Athens Lunatic Asylum (aka The Ridges)

Insane asylums evoke images of straight jackets and padded cells.  There, deranged and forgotten souls were doomed to a life of isolation and anguish.  It’s no wonder that these structures are steeped in tales of ghostly sightings.  Perhaps some tortured spirits were never discharged.  Many of us claim to have encountered them.

The Athens Lunatic Asylum, known today as The Ridges, is a case in point.

Come hear the tales of two locals with unique insights and unusual experiences of their own.  One, Mr. Steve “Tebes” Caul spent his childhood living there with his psychiatrist father and family.  The other, Mr. Matt Box, recalled summers working the grounds around the looming structure.  Their personal memories add depth to our understanding of this storied place.

Come learn of an effort to identify the names of those former patients who rest in graves adjacent to the property.  Click here to connect with the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill (NAMI) and their worthy cause to restore and engrave broken headstones: https://namiathensohio.org/get-involved/the-ridges-cemeteries/   

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And as always, keep wondering…

Transcript

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Hello and welcome to Ohio folklore. I'm your host Melissa Davies. Today, we're exploring a towering structure which rises from the Appalachian hills. It's twinspires have soared over manicured grounds for a century and a half. Originally designed as a place of respite for overburden minds. It has a reputation today of darkness, sickness, and despair. This institution, the no longer an operation, is rumored to yet house lonely spirits, yearning to get well and return to their loved ones. Accounts of ghostly sightings in and around the structure itself are too numerous to count. They span decades. I'm talking about the Athens lunatic asylum, known today as the ridges for as ominous a character as it has today, when construction of the Athens lunatic asylum began in 1868. It was considered cutting edge in the world of mental health treatment. The design itself was promoted by psychiatrist Dr. Thomas Kirkbride, whose theories of mental health treatment revolutionized past barbaric approaches. Instead of sending vulnerable patients to be tortured in warehouses, away from the rest of society, Dr. Kirkbride believed providing patients with access to nature, sunlight, and fresh air were crucial to the healing process. Thus, asylums inspired by his theories were built in picturesque settings, allowing easy access to the restorative power of the natural world. It was for this reason that this spot, just beyond the southern edge of the burgeoning city of Athens, was chosen for its gorgeous VISTAs, and all directions. Using beauty as a healing force. When it came time to find an architect for this facility. Early planners chose none other than Levi Schofield. Many of you Ohio folklore listeners may recall that name from a previous episode. nearly 18 years after designing the Athens lunatic asylum, Schofield would come to design the Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield. This Cleveland native has certainly left a lasting influence on structures which have served those most vulnerable of Ohioans prisoners and those suffering mental illness. The Asylum would officially open its doors to patients in 1874. In true devotion to the Kirkbride approach, patients received a full dose of the outdoors, including nature hikes, gardening and the like. They also maintain jobs on the site, perhaps on the working farm, the greenhouse or the carriage shop. Labor itself was viewed as a therapy, one that might help restore a burden mine to health. At the height of its operations, the sprawling campus included some 78 buildings on more than 1000 acres, this behemoth of an institution would come to represent something of the change in attitudes toward the mentally ill. It provided a respite away from the stressors of routine life, a chance to reconnect with the natural world to find one's footing through hard work. It's hard to imagine a way of thinking that could differ more from the reputation these decaying buildings have today. Many who visit what remains at the Athens lunatic asylum, come away with the feeling of foreboding. This is despite the fact that in its current use, part of the remaining structure is used for Ohio University's facilities, including an art museum and administrative offices. The main central building, the most iconic of all the remaining structures, leaves an imposing impression for most newcomers. To Gothic red brick towers point skyward. framing a whitewash portico four storeys high, it leads the eye upward to the heavens, giving the viewer a feeling of rising above, perhaps transcending our worldly limits. What a fitting message for those who worked to free themselves of their own hellish problems. This is the kind of architecture we just don't see a new construction today. It's old, and yet deeply familiar, perhaps on a spiritual level. No wonder Schofield wanted these structures to inspire such feelings, and the most marginalized among us. Instead of me going on about this historic location, I'd like to offer you a personal introduction to the place by one man who knows it deeply. Mr. Steve call spent his childhood on the campus itself, the son of a staff, psychiatrists, Dr. David call, Steve got to know the place as simply his home. And once he grew into adulthood, he made a career of working at the facility. I can't