especially in a downtown area, away from the ocean. (The home’s estimated market value is around $200,000, the Bangor Daily News writes.)

According to Elizabeth Burgess, collections manager at the Harriet Beecher Stowe Center in Hartford, Connecticut, there is no documentation that links Harriet Beecher Stowe to this home, and there is tangible evidence—through family correspondences —proving Stowe wrote at 63 Federal Street, as well as Appleton Hall at Bowdoin College.

But the Lay family asserts that Harriet Beecher Stowe actually wrote the lion’s share of Uncle Tom’s Cabin in a second-floor room at Angel’s Home. Family stories passed down through generations make up a large portion of their claim. These stories put Harriet Beecher Stowe upstairs in a rented room, during the early months of 1851. Beecher Stowe rented this room to escape everyday life and the distraction of her six children, the family contends.

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Harriet Beecher Stowe, c. 1880. (Photo: Library of Congress/LC-USZ62-11212)

Their evidence for the home’s connection to the author is shaky, scholars say. Both Arline Lay, 86, and her cousin recall statements about Beecher Stowe renting a room there, made by a relative, Robert Peter Tristram Coffin, a poet and Bowdoin College professor. A small inscription in a pane of glass of an upstairs window, reading “Angel’s Home” (a reference to a song sung by Uncle Tom in the novel), was etched there by Arline Lay’s grandfather, James Coffin, to reflect Harriet Beecher Stowe’s tenancy there, they say.

Penned during the spring and summer of 1851, Uncle Tom’s Cabinbecame the watershed for abolitionist literature. Released in serial format, in the anti-slavery newspaper, The National Era, this book propelled abolitionist sentiment, and directed the minds of Americans, towards a United States free for all. This book spurred Beecher Stowe to international celebrity status, her book translated into 60 different languages.   

Harriet Beecher Stowe only moved to Brunswick in the mid-19th century. In 1849 Calvin Stowe, her husband, accepted an appointment at Bowdoin College to the Collins Professorship of Natural and Revealed Religion. This set Beecher Stowe and her children on a journey from Cincinnati to Brunswick. In May 1850, after a month of traveling, they arrived at what was then called the Titcomb house, at 63 Federal Street, an 1807 house named after Benjamin Titcomb, a printer-turned-Reverend who struck off the first printed sheet of paper in the state of Maine.

“Son Charles Stowe’s 1889 biography, The Life of Harriet Beecher Stowe, which was heavily edited by Stowe herself provides evidence,” that they lived there, notes Burgess.

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The plaque commemorating the house. (Photo: David Jester)

This home, only a short walk from Bowdoin College, already had an extensive literary history. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow resided there in the early 1820s, while attending Bowdoin college, and during this time befriended Calvin Stowe, future husband to Harriet Beecher. It was also at this house, in the late months of 1850, that the Stowe’s harbored John Andrew Jackson, a fugitive freedom-seeker. 

Harriet Beecher Stowe’s popularity has endured for some 165 years. However, her former house is not, as might be expected, a museum devoted to the author and her life. It has hardly been preserved like a time capsule. In 1855, just three years after Uncle Tom’s Cabin came out, it was remodeled in a Greek Revival Style. Then the residence spent more than half a century as a restaurant and inn, from the mid-1940s to the late-1990s. Today, after yet another renovation, the house is used as offices for Bowdoin faculty. A former parlor room there is devoted to Harriet Beecher Stowe.

Angel’s Home also has strong connections to cultural history, in the form of a Longfellow poem entitled “The Old Clock on the Stairs,” said to be about a grandfather clock in the house, as well as two Lay family members who were painted by Norman Rockwell. Before the house came into the possession of the Lay family, it was owned by a Mrs. Lamb. The Lays say Beecher Stowe rented a room from Lamb in the 1850s. Purchased in 1905 by Arline Lay’s grandfather, James Coffin, Angel’s Home was moved from 183 Park Row, to 28 College Street a few blocks away.

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Bowdoin College in 1910, which owns Stowe House. (Photo: Library of Congress/2007662219)

After the house remained unsold, it went back on the market in the early months of this year for $1.6 million. Bowdoin College has remained staunch in their denial of the family’s assertions. They believe the Stowe House at 63 Federal Street—which they own—is the true location. They declined to comment further due to ongoing litigation with their family (Bowdoin is trying to buy the College Street house at 125 percent above its appraised value, not the $1.6 million ask, and claims a 1996 agreement with the family gives them first right of refusal on the property, which abuts their campus).

But even with all the evidence stacked against their claims, the Lays plod on undaunted. Above the door of the home, hangs a sign reading “Angel’s Home.” A waist high, freshly painted, white picket fence surrounds the picturesque residence. The home itself is on the National Register of Historic Places, but for other reasons, like the Longfellow poem. 

So the debate rages on, and the only person who could end this argument is Harriet Beecher Stowe, and she is long gone.

How 20 Stolen Van Gogh Paintings Were Recovered 35 Minutes After a Heist

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Van Gogh's "The Potato Eaters," one of the works that was stolen. (Photo: Public domain)

Officials said Friday that two Van Gogh paintings—stolen in 2002 in a brazen robbery at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam—were recovered in Italy, where they had apparently been in the hands of the Italian mafia. 

The paintings' recovery wraps up one of the longer art theft cases in the world, though it was nothing compared to a different robbery at the same museum, which took place in 1991, when 20 carefully-chosen paintings were recovered in an abandoned car 35 minutes after being stolen. 

Four men were later arrested and convicted for that robbery, including a security guard, in what officials said was apparently an inside job. 

But for all of its planning—one bandit hid in a restroom toilet stall at the Van Gogh Museum for hours—the theft was ultimately undone by a flat tire

It began around 3 a.m. on April 14, 1991, when one thief emerged from the bathroom wearing a ski mask and wielding a gun. He then approached two security guards on duty, locking one in a storeroom (who was later revealed to be an accomplice) and forcing the other two to open the front door and disable the museum's security systems. 

After another thief entered, they carefully scanned the museum for 45 minutes deciding what to take, ultimately emerging with a haul of art, the most famous of which was "The Potato Eaters," Van Gogh's depiction of rural Dutch poverty. 

They left the Van Gogh Museum in one of the guard's cars and made it as far as the Amsterdam Amstel railway station. A planned rendezvous with a different car was thwarted when that car got a flat tire, so they abandoned the first car—and the paintings inside—and fled.

Just three months later, four men were in handcuffs, all Dutch nationals, who would each spend years in prison. The officials suspected the perpetrators were working on the orders of higher authorities, but never arrested anyone else in the crime. 

Despite the recovery of those paintings, and the pair on Friday, most lost art is never found. But art stolen from Amsterdam's Van Gogh Museum has a pretty good track record of eventually turning up. 

7 Not-So-Secret Homes of Super Secret Societies

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In clandestine corners of the world, the elite come together in secrecy. Some of them don’t mind that we know of these society meetings, while others maintain that they do not organize at all.

Yet doormen speak to their friends, initiation rites are leaked, people peek in windows, chanting in far underground lairs can be heard by a passerby. Conspiracy theorists have long held that someone, and not the Fates, is manipulating our world, and perhaps in these secret societies the strings are being pulled.

Here is a list of seven groups so secret some members will never admit to their involvement, and their meeting places hiding in plain sight.


Skull and Bones Tomb

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT 

article-imageThe Tomb. (Photo: Sage Ross/CC BY-SA 2.0)

Ivy league Yale University is considered to be one of the most selective higher educational institutions in the United States, if not the world. Its motto lux et veritas translates to "light and truth." On the historic campus in New Haven, Connecticut, there is a building where "light and truth" are reserved for carefully selected members and alumni.

What is known about the Skull and Bones secret society is minimal. The organization started in 1832. An official roster of its members was published up until 1971. Bonesmen, as members are called, have been heads of corporations, senior government officials, Supreme Court justices, and even presidents. Theories about what the Skull and Bones actually do range from its members controlling the Central Intelligence Agency, being a part of a global network aimed at world domination, to being a branch of the Illuminati.

It’s also unknown exactly what happens in The Tomb, the group's headquarters, but there are strange rumors of what is contained in the windowless sandstone building. The Egypto-Doric style of the structure makes it appear as an immense sepulcher. The tomb is thought to hold secret documents containing the roster of all members, ritual details, as well as multiple stolen relics. Some of the bones rumored to be in The Tomb include the skulls of Geronimo, Pancho Villa, Martin Van Buren, and the gravestone of Elihu Yale, the school's founder. Bonesmen are also known to take other societies' belongings in a show of thievery and cunning known as crooking.

Bilderberg Club: Hotel de Bilderberg

OOSTERBEEK, NETHERLANDS

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Hotel de Bilderberg. (Photo: Michiel1972/CC BY-SA 4.0

In November of 1954, 50 delegates from 11 countries in Western Europe and 11 Americans spent three days in Oosterbeek, Netherlands, at the Hotel de Bilderberg. The purpose of the meeting was said to foster conversations between Europe and North America. Those in attendance included a prince, a prime minster, and the head of the CIA. Since that meeting, each year a group of international leaders in the fields of politics, business, media, and communications have met to discuss… we’re not exactly sure.

There is no agenda, no resolutions are proposed, no voting of any kind is executed, and no positions or policy statements are issued. The meetings are held in a different location each year and each year the topics of the meeting are up for the general public to theorize over. The roster of attendees is never officially made public, but there have been leaks over the years. Conspiracy theories abound, especially because of the group’s intense level of secrecy. Many believe the group is conspiring to impose capital domination, a world government, or a planned economy. What is certain is that the more prominent you are, the more likely you’ll be to get an invitation to next year’s Bilderberg conference. 

Scientology's Trementina Base

TREMENTINA, NEW MEXICO

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Trementina Base, New Mexico. (Photo: Google Earth)

Scientology is most visible today because of celebrity members like Tom Cruise and John Travolta, yet the organization has been aggressive over the years in tackling critics and maintaining its secrets. One of the most controversial religious groups, some characterize the movement as a cult.

Basic Scientology belief holds that humans are immortal beings who have reincarnated and have lived on other planets before finding themselves now on Earth. One of the things that makes the religion controversial is its assertive nature, often turning to character assassination or litigation in dealing with skeptics and critics who question their practices. The church is also extremely secretive, holding many of its teachings from members until they have made it through multiple levels.

Scientology operates several churches called Celebrity Centres that are opened to the public, but are primarily meant for "anyone with the power and vision to create a better world.” The Church of the Spiritual Technology, or CST, is reserved for the most trusted of members. Many of these members manage elaborate bases including the Trementina Base. The official word from the church is that the base is a location used to preserve Scientology founder Ron L. Hubbard’s writings, which are said to be engraved on steel sheets and encased in titanium cases. It’s thought that Trementina is more than just a location to archive Hubbard’s works, however.

Trementina contains underground dwellings and tunnels, but what’s most interesting about the base is what you see from the outside. Aerial photographs above the base show huge images dug into the Earth. The images are that of the church’s logo. Former members have claimed that the symbols are to mark the return point for members when they travel into the future. Other members have stated that this is the place where Hubbard is supposed to go when he returns.  

The Illuminati: Domus Sanctae Marthae

VATICAN CITY, VATICAN

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Pope Francis entering Domus Sanctae Marthae (Photo: Pufui Pc Pifpef I/CC BY-SA 3.0

Established in 1776 in Bavaria, Germany, this group of freethinkers, humanists, and academics opposed superstition, prejudice, religion, and its influence over the public, and they supported the advancement of women.

The Illuminati were a shadowy group, believed capable of influencing movements in government and the arts. The group was infiltrated and shut down a decade after its founding, or so the official record goes. Conspiracy theorists have long been obsessed that the world has been controlled by the Illuminati for generations. There are many modern groups that claim to be the descendants of the original Bavarian Illuminati; they go so far as to use the name “Illuminati” in their title, but there is no evidence that these recent organizations are tied to the original.

Besides its actions, what is a major mystery of this group is the location of its headquarters. Theorists have claimed many prominent locations are the headquarters of the Illuminati from Disney World in Orlando, Florida, the Mormon Temple in Salt Lake City, Utah, the Statue of Liberty in New York City, Big Ben in London, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., and, among many others, the Vatican.

The theory that the Illuminati headquarters is located at the Vatican is especially interesting due to the group's opposition to the church. It's believed by conspiracy theorists that the church was long ago infiltrated by the society and so that would make its leader, the pope, one of the Illuminati's highest ranking members. Today, the pope resides in a simple room at Domus Sanctae Marthae, a guest house adjacent to St. Peter's Basilica. The five-story building containing 106 suites and 22 single rooms is for clergy who are in town on official Holy See business, or perhaps for an Illuminati meeting or two.

Ordo Templi Orientis: Bay Area Thelemic Temple

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA

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Mural of Aleister Crowley at the Abode of Chaos. (Photo: Thierry Ehrmann/CC BY 2.0)

The Order of the Temple of the East was founded between 1895 and 1906 in either Austria or Germany. It is believed wealthy industrialist, Carl Kellner, began the religious movement, but it was famed occultist Aleister Crowley whose name and additions to the group shrouded it in curiosity and mystery.

OTO was modeled somewhat after another secret society, Freemasonry. But Crowley added a layer, his own self-created belief system called Thelema. Thelema’s practices and beliefs are written out in a book titled The Book of Law and its core belief is: “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law.” Ideas from occultism, and Eastern and Western mysticism, found their way into Thelema and thus OTO. The religion is highly secretive and members move through the order in a series of rites and rituals, moving up levels in the forms of initiations. Levels have curious names such as Minerval, Master Magician, Illustrious Knight, Grandmaster of Light, and so on.

There are two components at the core of OTO: magical rituals, which have been rumored to include tantric sex, the summoning of angels and demons, and astral projection. Then there is the gnostic mass, reminiscent of a Catholic mass only because it contains a host and wine toward the end. The gnostic mass includes elaborate costumes, and at the climax of the mass it's believed that the host turns into the Body of God and the wine the Blood of God.

There are multiple locations of worship called camps, oases, or lodges. The majority of them keep their locations secretive to the greater public. The relatively small location in Oakland is an oasis. They hold a weekly gnostic mass in a temple decorated in candles and Egyptian imagery. It’s unknown exactly what takes place during initiation ceremonies and what knowledge is shared during these events. According to Crowley's autobiography, The Confessions of Aleister Crowley: "the OTO is in possession of one supreme secret. The whole of its system [is] directed towards communicating to its members, by progressively plain hints, this all-important instruction.”

Priory of Sion: Bibliothèque Nationale de France

PARIS, FRANCE

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National Library of France Reading Room. (Photo: Vincent Desjardins/CC BY 2.0)

The secret of this secret society is that many people believe in its existence, but scholarly claims have repetitively stated the group is a complete myth, constructed by the imagination of a madman.    

The myth begins that the Priory of Sion was a group charged with protecting the descendants of Jesus of Nazareth and Mary Magdalene who eventually went on to settle in France. It was leaked in the 1970s that the Bibliothèque Nationale de France in Paris, the French National Library, was in possession of a file called Dossiers Secrets d'Henri Lobineau that pointed to the Priory of Sion being located in France. The file contained an introduction, maps of France, genealogies, newspaper clippings, letters and a list of grand masters of the Priory of Sion that included Sir Isaac Newton, Victor Hugo, and Leonardo Da Vinci.

The authenticity of these files has been questioned ever since they were left at the library. Eventually, they were traced to Pierre Plantard. It is believed Plantard planted the document at the library in order to perpetuate an elaborate hoax. He himself claimed to be a descendant of Jesus' bloodline. Academics went on to agree that the Priory of Sion was a hoax constructed by Plantard. Yet, books, articles, and movies continue to be made about this group. Whether or not there is a secret society dedicated to protecting a family descendant from biblical times we may never know.

Rosicrucianism: Rosicrucian Park

SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA

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Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum grounds. (Photo: Ginabovara/Public Domain)

Several manifestos were anonymously published in the early 17th century that told of legends, mysticism, alchemy, and the Order of the Temple of the Rosy Cross. One of these documents was the Fama Fraternitatis which was published in Cassel, Germany.

The Fama spoke of the 15th century German doctor and mystical philosopher Christian Rosenkreuz who traveled through parts of the Middle East where he learned esoteric wisdom, studying in places such as Turkey and Egypt. There, he claimed to learn extensive knowledge regarding nature and the universe. When he returned, he attempted to share what he learned but he was dismissed. He then formed a like-minded group called the Fraternity of the Rose Cross. 

The year of his birth and death remain shadowy, but some documents claim he lived over 106 years. The group upheld Christian beliefs, but strongly opposed Roman Catholicism, and was also said to have influenced Freemasonry along with hundreds of other groups, many of which have adopted titles with similar names throughout modern times. At its simplest form, the group aimed to promote a “Universal Reformation of Mankind.” Some reports claim that the requirement for membership was that one must have been capable of using more than the average amount of brain power.

During Rosenkreuz’s life, the group was thought to have only consisted of a handful of members, each of whom was a doctor. All members took an oath to remain bachelors, and also to treat the sick without payment and to find a replacement for themselves before they died. Interest in the group peaked between 1607 and 1616 with the appearances of the anonymous works that included the Fama Fraternitatis which ranged with content that included mysticism and apocalyptic warnings.

Whether Rosenkreuz’s original idea continued is unknown. One of the hundreds of groups claiming to be tied to the original is the Ancient Mystical Order Rosea Crucis that has some connection to occultist Aleister Crowley. AMORC claims to be devoted to the “study of elusive mysteries of life and the universe.” They utilize ideas from major philosophers, including Thales and Pythagoras, healing techniques, alchemy, symbolism, and mysticism. The group claims its history can be traced to pharaoh Thutmose III in 1477. The AMORC headquarters is located at Rosicrucian Park in San Jose, California, which spans a city block and includes several structures. The park is home to elaborate gardens, a research library, a planetarium, a temple, and it houses the ashes of Harvey Spencer Lewis, founder of the secret society.

The 1980s Crime Ring That Poisoned Japan's Candy And Never Got Caught

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Police officers check Glico products at a supermarket in Osaka, Japan, in December 1984. (Photo: Sankei Archive/Getty Images)

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By now, everyone knows there's no such thing as poisoned Halloween candy. No chemically laced chewing gum. No razor blades hidden in caramel apples. Researchers have spent years debunking this urban legend, which, they say, was born from a certain strain of cultural anxiety—fear of strangers, of uncertainty, of too much sugar. Almost certainly, the cruelest thing a neighbor will do to your trick-or-treating kid is hand them a toothbrush.

But about 30 years ago, across much of Japan, this irrational, deep-seated fear actually came true. Over the course of a year and a half, a cryptic group blackmailed the country's biggest candy companies. They filled supermarket shelves with cyanide-laced chocolates. They wrote elaborate, teasing letters detailing their exploits, which were published in national newspapers. They consistently foiled the nation's police force. And to this day, no one has any idea who they were.

They called themselves the "Mystery Man with 21 Faces," and they replaced a whole country's sugar highs with a rush of terror.


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A Glico billboard in Osaka, Japan. (Photo: Sakaori/CC BY-SA 3.0)

On March 18th, 1984, Katsuhisa Ezaki came home from a long day at the office, took off his suit, and sunk into a warm bath. Ezaki was coming up on two years as the president of Ezaki Glico, a multimillion-dollar corporation based in Osaka. The company sold everything from ice cream to hamburger meat, but was most famous for its sweets—Pucchin Puddings, Pocky chocolate, and Glico caramels, made with health-boosting oyster glycogen.