think of another person to offer a better overview of the place. So without further ado, come hear his story. Well, I thought maybe we could start by question asked you to tell me about your connection to the place I understand it's been a lifelong connection. Well, we, we moved there in June of 1965. And I turned 10 years old that same month. And we moved from MacArthur, Ohio. So you know, we thought we'd hit the big time coming to Athens. They had department stores a few other things that MacArthur had one traffic light and a gas station or two, and we moved there in June. So I had all summer to kind of get acclimated to the place before I started school. And I, you know, met some other kids my age and made some new friends and made friends with patients do I was friends with him as well. All right, so at 10 years old, you said, yeah, we'd play you know, they had back in those days, they had AP and State Hospital softball team and they had a team and they'd play Cambridge State Hospital in Columbus State Hospital. And we'd always go down there when they were practicing and trying to, you know, get in there and catch fly balls and maybe get a couple swings. And we just had a great time. It was it was like growing up on a state park. I tell people it was just a little bit everything I think it was they always said it was about 670 acres. And they're just a lot going on. They is pretty much self sufficient. They had her own dairy barn and poultry and swine. And there was these cattle were kept that they had but still farm. You know, it's just a lot to do. And there was probably guessing 1200 patients there that it was pretty big place. So it felt like a pretty happy childhood. Oh, yeah. Yeah. You couldn't ask for a better place to grow up. And you know, like I said, I was, I was scared of the patients and they weren't, you know, they never did anything to give me reason to fear room. So we were buddies with them. shoot baskets with him. They had an outdoor basketball court, and Friday afternoon and Friday night, they had a chapel up there and they'd show movie. And we'd go up there and watch movies with him. And that continued even into your teenage years. Yeah, we we moved off of there in December of 1971. The state kind of decided that that was maybe too big a perk, my dad was a doctor there. That's how we ended up there. So I left that out. But that was like too big apart for an employee to have stay in there. We you know, we lived in a little duplex at one very big, but it was as far as I know, I think pretty darn cheap. Anyway, my parents bought a house, everybody State Street and we moved off the hill and nobody say Street. Okay. And so then you finished high school, high school here in Athens. I'm an app inside Bulldog in a year of college over at Miami and then came back to o u in the after my freshman year, I decided that I didn't really want to run up a big college debt. So I stay here and it happens to live with mom and dad and just go to school here. Do you? Okay, can you speak to the kind of reputation that the place had in Athens did the locals The locals are always kind of leery of it kind of thought it was spooky. And it was, you know, it was a little on the creepy side. You know, we were there around there all the time. So I didn't think twice about riding my bicycle to the basement of the place or anything else. Yeah. Yeah, it was a dark, kind of spooky places back in there. And some of the, you know, had some pretty funky smells and everything else. So it was kind of a strange, but I was used to it. I see. So it was astir You're graduating from high school that you started working there is that right? I started working there in 1978. And I was just I just turned 23. And I was going to you and I was kind of Lincoln and my roommate started working there, he was making pretty good money. And I thought, you know, I'm kinda like I'm pretty, a lot better at work. And then I wasn't going to school. So I kind of like having changed in my pocket. So I started working there, full time in nursing in 1978. And I worked on the lock men's Ward, which was ward number five, it was a pretty rough place. breaking up fights a lot. to It was you had some pretty rough days. The one good thing was no two days, wherever the same, it was always something different. Yeah, you weren't going to get bored? No, yeah. Not at all. I know a lot of the reputation today. And of course, it's been closed now since I think 93. Right, yeah. But the reputation for the structure itself today is one where it has a spooky reputation, and claims of ghosts sighting. I've heard a lot of as well, but I do have a good one. When I worked on word five, I worked three to 11 shifts in Ward five was on the second floor and we would go to the end of the hall and everything you went in these locker wards. So with a deadbolt lock, and then you'd, you'd get off the door, open the door key and then lock it back up the key on the other side. And then we'd go down the fire escape to to leave work. And I did do that one night. Most of time will be three or four hours, whatever the work crew was there, but sometimes had somebody leave early or stay late or something. So I did that. And I was by myself. And I was coming down they the park scape. And there was an area in the hospital that had been closed for several years. And I heard something and I kind of tilted my head over there. And when I was hearing was like an old manual typewriter. Somebody's typing on an old typewriter from this area that was pitch black, and it was 11 o'clock at night. So needless to