Ezaki had only been soaking for a few minutes when he heard a brief commotion elsewhere in the house. Suddenly, two armed, hooded men burst into the bathroom and began dragging him out of the tub. Ezaki cried out for help, but his assailants were two steps ahead of him—they had already tied up Ezaki's wife and daughter and cut the house's phone lines, and they had even broken into the house next door, where his mother lived, and tied her up, too. The men muscled Ezaki out the door, gave him a coat and a ski hat, and brought him to an isolated, anonymous warehouse.

The next day, as police scrounged for some sign of their whereabouts, a ransom note was found in a nearby phone booth, demanding a billion yen (about $4.3 million in 1984 US dollars) and 220 pounds of gold bullion. Detectives were just starting to chase down leads when, after two days in captivity, Ezaki managed to escape his warehouse prison. Everyone hoped that the perpetrators would be caught, and that that would be the end of it.

It wasn't. It was only the beginning.


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A panwriter—the typewriter of choice for the Mystery Man with 21 Faces. (Photo: LoKiLeCh/CC BY-SA 3.0)

Three weeks later, newspaper offices across Japan received copies of a strange letter. "To the stupid police," it began. "Are you idiots?... If you were pros, you would catch us. Because you guys have such a high handicap, we're gonna give you some hints."

The letter went on to give more details about the crime—the getaway car was gray, the food they purchased was from Daiei Supermarket, one of the largest chains in Japan. "Should we also kidnap the head of the prefectural police?" it wondered. The missive was signed kaijin nijuichi menso—which translates, roughly, to "The Mystery Man with 21 Faces."

The newspapers published the letter. Over the next few months, they published its follow-ups, too: there were dozens of them, filled with taunts, jokes, and more useless clues. Some served mostly to goad the police. Others revealed further potential crimes: in one, sent in mid-May, the gang alleged that they had laced several packages of Glico candy with cyanide. They didn't specify which kind.

Glico immediately recalled all of its candy—which tested negative for cyanide—but they couldn't rescue their reputation. The frightened citizens of Japan engaged in a de facto Glico boycott. "Typical of the nationwide concern was a Tokyo office worker who gave her colleagues a gift of chocolates, attaching a reassuring note that another candymaker had produced them," the New York Times wrote. The company's assets plunged, and they had to lay off 1,000 workers.

While Glico's reputation foundered, its media-savvy tormenters grew more and more infamous. As anthropologist Marilyn Ivy explains in "Tracking the Mystery Man with 21 Faces," the gang named themselves after the "Mystery Man with the 20 Faces"—a villainous, shapeshifting thief invented by popular detective novelist Edogawa Rampo. "In every neighborhood and in every house wherever two or more people are gathered," Edogawa wrote, introducing the character, "they talk about the mystery man with the 20 faces, just as naturally as if they would talk about the weather."

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Ezaki Glico headquarters, in Osaka, Japan. (Photo: Bakkai/CC BY 3.0)

This new gang of Mystery Men also captured the public imagination, even as they themselves evaded capture. Their letters and tactics were theatrical and morbidly fascinating. They would demand huge amounts of cash, and then fail to turn up to collect it. (There is no evidence that they ever accepted any money.) Once, they instructed Glico employees to appear at a particular phone booth at a certain time to await a message—but when disguised police showed up instead, they didn't call.

"You thought you could fool us, dressed up in your nice businessmen's blue suits, acting like salary men," they wrote the next day. "But those shifty eyes gave you away." Somehow, they had been watching. "We do not recall a case in which criminals have made such fools of the police," the Japanese newspaper Yomiuri Shimbunwrote in an editorial.

Their letters were also written in a dialect associated with Osaka, Japan's third largest city, which is seen as an unpretentious anti-capital. Compared with the formality of standard Japanese, says Ivy, Osaka slang left room for warmth, sincerity, and humor. The city has been associated with comedy for more than 1,000 years, and many of Japan's most well-known comedians hail from Osaka.

"By writing in this dialect, the authors displaced the often murderous intent of their words into the realm of the lucid," she writes. In other words, when Japanese citizens opened their papers and read the latest threat from the Mystery Man with 21 Faces, a certain subtext also got across: Why so serious?

In June of 1984, in a letter addressed "to our fans throughout Japan," the Mystery Man announced that they would lay off Glico. "The president of Glico has already gone around with his head hanging down long enough," they wrote. "We would like to forgive him." They also got in a few final jabs at the candy company ("In our group there's also a 4-year-old kid—every day he cries for Glico... It's a drag to make a kid cry cause he's deprived of the candy he loves") and at the police ("The police have done a good job—hang in there and don't give up!").

Finally, they made a promise: "Japan has gotten terribly hot and humid," they asserted. "So when our 'work' is done, we want to go to Europe—Geneva, Paris, London—we'll be in one of those places… Let's bring Pocky—the traveler's friend! Delicious Glico products—we're eating them too! See you in January of next year!"


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A 7-11 in Japan, the kind of place where the poisoned candies were found. (Photo: Japanexperterna/CC BY-SA 3.0)

But the Mystery Man returned long before that. In September, they called up Morinaga, another long-standing candy company, and demanded $400,000. Morinaga didn't comply. So on October 8, 1984, Japan's newspapers got yet another letter:

"To moms throughout Japan:
In autumn, when appetites are strong, sweets are really delicious.
When you think sweets—no matter what you say—it's Morinaga.
We've added some special flavor.
The flavor of potassium cyanide is a little bitter.
It won't cause tooth decay, so buy the sweets for your kids.
We've attached a notice on these bitter sweets that they contain poison. We've put twenty boxes in stores from Hakata to Tokyo."

Police swarmed grocery stores in and around the cities of Kyoto, Osaka, Kobe, and Tokyo, scouring shelves for poisoned candy. Sure enough, they found boxes of Morinaga Choco Balls and Angel Pies with extra labels—"Danger, contains poison. You'll die if you eat this. The mystery man with 21 faces." This time, the candy actually did test positive for cyanide.

Immediately, Morinaga's stock dropped 22 cents. Further letters promised that if supermarkets didn't immediately begin boycotting Morinaga, future boxes would appear, this time unlabeled. "It's going to be like a treasure hunt," the Mystery Man said.

The police mobilized like never before. Noting that the Mystery Man tended to strike on Saturdays and Sundays, 40,000 officers—20 percent of Japan's entire force—spent several weekends in a row staking out supermarkets. They pored over surveillance video from one of the grocery stores, which showed a man with curly hair, a baseball cap, and glasses placing something on a shelf. They traced the provenance of the typewriter on which the letters were written. They released audio from the blackmailing telephone call to Morinaga, which featured a woman and child demanding money, and even set up special phone lines so that people could call in and listen to it.

But every lead went cold—and led to more mockery. "Isn't the man in the video a splendid chap?" one follow-up letter read, before comparing his appearance to several well-known police captains. After a failed stakeout in Shiga Prefecture yielded a van full of strange equipment—a vacuum cleaner, a floppy hat, wire cutters—the Mystery Man with 21 Faces wrote again, promising "you won't be able to trace us from anything we leave behind."

They kept demanding money from candy companies: 100,000,000 yen from Fujiya Co., 50,000,000 from Surugaya. In August of 1985, Shoji Yamamoto, the head of the Shiga Prefecture police—who blamed himself and his subordinates for failing to capture the Mystery Man during the stakeout—doused his body with kerosene and lit himself on fire.

This was too much even for the Mystery Man. Five days later, they sent out their last letter. "No-career Yamamoto died like a man," it read, in part. "So we decided to give our condolence. We decided to forget about torturing food-making companies… We are bad guys. That means we've got more to do other than bullying companies. It's fun to lead a bad man's life. Mystery Man with 21 Faces." With that, they disappeared.


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Milk caramels from Morinaga. (Photo: Solomon203/CC BY-SA 3.0)

Over the next few years, police continued to search for clues, and to haul in suspects. Some leads pointed to the infamous Yakuza mobs. Others suggested extreme left-wing or right-wing groups, or North Korean communists. All told, the police investigated 125,000 people, and followed up on 28,300 public tips. But nothing illuminating was found, and everyone's alibis checked out.

In 1995, the statute of limitations ran out on Ezaki's kidnapping. In 2000, it expired on the poisoned candy case. As Michael Newton notes in The Encyclopedia of Unsolved Crimes, "Even if identified today, [the Mystery Man with 21 Faces] and his various accomplices could not be charged or tried."

And so, their 21 faces still intact, the Mystery Man lives on—in minds that recall their missives, in hands that hesitate before reaching for a piece of Pocky. Because they could be anyone, they're everyone. Because they could strike anywhere, they're everywhere. As they themselves wrote in one letter, midway through their reign of terror:

"Who are we? Sometimes a policeman, sometimes a violent gang… Sometimes a factory hand, sometimes a kidnapper… but our true identity is… The Mystery Man with the 21 Faces!"

And that is all we may ever know.


How a Tiny New Zealand Town Became the Global Center of Sheep

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The sheep shearer statue in Te Kuiti, New Zealand. (Photo: Dramatic/CC BY-SA 4.0)

If you flip a sheep onto its backside, balancing it upright with your legs, the usually skittish animal will become surprisingly placid. The reasons for this postural pacification are not well understood. Some put it down to tonic immobility, a natural state of paralysis caused by fear, but whether it is terror or boredom or something else entirely, this seated docility allows the sheep to be sheared much more easily than if it was standing.

That blank gaze is a look you often see on the sheep of Te Kuiti, New Zealand, the Sheep Shearing Capital of the World.

To understand why this town of just 4,500 persons deserves this title one must understand the close relationship between sheep and the denizens of this island nation. In a hemisphere of skies and seas, New Zealand is a crumpled interruption heavily dusted with wooly flocks. There are approximately 28 million sheep in New Zealand, about seven for each person. 