say, I got to my car pretty quick. got in there and kind of caught my breath. And then I didn't leave work at 11 o'clock by myself for a long time. I made sure there was somebody with me just to make sure that that there wasn't something worse that was going to come grab me or something. Especially being alone. That would be Mr. undeserving. Yeah. So that that kind of reputation is that would have had among you and your co workers at the time that you were working? Well, you know, everybody always thought there were spirits up there. And, you know, I had co workers that would, at the end of our shift would take laundry and trash out. In the laundry rooms were down in the basement, some workers just wouldn't go down there by themselves because they'd seen something or heard something at one point or another. And they I understood that, especially if they were if they were younger people or older ladies that you know, would ask you to walk them down there and you do that. To be curious. Yeah, yeah. And below peace of mind that everything's okay. Yeah. So even though it has this creepy kind of atmosphere, yeah. Yeah, it was real creepy. You know, you could and I've told stories about going down the laundry room and opening up the laundry door and you turn the light on, and it just be like 1000 cockroaches all over the walls and the ceiling and everywhere else. Yeah, so this is the big old building. It was, I think we started in 1868. But it didn't open up until 1874. So there was a lot of hype, and I think most of brick and stuff was fired right here on the east side of Athens and taking up their own horse wagon. So it took a long time to build the place. And you know, there's a lot of history that goes with the building. Yeah, and I don't know if you can answer this question or not, but do you know what the name of Richie's names or how they chose? I'm not sure about that, Louis. I don't know how they came up with that. Okay, we always called up the hill. And we had T shirts that had a picture of the main building and said I'm from the hill, one of the local t shirt guys in town that had the t shirt placed, cranked out the T shirts. A lot of people bought it we all we all wore them. So there's a lot of pride in it from low. offer a lot of pride. For sure. Yeah, and as usually they call it the hill typically. Yeah, that's what we called it. Okay. You know, in the old days it was AP and State Hospital. Ah, and there was always the story going around this patients would leave the grounds go to 10 and then that tell the tell local people I live here in Athens, I tend to ash College. They're a little joke about where they were living. Sure. And nice little inside joke there. Yeah. Yeah. And I have to say, you've given me a really nice in depth view from somebody from the inside. As somebody who's, you know, lived a good portion of your life. You know, the day I left I was in I'm not a real sentimental guy, but I cried because I was, you know, to me, I spent when putting living there working there, it's been over half my life there. Yeah. It seems this is the kind of place that borrows deep into the souls of many who come to share an attachment to it. The perspectives you'll hear today come from locals, those who came to know the institution in largely positive ways. While the asylum was initially designed with the aim to heal and restore those who suffered, we should remember that many, many of its patients, the most vulnerable among us, anguished within its walls in ways we may never fully understand. And yet, it's still worth trying. Perhaps one of the most famous patients from the asylum was Margaret Schilling. When her obituary was published in the January 13 1979 issue of the Zanesville times recorder, this Perry County native had been missing for a month. Most had assumed the 53 year old had somehow escaped from the sprawling campus and was on the lam enjoying her newfound freedom. No one had guessed that this wife and mother had somehow fled unsupervised, to one of the cordoned off an unheated wings. After climbing a desolate stairway, she'd entered a bear and icy room, removed all her clothing and folded it neatly beside her. She'd laid herself flat on her back in the center of the room, while sunlight poured through several oversized windows, bathing her freezing body and light. Six weeks later, a maintenance worker would discover what remained of her corpse there on the floor. While the official cause of death was heart failure, this certainly resulted from the freezing temperatures she endured in that winter season. Once her remains were taken away, custodial staff set to the grim task of removing a stain, which marked the outline of her body against the floor. It seems a chemical reaction between her decomposing body and the floor resulted in the distinct silhouette of her small frame. Despite multiple attempts with various cleaning agents, the stain would not release. And although this claim sounds more like fiction than fact, I've been able to confirm from folks who've seen it for themselves. The stain does indeed remain, marking the place for Margaret Schilling breathed her last in the building meant to inspire hope and healing to the masses. One bit of lore that has surfaced around this genuine history is a curse. Incoming freshmen who arrive to owe us campus every fall are informed that the McCobb tail as the tail goes, anyone who ventures into the unused wing, following the same path Margaret did all those years ago, and touches the stain that marks the spot where she perished will soon die a torturous death