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Te Kuiti train station. (Photo: bob walker/CC BY-SA 2.0)

The first sheep arrived in New Zealand thanks to the explorer, Captain James Cook, in 1773. It was not an auspicious beginning. The two sheep he released died almost immediately, leading Cook to write in his journals:

"Last Night the Ewe and Ram I had with so much care and trouble brought to this place, died, we did suppose that they were poisoned by eating of some poisonous plant, thus all my fine hopes of stocking this Country with a breed of Sheep were blasted in a moment."

However Cook’s dream of a nation stuffed with sheep was eventually to materialize over the coming decades. As people began to emigrate to the isles in the 1850s and ‘60s they brought their sheep with them. Many sheep were shipped over from Australia when that country’s frequent droughts prevented their profitable farming. By the late 19th century there were over 13 million sheep in New Zealand. Frozen shiploads of lamb and mutton were making the journey halfway across the globe to London on a regular basis, accompanied by thousands of bales of wool, destined for England’s voracious cloth mills.

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Four canned meat labels, c. 1890-1920. (Photo: Eph-F-MEAT-Gear-056. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand

The hunger for New Zealand wool meant shearing swiftly became a major industry, but the reason that a New Zealand shearer is, to this day, prized above all others is largely due to the legacy of one man who, although standing just 5 foot 6 inches tall and being round as a medicine ball, was nevertheless a colossus in the world of shearing. His name was Godfrey Bowen.

Sheep shearing was originally accomplished with metal hand shears. Wool was clipped off the sheep bit by bit, using short, scissor-like cuts. This was a laborious job with often as many as six men working on one sheep at a time, and the wool that was sheared was often of differing lengths and thus worth less. When the first horse-powered shearing machines were introduced in 1888 techniques slowly began to change. It was the great Australian shearer Jim Powers who realized that with this new technology he could shear a sheep “from the breezer to the sneezer” in one swoop. However it wasn’t until the 1940s that Bowen perfected a new technique of continuous shearing that revolutionized the wool industry and remains the basis for all sheep shearing today.

The Bowen Technique, as it became known, used the lowest amount of energy possible. Its most notable innovation was the use of the non-shearing hand to stretch out the skin of the sheep as it was shorn, making the wool on the fleece even and thus allowing sheep farmers to attract higher prices. Bowen’s technique was rhythmic and smooth, easy on the shearer and the sheared alike. Indeed, watching a video of Bowen at work is hypnotic and deeply satisfying. The wool falls off the sheep as if it’s a thick layer of cotton candy being swept off the animal’s hide with a brush. There are no signs of discernible effort or discomfort. Bowen showed how a previously mundane occupation could become something close to an art form.

Bowen’s technique wasn’t just good to watch, it was fast too. In 1953 Godfrey broke the world record by shearing 456 full-wool sheep in nine hours. The feat turned him into a celebrity in New Zealand. It was just the start of his fame. In 1956, he was invited to the United Kingdom by the British Wool Marketing Board to show off his technique. Bowen attracted gargantuan crowds, some of whom thought he must have drugged the sheep so easy did he make it look. British Farmers brought him their most bad-tempered animals in a chance to slow him down, but Bowen, gracefully flipping the sheep onto its backside and beginning his clinical passes with his clippers, was not perturbed in the slightest. On one of his later trips to the United Kingdom an amazed correspondent for The Guardian newspaper wrote, “Godfrey Bowen’s arms flow with the grace of a Nureyev shaping up to an arabesque, or a Barbirolli bringing in the cellos. Watching him shear is even more remarkable than seeing a finely tuned machine.”

Such was Bowen’s skill, and the massive improvement in efficiency that his technique generated, that he was invited on tours of Afghanistan, Argentina, India and Pakistan. In 1963 he made a triumphant six-week-long training trip to the Soviet Union, which culminated in him being presented with two of the most prestigious Soviet honors—the Hero of Socialist Labour and the Order of Lenin. Thanks to Bowen, New Zealand sheep shearers became world-renowned and much in demand the world over, and the country began playing host to all manner of shearing competitions. The fact that Te Kuiti hosts the New Zealand Shearing Championships makes it the de facto world capital of sheep shearing.

 At these championships, the rulebook is thick. Competitors line up in front of a number of catching pens into which the sheep are ushered. From here they grab their sheep, flip them, and shear them as quickly as possible while their wool-handlers sweep up the cuttings and help arrange the shorn fleeces. It’s sweaty, backbreaking work requiring muscle and finesse in equal measure. The fleeces are judged for evenness of length, the amount of skin attached to wool, and so on. If second cuts are needed—if the wool does not come off in one fell swoop—shearers are docked penalty points. If the fleece wool is mixed with belly wool (shorter inferior wool that is usually dirty) they’re penalized again. If the sheep is roughly handled or cut that’s another penalty point. It’s a unique mixture of weightlifting, wrestling and hairdressing.

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Sheep graze in Te Kuiti. (Photo: Richard Grevers/CC BY-SA 3.0)

Individual tallies depend on the breed of sheep—it’s easier to shear a strong wool ewe than a Merino wether—but the number sheared at the championships is immense. At the most recent meeting the winning score for wool ewes was 721 sheared in eight hours (the winning Merino tally was 418). Top prize at Te Kuiti is $2,000 and the fame of ages. Indeed one of the most famous shearers of our age, the 16-time winner of the New Zealand Open title, David Fagan, was recently knighted for his services to shearing. With a head shorn as closely as that of one of his sheep, he lives in Te Kuiti full-time, just a stone’s throw away from the six-meter tall statue of a shearer that stands in the town’s center.

Such is New Zealand’s penchant for shearing that it has lobbied for sheep shearing to become an Olympic sport, although New Zealand is far from a shoo-in for a medal: the current world record is held by an Irishman, Ivan Scott, who this year sheared 867 lambs in just nine hours, averaging one lamb every 37 seconds. A hair-raising thought for the people of Te Kuiti.

11 Hidden Spots to Enter the Underworld

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Hades. Naraka. Guinee. Xibalba. Though names may differ from one set of teachings to another, almost every religion on the planet features the concept of an underworld—a place to which the souls of the dead are banished, for penance or punishment.

So in honor of 31 Days of Halloween, we mined the Atlas for the various purported entrances to the netherworld, scattered across the globe, ranging from Mayan caves to Japanese swamps. 

But remember: If you should decide to visit any of these sites, it should be noted by way of a disclaimer that we take no responsibility whatsoever for the consequences of your attempts to open an infernal portal. 

You have been warned…

1. Cape Matapan Caves

CAPE MATAPAN, THE MANI, GREECE

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The Village of Vathia on Cape Matapan. (Photo: Charles Nadeau/CC BY 2.0)

Our first gateway is an entrance to the Classical hell: the Cape Matapan Caves which are located on the southernmost tip of the Greek mainland. Cape Matapan—also known as Cape Tainaron, or Tenaro—is situated on the end of the peninsula known as the Mani. The caves open at sea-level into a cliff face beneath the headland, the exact point marked by the ruins of a Spartan temple above. 

This was one of several entrances that the Ancient Greeks ascribed to Hades, the Kingdom of the Shades. Others were to be found at the Necromanteion of Ephyra on the River Acheron, as well as at Alepotrypa: another, smaller cave network on the Mani.

When Orpheus travelled down to Hades to rescue Eurydice, it was said to be through the cave on Cape Matapan; Hercules likewise used these caverns when he made his own descent to the underworld. The geographer Pausanias identified Cape Matapan as the point where, supposedly, “Cerberus was brought up from Hades by Herakles” (Description of Greece, 2nd century AD).

Another story related by Pausanias linked to the picturesque cape relates to the poet Arion, who escaped from pirates to be carried ashore by a pod of dolphins. A bronze statue of the poet riding a dolphin stands on the crest of the cape, not far from the ruins of a temple raised in honor of the sea god, Poseidon.

The caves at Matapan can still be entered by visitors, although a boat is required to pass through the watery mouth of this particular hellgate.

2. Hekla

ICELAND

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Detail of Abraham Ortelius' 1585 map of Iceland showing Hekla in eruption. (Photo: Abraham Ortelius/Public Domain)

Our next location, the imposing stratovolcano known as Hekla, can be found in the southern mountains of Iceland… a fiery pit of lava that has long been associated with the fiery pit of Christian tradition. In the Middle Ages, Cistercian monks travelled far and wide across Europe carrying tales of "Hekla Fell."

In 1180, the monk Herbert de Clairvaux named the volcano in his book, Liber De Miraculis. He wrote: “The renowned fiery cauldron of Sicily, which men call Hell's chimney […] that cauldron is affirmed to be like a small furnace compared to this enormous inferno.”

The monk Benedict named Hekla as the "eternal prison of Judas" in his poem about the voyages of Saint Brendan from 1120. Later, in 1341, the medieval Icelandic manuscript Flatey Book Annal described large birds that were reportedly seen flying inside the fiery crater; these were believed to be the souls of the damned.

There have been more than 20 serious eruptions recorded since 874 AD, although in recent years Hekla has been somewhat more peaceful. Most superstitions regarding the volcano died out by the 19th century; nevertheless, local folklore still tells of witches who gather around the volcano’s peak each Easter. 

3. Fengdu City of Ghosts

CHONGQING, CHINA

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The Ghost King. (Photo: Britrob/CC BY 2.0)

An altogether quite different hellgate can be found in the heart of China—a city of ghosts with close ties to Naraka, the underworld of Chinese mythology. Visitors to Fengdu are treated to a rare glimpse into the workings of hell.

This 2,000-year-old settlement is located on Ming Hill, at the northern end of the Yangtze River. Founded during the Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD), the Fengdu "City of Ghosts" bases its heritage on the story of two renegade officials who fled here to escape the Emperor. Their names, Yin and Wang, were later adapted to form a title for one of the rulers of hell: "Qinguang Wang Jiang."

Fengdu is famous for its striking, traditional architecture and elaborate craftsmanship. Its streets and squares are filled with statues of ghosts and demons, as well as poignant reminders of the punishments that await the wicked in the next life. Most of the city’s landmarks are linked to hellish themes: "Ghost Torturing Pass," "Nothing-to-be-Done Bridge," and "Last Glance at Home Tower."

Perhaps most striking of all though, is "The Ghost King"—a giant, carved face looking down on the city from a rock face. Measuring 138 meters (about 452 feet) tall and 217 meters (about 712 feet) across, Fengdu’s "Ghost King" is the largest rock sculpture in the world.

4. Lacus Curtius

ROME, ITALY 

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Lacus Curtius in the Roman Forum. (Photo: MM/CC BY-SA 3.0)

To locate our next gate, we travel from ancient China to ancient Rome.

Each year thousands of tourists flock to the Roman Forum, and this well-preserved landmark is one of Rome’s most popular attractions. Relatively few of Rome’s visitors are aware, however, of the story behind the small stone well that stands at the Forum’s heart; once believed to serve as an entrance to the underworld.

Lacus Curtius, or the "Lake of Curtius," takes its name from an ancient Roman legend. The historian Livy wrote of a time when an oracle foretold the fall of Rome. The message, "quo plurimum populus Romanus posset," warned that the city would crumble unless it was prepared to sacrifice that which it held most dear. Meanwhile, a chasm opened in the center of the forum to accept that offering.

Interpreting this riddle to mean Rome’s soldiers, centurion Marcus Curtius sacrificed his own life—donning full armor before riding his horse into the pit. The chasm closed over his head, and Rome was saved.

While other myths link the Lacus Curtius to the Sabine horseman known as Mettius Curtius (or alternatively to the Roman consul, Gaius Curtius Philon), the true origins of the pit have been long since lost to the mists of time. Livy holds that the story of Marcus Curtius is the most plausible of the myths—despite its blatant disregard for the laws of physics.

The stone relief visible in the image above is a modern replica of an ancient plaque, depicting Curtius mounted upon his horse and prepared for sacrifice.

5. Actun Tunichil Muknal Cave

TAPIR MOUNTAIN NATURE RESERVE, BELIZE

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Remains of the “Crystal Maiden” Mayan sacrifice in Actun Tunichil Muknal cave. (Photo: Peter Andersen/CC BY-SA 3.0)

There is a cave network located in modern-day Belize, which the Mayans believed was an entrance to their underworld: Xibalba.

The name Actun Tunichil Muknal translates as "Cave of the Crystal Sepulchre." Extensive research has linked the site, located in the Tapir Mountain Nature Reserve, to ancient Mayan legends. These stories described rivers of blood and scorpions, and a vast subterranean labyrinth ruled over by the Mayan death gods, the demonic "Lords of Xibalba."

Since their rediscovery in 1989, the caves of Actun Tunichil Muknal have become a popular destination for explorers. There are numerous landmarks that make this network particularly interesting, including a vast chamber of stalactites known as the "Cathedral."

Amongst scattered fragments of pottery and bone, one of the more notable discoveries is the skeleton of an 18-year-old girl. Believed to have been ritualistically murdered in the cave as a sacrifice to the Death Gods, she has been nicknamed the "Crystal Maiden"; over the 1,000 years since her death, her bones have calcified to create a shimmering, crystal effect.

Other human remains found in the caves were believed to have been sacrifices given to the rain god Chac, and many of these show similar signs of calcification (although none are quite so perfectly preserved as the Crystal Maiden). Another theory suggests that the various dead may have been suspected of witchcraft—possibly suffering from physical or mental ailments, their unburied corpses were sealed within the hell gate in hopes that their spirits might be forever trapped.

6. The Gates of Guinee

NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA

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The tomb of voodoo priestess Marie Laveau — a possible gate? (Photo: Lucid Nightmare/CC BY-ND 2.0)

According to Voodoo mythology, the newly dead are sent to a kind of purgatory before travelling to meet their ancestors in the "deep waters." Known as Guinee, this twilight realm is presided over by the notorious loa who goes by the name of Baron Samedi.

There are tales of Voodoo practitioners opening the Gates of Guinee to reclaim the souls of the dead; souls in this lost land are also considered to be at high risk from Hoodoo magicians, who have the power to reanimate them as zombies. 

While some followers of Voodoo interpret the seven gates as a spiritual metaphor, others believe them to exist in the physical realm. One of these stories locates the gates in New Orleans. To enter Guinee, it is said that one must open the seven gates in the correct order. Each successive gate is presided over by one of the loa of death, the "Guédé," who must be appeased with the appropriate offerings.

Although the exact locations of the gates have never been disclosed, there have been oblique suggestions over the years that a clue may lie in the "veve," or summoning sigil of Baron Samedi himself. Appearing as a crucifix surmounted by seven stars, the symbol might indeed serve as a map of sorts; once aligned over the crossroads of Canal Street and Basin Street in the city's French Quarter, the stars of the veve seem to fall on notable surrounding cemeteries.

7. Pluto's Gate

DENIZLI PROVINCE, TURKEY

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Ruins of the Ploutonion at Hierapolis. (Photo: Mach/CC BY-SA 3.0)

The next hellgate on our list was discounted for thousands of years as a work of fiction; however, the Ancient Greek site known as Pluto's Gate, or the "Ploutonion," has only recently been rediscovered in Turkey.

An archaeological dig revealed the remains of an ancient temple situated on a thermal spring, long believed to have been a gateway to hell. This well-documented Temple of Pluto disappeared from records sometime around the 6th century.

Amongst the distinguishing features of this particular gate are the toxic fumes which waft out from tunnels beneath. In times of antiquity these were often inhaled by the priests of Pluto, promptly sending them into hallucinogenic trance states. Writing at some time around the year 0 AD, the Greek philosopher Strabo claimed that, "any animal that passes inside meets instant death.” Even now, the poisonous vapors claim the lives of birds that fly or nest too close to the ruins.

8. St. Patrick's Purgatory

LOUGH DERG, IRELAND

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St. Patrick's statue, the purgatory on Station Island in the background. (Photo: Kenneth Allen/CC BY-SA 2.0)

Along with Iceland's Hekla, this next site serves as an entrance to the Hell of Christian scripture. Founded in the 15th century, St Patrick’s Purgatory is a small monastery located on Ireland’s Station Island. According to the story, St. Patrick himself once visited the island—whereupon Jesus sent him visions of the torments of hell. The cave where the saint received these diabolical hallucinations was later confirmed to be an entrance to Satan’s pit, and a monastery was duly built to plug the hole.

The cave itself has been sealed ever since October 25, 1632. According to the accounts of pilgrims prior to that date, it takes the form of an enclosed pit, reached at the end of a long, narrow, and slowly descending cave. Experts have suggested that even before the believed arrival of St. Patrick, the cave may have been used as a site for prayer and spiritual healing. 

Many believers travel to Station Island annually, to undertake a three-day contemplation on the nature of Hell. With pilgrims expected to make the entire trip barefoot, a local website describes the pilgrimage as, “the toughest in all of Europe, perhaps even in the whole Christian world.”

9. Chinoike, Jigoku

BEPPU CITY, JAPAN

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Chinoike Jigoku of Beppu Jigokumeguri. (Photo: 663highland/CC BY 2.5)

In Far East Asia, our next gateway takes the primordial form of a bubbling pool of hellish red slime… now featuring a visitor's center, a health spa, and gift shop.

Beppu City in Japan is home to a series of nine hot springs, each one flowing in a different colour and composition. The springs have been mentioned in Buddhist texts dating back as early as 700 AD, and nowadays the mud from these pools can be bought as a soothing skin cream.

However, at the heart of this idyllic spa there lies a dark legend with the pool known as Chinoike Jigoku, or the "Bloody Hell Pond," the rich color coming from natural iron oxide deposits on the pond bed. Chinoike Jigoku is presided over by a collection of sculpted demons, some carved into the rocks themselves. The Buddhists likened the appearance of the pool to the bubbling pits of hell, and in times gone by the Bloody Hell Pond – reckoned at around 78 degrees Celsius—was sometimes used to torture prisoners before boiling them alive. 

10. The Seven Gates of Hell

HELLAM TOWNSHIP, PENNSYLVANIA 

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The Susquehanna River just east of Hellam Township. (Photo: Nicholas/CC BY 2.0)

Meanwhile, in a quiet little backwater of York, Pennsylvania, one finds Hellam Township—by all accounts a pleasant, friendly town, and unremarkable, were it not for the rumored existence of a gateway to Hell in a nearby forest.

There are a number of contradictory stories explaining the "Seven Gates" of Hellam Township. One of the better-known myths ties them to an insane asylum on the town's outskirts, which supposedly burnt to the ground in the 19th century. According to this particular legend, the inmates—most of them criminally insane, of course—escaped, only to be recaptured using a series of tall fences and secure gates. Many were beaten to death by guards in the process.

An alternate story tells of a doctor who once lived in the town. This man (by some accounts a Satanist, by others merely eccentric) was said to have designed a series of strange gates on his land, which followed a winding path running deeper and deeper into the forest. Where stories agree, is that those who pass through the gates in order will find themselves transported straight to the underworld. Only the first gate is visible by daylight, situated in woodland just off Hellam’s Trout Run Road. 

11. Cave of the Sibyl

NAPLES, ITALY

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Entrance to the Cave of the Sibyl. (Photo: AlexanderVanLoon/CC BY-SA 3.0)

Our final gateway to Hell is also perhaps the oldest on this list; a diabolical portal well-known to the ancient Romans, and first described in writing over 2,000 years ago. In his classic work The Aeneid, Virgil describes a cave with a hundred entrances that led deep beneath the earth—and as far as the underworld itself.

"The gates of hell are open night and day;
Smooth the descent, and easy is the way..." 