just what was Margaret Schilling fleeing from? Or did she simply wander off exploring forbidden spaces to break the monotony of her days? Of course, we'll never know for sure. What we do know, however, is that countless patients like her suffered treatments, we would today consider barbaric in decades long past, before the advent of modern medications, which quell the most severe of symptoms, staff were desperate for some way Overcoming the worst ravages of mental illness. For those who went before us, many suffered the trials and errors of new and unknown treatments. Usually, they had no choice in the matter. Unable to give consent, we owe the efficacy of our current treatments to their sacrifices. The graves of many souls remain on the grounds there today, amid inviting hiking trails stands a cemetery of nearly 2000 registered plots. The vast majority of gravestones bear simply a number, no names no dates. Since as early as the 1870s, many patients lost ties with their family members during their tenure at the institution. Quite sadly, the world went on without them. And when their final days came to pass, no one was left to collect their remains. The state's solution to this tragedy was to simply bury them there, at the place where they had been forgotten by those who wants new them, with only a number to mark their existence. Within these plots were once people, including civil war veterans who suffered a condition we would later come to know as PTSD, and epileptics, once believed, possessed by the devil, and women suffering postpartum depression. Yet some of the most arcane reasons for being admitted to the asylum included decadence, which is essentially too much spending too much sexual activity and too much boozing. It seems the vast majority of us today would qualify for entrance into such a place in an effort to preserve the legacy of those poor souls who suffered so greatly. The National Alliance for the Mentally Ill also known as Naomi has undertaken a project to restore and demystify the grave sites contained on these grounds. Through painstaking efforts, they have cut back the overgrown weeds, and reset leaning and overturn tombstones to their rightful possessions. With the help of many additional organizations, they are working to identify the names of those buried there, one by one, with the permission of living descendants, they are erecting complete headstones which document that a person not a number lies below. You can find a link in the show notes for gnamaize web page on this very project. There you can discover how you can connect and support these valuable efforts. For the second portion of today's episode, we'll get to hear from another local a Mr. mattebox. Having been born and raised near the area that offers unique insights. You'll hear him make reference to Billy Milligan, one of the asylums most infamous patients. Coincidentally, Steve call. The man you heard interviewed previously, is the son of Dr. David call. Dr. Kaul was one of Billy Milligan's psychiatrist there at the asylum. Netflix recently released a documentary on Milligan's multiple felonies, including murder and rape, and the alleged mental illness he used as a defense monsters inside the 24 faces of Billy Milligan outlines the controversial story of one man who claimed multiple personalities living within his mind committed his crimes. Milligan spent considerable time in the Athens asylum, and was often given permission to leave the premises going into town for lunch, mingling with the locals. Matt recalls his own experiences spotting Milligan downtown. Even more than that, he shares personal memories working as a groundskeeper at the location for a couple summers in the mid 1990s. Come hear his story. You know, when I moved Athens, at least into the area, I was pretty young. I think I was probably six or seven years old. And I grew up in the next county over from Athens in a very rural area of Vinton County, and Athens was sort of the biggest town, you know, close by to where we live. So my mother and I would come to Athens to do our grocery shopping and, you know, walk around the sort of civilizations that Athens had to offer and driving into town and sort of seeing the ridges, you know, obviously it piqued my curiosity. And so, you know, I was always just intrigued by the place. And my mom and I sometimes would go walk around the grounds just for something to do on a Saturday. And, you know, there was also the, the Billy Milligan aspect, you know, he was he actually lived in town when we first moved to the area. And being a kid, I didn't fully understand the whole background of his story. But yeah, sometimes we would see him walking around on the street or eating lunch at the Woolworths department store lunch counter. Yeah. And so, as I got older, and, you know, became more familiar with, with his story, you know, looking back on that, it's very interesting to be exposed to that. Yeah, you know, I mean, visually, again, the buildings just look like a place that you are intimidated by. That's, as I said, before, loons are ominously on its hilltop. And that definitely colored my first impressions of the place. Right. And I had just recently watched the documentary on Billy Mulligan, within sure many people have. So very interesting to see how that tied into the location itself. First, he has quite complicated life. But the fact that, you know, you recall, him being there, and having seen him, and now you probably understand it more as an adult, in terms of the implications. Marissa? Most definitely, yeah, I mean, thinking about