Virgil wrote his masterpiece in the 1st century BC, and it tells the story of the Trojan hero Aeneas. It was in this cave—located in Cumae, a Greek settlement close to modern-day Naples—that Aeneas encountered the Sibyl. The Cumaean Sibyl was an oracle, a fortune-teller, and priestess, whose sung prophecies echoed endlessly around the hollow caverns. At the age of 700 she served as a guide to Aeneas, as he descended through the caves to the Hell below.

Explorers in the Middle Ages searched in vain for Virgil’s "Antro della Sibilla." It wasn’t until 1932 however, that archaeologist Amedeo Maiuri (fresh from his excavations at Pompeii) finally discovered this well-documented entrance to the netherworld. Now incorporated into the Cumae Archaeological Site, it is possible for tourists to visit the Cave of the Sibyl for themselves; and to experience those haunting echoes described so many years ago by the poet Virgil:

"As many voices issue, and the sound of Sybil's words as many times rebound."

Welcome to Atlas Obscura's 31 Days of Halloween

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(Photo: Patrick Emerson/CC BY-ND 2.0)

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Halloween may be but one day a year, but the whole month of October is prime creepy time. And in the lead up to All Hallow's Eve, we at Atlas Obscura will be getting you in the mood with fascinating and mysterious scary stories.

Every day until October 31 we'll be publishing true tales of horror and fright and telling the unsettling stories that will keep you up at night.

Eager to get reading? We've kicked things off with the mysterious Japanese group who stocked supermarket shelves with cyanide-laced candy in the 1980s. Then there's our practical travel guide to the many gates of hell around the globe. Visit all of them and complete your punch card. (Is the punch card laced with cyanide? Maybe!)

To see all our 31 Days of Halloween stories as they are published, visit the dedicated page. Happy Halloween, and may all your screams come true.

China Is Testing Its First Suspended Railway

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Chinese officials recently announced a transportation first for the country: a suspended railway.

The railway, which looks like an upside down monorail and is designed to resemble a panda, is being tested in Chengdu, in central China, according to the state-controlled Xinhua News.

The railway has top speeds of around 37 miles per hour, and was tested along a track that was about the size of a football field. The train is powered by lithium batteries, with each car carrying up to 120 people, officials said. 

But why aboveground? And why suspended? According to Xinhua, the answer is money. The designer of the project told the outlet that the suspended railway cost as little as one-eighth the amount an underground subway would. 

They also, in the end, got some free international publicity, and added to their list of superlative things: a very, very sad polar bear,moon balloons, and a massive radio telescope, among many others

Enter the Psychedelic World of Coral With This Time-Lapse Video

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“Despite being one of the oldest animals in our planet, [corals] are mostly unknown.” So says Nntonio Rodriguez, the director of this astonishing time lapse video that captures the movements of corals, which are usually too slow to be perceived by even the most avid observer. 

The Barcelona-based director stumbled across corals when he was looking for a unique subject for a time-lapse video. At the time, Rodriguez, like most people, knew very little about these ancient animals. But once he literally dived into the world of corals, he was utterly fascinated.

Rodriguez's time-lapse project was completed over the span of a year, and includes more than 25,000 photos. He employed the use of a macro camera to capture the intensity and diversity of coral colors. Almost a psychedelic experience, the video takes us into an underwater world where time has slowed down, and where we can see the vibrantly colored polyps moving and feeding.

The intense colors of the corals are the product of billions of algae that make reefs their home. In return for their hospitality, the National Ocean Service explains, algae “produce oxygen, remove wastes, and supply the organic products of photosynthesis that corals need.” The result of this symbiotic relationship is the growth of one the most captivating and beautiful species in the planet- one that is gravely endangered by pollution and global warming.

Though Rodriguez faced multiple challenges in the production of the video (including losing most of the footage), there is no doubt that it was well worth the headache. Few videos have managed to capture so precisely the absolute magic of corals.

If the rhapsody of color isn’t enough to turn you into a coral-lover, consider the fact that these awesome animals build reefs by cloning themselves.

 

*To find more about the project, you can visit its official page

Every day we track down a Video Wonder: an audiovisual offering that delights, inspires, and entertains. Have you encountered a video we should feature? Email ella@atlasobscura.com.

How to Recycle a Building

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Much of Chicago’s thoroughly modern urban landscape dates back a hundred years or more. The Windy City has upheld its dedication to maintaining the history of its old structures rather than demolish them and build anew, in a practice called adaptive reuse. Atlas Obscura recently set out on a two-part adventure on the urban frontier with footwear, clothing and accessories company Timberland, where we spent the day immersed in this practice.

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Out on the modern trail.

We were led through downtown Chicago by Ward Miller, an expert guide and executive director of Preservation Chicago, a local non-profit that aims to protect architecturally significant structures and neighborhoods across the city. Ward explained how many of the city's storied buildings, from the Chicago Motor Club to the old Chicago Public Library, still exist today with many of their original features and design elements preserved—even though the structures themselves have been renovated for new purposes. 

Throughout our tour, we took care to look up at ornate facades and delicately painted ceilings, catching glimpses of days gone by and an architectural heritage that continues into the present. 

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The Art Deco Carbide & Carbon building in Chicago..

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The gorgeous Tiffany Dome at the Chicago Cultural Center, formerly the Chicago Public Library.

After our walking tour and a lunch at the newly-restored Kimpton Gray Hotel, we went to the Rebuilding Exchange for a woodworking workshop, where we used reclaimed building materials to do some upcycling of our own.

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One of our participants at work with a buzzsaw, cutting materials down to size.

Rebuilding Exchange is a non-profit social enterprise that works to create a market for reclaimed building materials. Since their inception in 2009, they have diverted nearly 10,000 tons of building materials from landfills, making them accessible for reuse through their retail warehouse. They also promote sustainable deconstruction practices and provide education and job training programs. In our workshop, we used reclaimed lumber to create beer caddies that each participant took home, applying the principles of reuse towards a new craft.

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Cut pieces before assembly.

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A proud craftsman with the finished product!

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Fully equipped. 

This event was part of Timberland and Brooklyn Brewery's Mash Tour, which focuses on urban art, culture, and exploration. You can watch a recap of our day and learn how to make your own caddy above.  

Are You Boston's Least Bad Driver?

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Maybe you really are better than everyone else on the road. (Photo: Raysonho/CC0 1.0)

Do you live or drive in Boston, Massachusetts? Do you ever get the feeling that you're the only person in the entire city who knows how to operate a motor vehicle safely?

Well, now you can test this theory—under the auspices of the city government, no less. Today, Boston announced the "Boston's Safest Driver" competition, which pits Massholes against each other via a handy smartphone app.

"The app provides you helpful feedback on your driving based upon five metrics: speed, acceleration, braking, cornering, and phone distraction," explains the app's website. Thanks to a partnership with the Arabella Insurance Foundation, monetary prizes will be awarded weekly to the safest and most improved drivers. (In a cynical twist, you can also win money for not using cars.)

This announcement comes on the heels of the annual Allstate "Best Drivers Report," which ranked Boston at the very bottom, followed closely by Worcester and Springfield. This is the third year in a row that Boston has received this dubious honor—which, to be fair, likely has as much to do with its spaghetti-like streets as it does with its problems with Dunkin Donuts coffee abuse and self-control.

If you're a Bostonian who'd like to figure out if you're the best of the work, you can download the app from this page. Good luck, everyone. Just don't check your stats while you're driving, you bleeping bleep of a bleep.

Every day, we track down a fleeting wonder—something amazing that's only happening right now. Have a tip for us? Tell us about it! Send your temporary miracles to cara@atlasobscura.com.


Hacker Blamed for Porn on Billboard, Though Police Are Investigating Anyway

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On Friday, amid a lot of traffic on a street in Jakarta, a pornographic film started playing on a video billboard, setting Indonesian social media ablaze

The movie, which appeared to be Japanese, carried on for five minutes, before police were able to cut off the power.

And initially it seemed likely to be a (relatively) harmless prank, something to light up an idle Friday.

But then the police got involved. And, according to the Associated Press, they have seized computers and launched a full investigation. Jail time and fines are on the line, if anyone should be found directly responsible for the stunt. The police haven't named any suspects, but they've so far spoken to nearly a dozen people from the company that owns the billboard.

Still, the company says they have a simple explanation for what went down: a hacker, who they say took over their computer systems. Which may seem unlikely, but has indeed happened before

How Meat Science (And Marketing) Gave the World the Flat Iron Steak

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Scientists have been involved in the discovery of some cuts of beef, such as flat iron steak. (Photo: Internet Archive/Public Domain)

A version of this post originally appeared on Tedium, a twice-weekly newsletter that hunts for the end of the long tail.

You may not like meat, but even if you do, you may not think of it in terms of innovation.

It sounds like a concept incompatible with the idea of meat—we do so many things with cows, chicken, fish, and pigs that it's difficult to consider these animals in terms of reinvention. We've already mashed these four types of animals into combinations more creative than Legos, taken their parts and turned them into products that don't even fit into the same genre as dinner.

But there is in fact still innovation is to be had at the dinner table. And it's all thanks to the same federal programs that allow different kinds of animal byproducts to advertise themselves on television.

And it's particularly been successful in the case of beef since the passage of the Beef Promotion and Research Act, a 1985 law that requires that a dollar be collected for each head of cattle sold. (Organic beef, however, is generally exempt from this per-head rule.)

Essentially, it's a tax on beef production, but the tax goes directly back to the beef industry. Specifically, it goes toward all those "Beef: It's What's for Dinner" commercials, along with investments in research and development.

And it's that research and development that has been giving meat science a kick in the pants over the past 20 years.


The beef checkoff program doesn't just exist to tell you how awesome beef is.

It also has an important role in improving the value of beef as an investment. Let me explain: Basically, a cow has a set price, a specific value, and that value is set by the market. (Don't believe me? Check the market data.)