the fact that wow, you know, I was literally like, walked by this guy on the street, since a child to find something. And I mean, that's kind of an interesting thing, too, because when the hospital closed, my understanding that they found other hospitals and other facilities to absorb the vast majority of patients that had been in residence up there. But also, they weren't able to find places for all of them. So a good bit of people who had been residents up there, whereas absorbed into the community, here in town, back in those days, it was pretty common to, there are a lot more people with mental illness, just part of the community after the hospital closed. What are some more of your memorable experiences on the job, anything that stands out? I know, it's been quite a while back now. But one thing that I really remember is, you know, my job was in the summers, I think it was probably the summer of 94. In the summer of 95. I worked up there for two successes, years. And I remember, you know, I've lived in a house off campus, not far from where I live now, actually. And I would have to be at the ridges in the morning. And so you know, I would ride my bike on the bypass. And since it goes along the river in the evenings, it would get, it would cool down. And so in the mornings, there would be a lot of fog, along the paths that I had to ride. And I just I really remember, you know, my first few mornings riding my bike to this place and seeing it up here out of the fog. Yeah, very much. So yeah, I'm just thinking, man, what am I getting myself into here? It's the type of place that like I said before, I mean, it's hard not to imprint it with, you know, all these cultural ideas that we have have have an insane asylum. Do you recall having any strange or unusual experiences? I do. Actually, not many, you know, strangely enough, other than just the general sense of ominous pneus. There's the main building, which is a very, very large, multi storey building. With the Victorian facade. I was reading the perimeter, like, you know, basically around the edge of the building, we basically had to we'd eat all the way around this gigantic building, and it has places where it turns in upon itself and makes us like small courtyards. Just remember, following my trail with the weed eater, and I was about to enter into this little courtyard area, and I just immediately had this sense of my brain just told me to stop. And I had this amazing sense of fear. Which is interesting because like there was no outside stimulus to cause that me just more of just like, okay, don't go into this courtyard for some reason. You know what I mean? And I can't explain like, what made me feel that way. But yeah, I just stopped, looked around and didn't see anything but I definitely backed off and my crewmates about it later. And it was a while before I went back into that space, and it didn't happen to me again. So yeah, I can't really explain what that was all about. But certainly there was something like a gut feeling. Yeah, for sure. Yep. And one that stuck with you after all these years? Absolutely. It's probably my most vivid memory of being up there just in terms of strange things that are unexplained. Yeah. You know, I mean, the interesting thing is, when I moved down here, Athens was a little hippie enclave like a backwater, it still had a decent sized population, but it was also the type of town where if you were here for a year, you would know everybody, you know, I mean, and that is slowly but surely starting to fade. And that is most certainly one of the reasons that I've stayed around here for so long. And now that it's changing, and starting to look a little bit more like everywhere else, you know what I mean? I hate to see that. And, luckily, we do have University and the Historical Society and other, you know, agencies that are, are pushing back against the onrushing blandness that, you know, a lot of towns tend to experience this day and age. And so it's important to sort of keep that keep that alive, in my opinion. Yeah. I agree. And that might reflect some more of why parts of the history, like the ridges, and I'm sure there are many others holding on to that as part of what makes you different. So that's a unique perspective, I hadn't really thought about before, I keep thinking about the fact that when the place was built, the ideas about mental illness, people that were socially marginal, they were different than they are today, obviously. And so my understanding is that the ridges was built for the purpose of, of being able to give those people a better quality of life in terms of, yeah, we're going to remove you from society. But we're also going to put you in a place where there's natural beauty. And there is the ability to, to do work, and exert yourself and try to find some humaneness for whatever that means, definition wise. But I think there's something to be said about that versus the more scientific and clinical approach. It's apples and oranges, maybe. But I like the idea behind creating a place that gives the person a chance to, to look inward and connect with, with nature. And I think that that was a big reason why the ridges was built where it was and how it was. Yeah, I just think that's an interesting, you know, I mean, obviously, I don't think a place like that will be built in the modern age today, you know, I mean, right? Yes, I think that's an interesting aspect of the place that other people may overlook sometimes, you know, and that's not to say that there were suffering and electroshock therapy and experimental