If too many cows are on the market, the value of a cow drops. If too few, there's a shortage and the price of a steak at the supermarket might go up. And some types of cows are more expensive than others. You know, basic economics.

At the same time, some parts of the cow are more valuable than others. Tenderloin, for example, tends to be more expensive than chuck. Certain sections of the cow get a prime spot in the meat section; other parts get ground up and spread about every other part of the grocery store.

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Flat iron steak. (Photo: Jun Seita/CC BY 2.0)

But there's always room to make a cow more valuable, and that's where the work of Chris Calkins and Dwain Johnson comes into play. Calkins is a meat scientist at the University of Nebraska, while Johnson plays a similar role at the University of Florida’s Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences.

Together, these men had a great idea: Let's research the muscle structure of your average cow, focusing on the cheaper cuts, and seeing if there might be some hidden value in there.

The duo, with the help of the National Cattleman's Beef Association, researched new cuts of meat from parts of the animal that would have otherwise been turned into hamburger. In the largest study of its kind in 2000, the scientists tested 5,600 muscles for flavor and tenderness. They found 39 worth their time.

Sounds like a weirdly specific line of work. Guessed who helped fund that research? That's right, the beef checkoff program, which quickly saw dividends from this work.

In 2002, these guys hit the jackpot: They uncovered an impressive new cut of meat called a flat iron steak, trimmed from the shoulder area of the cow, a place more traditionally associated with cheaper chuck beef that's ground into burger.

Essentially, the researchers discovered that if the connective tissue of the cow was trimmed off in a certain way (as shown in this clip), the cut left behind was flavorful and punched above its weight class compared to more costly types of steak.

“Supposedly named because it looks like an old-fashioned metal flat iron, the flat iron steak is uniform in thickness and rectangular in shape,” Johnson said in a 2007 press release about the research. “The only variation is the cut into the middle where the connective tissue has been removed.”

That cut quickly became hugely popular with the public, thanks to the fact that it was cheap, but still very high in quality. High-end restaurants that would have skipped chuck in building their steaks put the flat iron steak on their menus.

A report from Beef U, an education offering provided to the food service industry via the beef checkoff program, highlights the benefits of this kind of research throughout the system:

Turning the underutilized chuck and round into these new cuts means more profitability and higher margins for foodservice operators. In addition, while these cuts have a significant impact year-round, foodservice operators can leverage key benefits during certain times of year. For instance, when both demand and price for steaks increase during summer months, operators can feature more steak options, increasing traffic and margins.

By 2012, according to the Meat Institute, the flat iron steak was responsible for around $80 million in sales.

Clearly, there's something to be said for meat science—or at least for clever naming strategies.


Since the flat iron steak took hold, the meat industry has been on the lookout for new cuts of meat that could prove just as buzzy for the public.

In recent years, more cuts of meat have tried to follow the flat iron's carefully-cut path from the butcher to the grocery aisle.

Among the more notable ones:

Denver Cut Steak: This variety, found in the same bout of research as the flat iron steak, was first introduced to the public in 2009, and also comes from the chuck area. The steak, despite being seen as intensely flavorful, has struggled to have the impact of its more famous cousin, according to Denver's alt-weekly, Westword, which wrote a lengthy feature last year about the steak cut named after its city.

Vegas Strip Steak: Business consultant Tony Mata (who worked closely with researchers on the flat iron steak project) worked with researchers at Oklahoma State University to come up with yet another kind of meat from the chuck area—one that requires a non-standard butchering strategy. But what's most surprising about the cut is how it's being sold: Mata and the researchers patented the cut and are trying to license it out.

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The beef section of a supermarket. (Photo: Anthony Albright/CC BY-SA 2.0)

And these new kinds of cuts, controversial as they may or may not be, are still being invented to this day. Even the National Pork Board is getting in on the name game, teaming with the National Cattlemen’s Beef Association to research naming conventions for cuts of meat.

The two groups found that more common pork cuts were considered confusingly named, so in 2013, the pork board announced a new strategy: It decided to rename its cuts in a style closer to beef. So as a result, a loin chop is now a "Pork Porterhouse Chop" and a rib chop is a "Pork Ribeye Chop."

“The new names will help change the way consumers and retailers talk about pork. But more importantly, the simpler names will help clear up confusion that consumers currently experience at the meat case, helping to move more pork in the long-term,” explained the pork board's president, Conley Nelson, in a press release.

Meanwhile, meat scientists are still out there, finding new cuts of beef. Back in August, the University of Nevada, Reno revealed that one of its on-campus meat scientists, Amilton de Mello, found yet another new cut near the chuck area—one he's calling the "Bonanza Cut."

De Mello, who came to the university last December, says that the cut is actually near where the flat iron steak is.

"When you separate the chuck and the ribs, the Flat Iron steak goes one way—with the Chuck—and the relatively small end stays with the rib side; this is the Bonanza Cut," de Mello told Nevada Today, a publication of the university.

A big part of the reason de Mello spotted it was some good perception. According to the Las Vegas Review-Journal, he spotted the piece of meat while working at a beef-processing plant, thought it to be well-marbled, and decided to test it out.

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Flat iron steak was discovered by scientists, who researched the cuts that would normally end up in hamburger. (Photo: stu_spivack/CC BY-SA 2.0)

The high-quality cut of beef is tiny—the two four-ounce pieces in each cow may struggle to fill you up on their own—but the high fat content (estimated to be 13 percent) gives the cut a richness that, if sold properly, could prove extremely valuable for the beef industry.

And the cut has a fan who knows a thing or two about discovering new cuts of meat: Chris Calkins, the University of Nebraska professor who helped discover the flat iron steak. 

"Upgrading this meat from a ground beef/trim price to steak-quality price should return more dollars to the industry," Calkins said, according to Nevada Today. "I anticipate a positive reception for the Bonanza Cut, especially from countries that recognize U.S. beef for its quality and flavor."

Spoken like a guy who knows his steaks.


The production and discovery of new cuts of meat comes at a time when unusual cuts are starting to be seen as, well, kind of hip.

Unusual cuts have a significant advantage for some restaurants, which can use these cuts to lower the price range for higher qualities of meat (think kobe beef) to something approachable for more types of consumers.

Manhattan's Quality Eats restaurant has been taking advantage of this market dichotomy. Michael Stillman, the owner and founder of both Quality Eats and parent firm Fourth Wall Restaurants, sees this as a big advantage for consumers.

“I don’t think it’s unconventional as much it is expanding on convention," Stillman explained to Zagat. "Diners have a growing interest in sustainable eating and the nose-to-tail cooking movement has opened minds to new options.”

Trendy or not, weirdly placed or not, these animals have been feeding humans for ages. Are we learning new ways to produce and eat them, or are we just getting better at marketing? Or is it both?

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A close-up of a porterhouse steak. (Photo: Naotake Murayama/CC BY 2.0)

In a lot of ways, animals in this raw-meat form are like putty, with the value of their many parts arbitrary. We only think filet mignon is the best cut of meat because that's what we've been told as a society, and decided it's worth our money for reasons less scientific and more a matter of preference. The new-cut strategy exploits those preferences and tries to find them in as many places as possible.

On the other hand, the reason why researchers have discovered these new cuts of meat is still worth pondering. It's evidence that, if we look hard enough at something and consider moving past the limitations we've created for that product, there's a chance we'll find something new, something that adds value.

You may not care about the difference between a Porterhouse steak and a Vegas strip. Despite the fact I wrote this, I certainly don't. But if there's an issue in your way, a frustration you're trying to get past, it always helps to have a fresh set of eyes, a willingness to try a new tactic, and a little bit of ambition to move forward even if people think your idea is a little crazy.

I know, that's a surprisingly deep point to take from a bunch of scientists cutting meat in clever ways, but hey—it's a meaty subject. 

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A version of this post originally appeared on Tedium, a twice-weekly newsletter that hunts for the end of the long tail.

H.G. Wells Hid A Sick Burn Inside 'The War of The Worlds'

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The image of three-legged Martian attack tripods and rivers covered in strange red weeds, are now iconic symbols of alien invasion, thanks to H.G. Wells’ influential science fiction novel, The War of the Worlds. But when his story was first published, the illustrations were a far cry from the otherworldly imagery described in the text.

So Wells did what any professional artist would do: he went back and added a paragraph talking shit on the artist.

Having been adapted into multiple films, radio plays (Hi, Orson Welles!), and just about every other form of media, The War of the Worlds is probably the most famous alien invasion yarn of all time. In case you are unfamiliar with the story, The War of The Worlds was Wells’ fictionalized account of an attempted Martian takeover of Earth. Arriving in advanced fighting machines that walked around on three, tall, spindly legs, they were outfitted with heat rays and a poisonous black smoke. Earth’s forces were no match for the Martian blitzkrieg, and the planet falls into blasted defeat. In the second half of the book, which takes place after the Martians have seemingly won, the waterways of England are choked with Martian red weed, and all resistance has been crushed. However, as the narrator goes it bit mad and decides to stand up to one of the robotic fighting machines in a suicidal pique, it is discovered that the Martians are all dead or dying in their machines, brought down by the common cold. 

The War of the Worlds was initially published as a serial in Pearson's Magazine in the U.K., and Cosmopolitan in the U.S. throughout 1897. The story, one of the first to detail a war with another planet, was a popular hit during its initial serial run, at least with readers. Wells himself wasn’t so pleased with everything.

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A Martian heat ray in action. (Photo: Warwick Goble/Public Domain)

“Wells was unimpressed with the illustrations,” says H.G. Wells expert Michael Sherborne. “He complained about the pictures in a letter to his agent.” Goble, a fledgling artist at the time, who would go on to have a successful career as a children’s illustrator, envisioned the Martian fighting machines as ovular pods that stood on metal beams, which looked like a standard construction support. In some ways they didn’t look very alien at all (see a modern critique of Goble’s art over on Open Culture). And Wells wasn’t having it.

In 1898, the first collected version of The War of the Worlds was released, and Wells had added a handful of new and previously omitted material to the narrative. Included in the additions was an entire paragraph directly commenting on his disappointment with Goble’s illustrations. Found in Book II, Chapter 2, in the middle of dealing with a planet blasted by alien war, the narrator takes some time to give a sort-of bitchy, and suspiciously familiar critique of a war reporter’s illustrations:

I recall particularly the illustration of one of the first pamphlets to give a consecutive account of the war. The artist had evidently made a hasty study of one of the fighting-machines, and there his knowledge ended. He presented them as tilted, stiff tripods, without either flexibility or subtlety, and with an altogether misleading monotony of effect. The pamphlet containing these renderings had a considerable vogue, and I mention them here simply to warn the reader against the impression they may have created. They were no more like the Martians I saw in action than a Dutch doll is like a human being. To my mind, the pamphlet would have been much better without them.

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The tripods have arrived. (Photo: Warwick Goble/Public Domain)

Of course this in-world account was simply a not-very-veiled reflection of Wells’ reaction to Goble’s work. In his new book The War of the Worlds: From H.G. Wells to Orson Welles, Jeff Wayne, Steven Spielberg and Beyond, author Peter Beck describes the reasoning behind Wells’ objections to Goble’s artwork, saying, “Apart from being a very visual writer capable of both conjuring up vivid fantastic images for readers and representing his thoughts through picshuas, Wells had strong feelings about the illustrations employed to support his work, as evidenced by his above-mentioned critique of Goble’s illustrations used for the story’s serialization.”

Some versions of the first edition of The War of the Worlds contained Goble’s illustrations, right in the same volume as Wells’ meta-critique, but as the novel fired up the imaginations of countless other science fiction artists, they were replaced by the work of numerous other illustrators in later editions.

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A Martian in the flesh. (Photo: Warwick Goble/Public Domain)

In subsequent years, Wells would loosen up his opinion on Goble’s illustrations, coming to see them as just another vision of his creation. Wells eventually authorized the use of Goble’s illustrations in printings of The War of the Worlds, and as noted in Beck’s book, he seems to recant his negative opinion of Gobles’ work, saying in a 1920 interview in Strand Magazine, that the art, “was done very well by Mr. Warwick Goble, during its first magazine publication.”

But the dismissive critique remains in modern additions of the text to this day. Just like his greatest Martians, H.G. Wells' greatest troll is now a permanent fixture in the sci-fi canon.

A Dearly Departed Istanbul Cat Gets a Commemorative Statue

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Cats in Istanbul are kind of a big deal, but even among Istanbul’s famous cats, Tombili stood apart. An unusually portly cat, Tombili rose to social media fame after being caught on camera leaning a casual elbow against the step, contemplating the world.

Tombili was known for being a chill cat, and this was a common pose for him. But this particular photo achieved a higher level of internet fame, putting Tombili in the pantheon of Beloved and Bememed Internet Cats.

In August, Tombili died, and since then friends and fans have been pushing for a permanent monument to his life. On October 4, World Animal Day, that desire was be officially fulfilled, when a commemorative sculpture by local artist Seval Şahin was unveiled.

RIP Tombili, may you chill forever.

The 40-Year-Old Hermit Crab

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Jonathan Livingston Crab. (Photo: Paul Yacovitch)

These days it's normal to announce your pet's birthday or adopt-iversary online. But it's definitely not common for the number to be 40—especially if that pet is a hermit crab.

Many people have bought hermit crabs at boardwalk souvenir shops on beach vacations, once or maybe twice. The little crabs come in wire cages and often wear tackily-painted seashells, and most die after just a few weeks.

Carol Ann Ormes purchased her hermit crab in the summer of 1976, but the big difference between hers and everyone else’s is that Jonathan Livingston Crab is still going strong in 2016. As far as anyone knows, Jonathan holds the longevity record for a hermit crab in captivity.

Other hobbyists refer to Ormes with terms like "legend" and "the crab queen." And in response to Jon's anniversary announcement, in August, Ormes got dozens of replies of congratulations, both from online and real-life friends, including ones who were with her on that beach vacation at the Delaware shore four decades ago.

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A close-up of a hermit crab on sand. (Photo: Dan Meineck/CC BY-ND 2.0)

Before that fateful trip to the beach, she’d never even heard of hermit crabs. When a fellow traveler told Ormes about how the creatures could change seashells, she was intrigued. Yet when that friend actually bought one, it wasn't exactly love at first sight. "He was kind of strange," says Ormes. And their other friend was terrified of him: "When we'd get back from dinner or something, she'd say, ‘You two go in first!’”

By the end of their two-week vacation, though, Ormes had decided she needed a hermit crab for herself. They stopped at a shop in Ocean City, Maryland, and bought Jon on their way home. 

When Ormes got Jon, there were no resources where she could research how to care for him. In fact, those little cages they come in are pretty much certain death, because they don't retain enough moisture. Now you can buy heaters, thermometers and hygrometers to monitor the environment for cold-blooded pets, but she didn't have any of that. "I could tell by putting my hand in there whether it was moist enough or warm enough," she says.

Ormes figured out what was needed on her own by instinct and experimentation, starting with buying a glass tank and covering the bottom with fine gravel. At the same store where Ormes bought Jonathan Livingston Crab a new cage she also bought him a female companion. Crab Kate was with them for 35 years until she passed away in 2011. Zoos only started keeping statistics for invertebrates recently, but the lifespan of both crabs is believed to be record-setting.

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An illustration of hermit crabs from 1857. (Photo: Biodiversity Heritage Library/CC BY 2.0)

Ormes’ professional background likely helped, too: she spent 38 years as chief of microbiology as a Washington-area hospital, and she'd worked with rats, mice, frogs, and toads. "I loved all those bugs, the frogs we used to have in the summer that barked like dogs," she says. "I was primed for it."  She was comfortable with a pet that needed proper humidity more than cuddling, and she was also okay with some of the other odd aspects of living with invertebrates.

Later, though, she discovered that Jonathan Livingston's name was a bit off the mark. "They were both females, but I've never told Jon that," she says. "You don't know that till they get older."

Jon was already almost 20 when Ormes retired and got her first computer. Her fame spread as she got online and started to connect with other hermit crab lovers all over the world, sharing her advice on care and feeding. For a while she helped run an online club, where she would chronicle the suspense of Jon and Kate's molting process—a delicate time for hermit crabs, and often their downfall if the right conditions aren't provided. The club is no longer active, but Ormes still sends around emails when Jon molts. In 2014 she wrote:

“This morning before breakfast I had the feeling that I should peek into Jonathan's molting tub. And there he was, out from under his slate roof and almost finished eating the egg shell that I had put in there before he dug under. He looks absolutely beautiful, a very shiny toasty brown with furry (golden) legs and sharp toe points. He has new eye stalks and antennae along with his new legs and claws and upper body. His green turbo seashell is nice and shiny because he was in very fine gravel this year and not coconut fiber which takes the shine off his seashells.”

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A hermit crab in an aquarium using a whelk shell. (Photo: Les Williams/CC BY-SA 2.0) 
But it's not just other crab fans who've ended up coming along for the ride. Karen Riecks, who's known Ormes since the 1990s, remembers getting emailed photos of the crabs each time they molted and moved to new shells. "I even went to a sea shell store with Mom Carol Ann to pick out possible new shells for her two babies," she says. When Ormes retired and moved to Florida, Riecks offered to drive the crabs to Florida when Ormes was having trouble arranging for them to fly. And even the terrified friend from their beach trip has cared for Jon and Kate while Ormes traveled.

Her online renown has led to surprising encounters. One time, at the Delaware shore, she was showing pictures of her crabs to the staff at one of the shops when a customer came in and asked if she could see them too. "She started looking at them, and then she looked at me and said, 'Are you Carol of Crabworks? I just wrote to you yesterday,'" Ormes says. "She was another crab person from Pennsylvania."

At the community in Florida where she lives now, Jonathan Livingston Crab is well known, although people are sometimes a bit confused about what exactly he is. "People will say 'How is your hermit frog? How is your snail? I'm sorry, I don't mean snail, I mean your shrimp,'" Ormes says.

People who come to the apartment always ask to meet him, and he gets out to socialize too. She does presentations where she shows the tiny shells he lived in as a baby, then dramatically unveils him so people can see his current size. Recently he went on a visit to the community's call center. "Everyone outside of that office came to see him," she says. "He walked everywhere, even on their desks and keyboards and cables."  

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Painted shells for sale at Panama City Beach, Florida. (Photo: tink tracy/CC BY-ND 2.0)

Julie Smith, a neighbor, says, "I just love when she walks Jonathan down the corridor to come to visit.  It's truly amazing to see him scurrying around the apartment." And when Crab Kate died, a neighbor saw her looking around for a burial site: "He said, 'it would be an honor for me to have her buried in my garden.'"

Jon's great age is an amazing accomplishment, but can you really have a relationship with a crab? Ormes says Jon can tell her apart from other people, and he clearly seeks out her company. "He follows me places. When I'm out on the lanai [enclosed porch] on my computer he comes out there and climbs on my feet, if I go to the morning room he comes out there and walks around the table," she says. "If I go out and leave him out of his tank, I come home and he's at the front door."

Ormes thinks that all that exercise outside the tank is one of the factors that kept her crabs healthy for so long. These days, Jonathan Livingston Crab keeps her active too, since he likes to get under the furniture. She'll be 80 at the end of October, and, she says, "I still have to crawl around on my hands and knees looking for him."

It's one of the many things they've shared over the years—and his 40th anniversary treat was another. He got a lobster tail that he ate out of her hand. "He likes the exoskeleton part. He doesn't want the meat," she says. "I get to eat the meat."

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