approaches to quote unquote, healing people's mental problems, but I don't know. I'm so glad that you brought that up, because it really does bring things full circle, because I think a lot of times when people look at it now, it has that looming ominous reputation. But you're absolutely right, that it's a time that was built under the called the Kirkbride plan. Right. Yeah. Which was all about, instead of putting folks with mental illness and warehouses until they die, let's put them somewhere where they can be in touch with the healing aspects of nature, and you have some kind of work to do. Right. So really was a very humane before its time approach for a century, right. Yep. And I mean, that definitely changed over time. You know, the place did in fact, you just get on track with the more I don't know what the word is of putting people in a locker room and letting them figure out their own problems, I guess, much more invasive. than the bottom ease and Exactly, yes. Right. Right, pretty far away from that initial mindset. Yeah. So I mean, you know, I mean, I guess the the takeaway from the ridges is that you don't want to necessarily judge a book by its cover. I mean, yes, there is a very creepy and dark and sort of sinister aspect to the place. But is that something that we are all bringing to the table because of The thing is that the images of insanity that we sort of grew up with, or is it inherent in the place itself? Because, you know, obviously, there's more to that place than just that aspect of it, if that makes any sense. I think that's, that's definitely an important takeaway for people who have never seen the kind of the campus. Right. Yeah. I think for me, it underscores that it's not so much the location itself, even though it's so foreboding that if the people who are in it and how they're operating and how they're treating each other, ultimately, that that's an insight that just came to me in the course of our interviews, but I appreciate you sharing your thoughts on that because I hadn't been considering that angle. Yeah, yeah. The way we treat each other, it's a sentiment as old as the Bible codified and the golden rule. One of the three lines I've discovered on researching this story was that very guiding principle. The Athens lunatic asylum, as designed in the mid 19th century, was just one example of many similar facilities across the country that approached mental health treatment in a revolutionary way. asylums built under the Kirkbride plan, emphasized time spent in nature, the value of work, and the healing power of a community built to support someone in need of care. This was the way of thinking under which plans for the asylum began in 1868. In previous centuries, we believed mental illness sprang forth from demonic spirits. We believe those who suffered insanity, needed treatments tantamount to torture today, all to save their souls. And when that way of thinking fell by the wayside, we came to view mental illness as a weakness, a sure sign of a person who simply didn't have the intelligence to figure out their own problems. These folks were marginalized, devalued, and locked away out of sight. So the rest of us could go on and joy in our lives without having to see them. And as a further injustice, the label of mental illness became a weapon, a way to punish those folks viewed as unsavory. For example, women suspected of unfaithfulness and sexual promiscuity could be committed to such institutions by their husbands, fathers or other family members. Among other actual committal reasons, listed in historical admission records include laziness, asthma, epilepsy, and jealousy. Those who are most susceptible to involuntary admission included members of society with the least power women, the poor, the disabled, and others among them. Our view of mental health issues has evolved thankfully, common treatments today include use of talk therapy and medications, which are most often managed on an outpatient basis. The era of sprawling asylum campuses, housing, hundreds of patients are long gone. We've come a long way and our understanding of what it means to suffer from known conditions like depression, anxiety, and so many others. Arguably, we have a long way to go in fighting the stigma, which remains. I'd like to think that the guiding principles that drove the Kirkbride plan more than a century ago, can light our way at today, when we view those who suffer mental illness as people, when we realize that any one of us is as vulnerable to developing the same struggles than we all rise together. Perhaps the alleged spirits who remained within the walls of this still standing asylum, carry this message. Perhaps they longed for connection, acceptance, and the path forward, they were never given in life. My hope is that this structure stands as a monument to our everlasting attempts to treat those least among us, as fellow humans, all facing unique challenges and longing for unconditional love. Many fellow Ohioans lived and died at the storied location. Many are buried with nothing but a number to mark their resting places. This episode is dedicated in their memories and hopes that their lives were not lost in vain. May their stories guide our thinking and our choices and the way we treat the least among us today and in the years ahead This concludes today's episode on the Athens lunatic asylum. I hope you've enjoyed it. If so, please rate review and subscribe to Ohio folklore on your chosen podcast platform. You can find Ohio folklore at Ohio folklore.com And on Facebook. And as always, keep wondering