The Pretty Good House

It’s no secret that Wyoming’s Teton County is expensive. It’s home to Jackson Hole, and it has ranked as the wealthiest county in the country for two decades. That’s partly because the state is a tax haven for the rich. But Jackson is also a world-renowned outdoors destination near Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks. And the area only became more desirable during the COVID-19 pandemic. That’s when remote workers flocked to western towns with lots of nature. 

This all means that it’s gotten even harder for your local non-billionaire to afford life in Jackson. In last year’s season, High Altitude Tales, we took a look at how some people are making it work as renters. For some, that meant living in a van, or splitting a room with a friend, even though you’re in your 30s. For others, it meant moving to a different, cheaper mountain town.

In this episode, we’re going to pick up where we left off. We’ll hear how some people are finding ways to stay in Jackson, and not just rent but have their own more permanent home. They’re getting creative with how they build them and making less of an environmental impact in the process. Last season Reporter Hanna Merzbach was trying to find solutions to living there herself. Since then, there’s been some twists and turns in her housing journey. This time, she found some people building homes with alternative materials, like straw bales and clay, while others are having their houses built in factories and trucked in. I’ll let Hanna take over.

The construction world

About 20 minutes south of Jackson in a roadside neighborhood in the lush green Hoback Canyon, Margie Lynch is biting her nails. She’s watching nervously as a forklift driver wriggles a small framed wooden structure into place atop a foundation. 

“Welcome to the world of construction,” she says, laughing.

Margie Lynch stands on part of her home’s foundation, watching as the first part of her modular house is lowered down of a forklift. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

Margie’s job is to make buildings more energy efficient, and she’s poured her life savings into this construction project. This structure is the first of three pieces of her brand new modular factory-built home.

“So what you’re looking at right there, that’s a storage room, right there, and the front part of it is the entryway to the house,” Margie says.

Modulars are kind of like mobile homes, but they’re often bigger and more customizable, and once they’re built they’re permanent. Like legos, entire sections of the house are assembled on foundations. 

“For all intents and purposes, the quality of my home is fully equivalent to a site built home,” Margie says, as the forklift driver lowers the storage and entry room onto the foundation.

“One down, two to go!” she says.

The entryway is now in place, but the two much larger pieces of the two-bedroom house are up the road, sealed in plastic and strapped onto a semi truck that has a bright yellow “oversized load” sign on front.

“So that's the back side of the house. They'll connect there in the middle,” Margie says. “And that's the front. You can see that big thing in the middle. Those are my sliding glass doors.”

They’ll need a crane to lower those bigger pieces down, but it’s running about four hours late, which is probably to be expected. Margie is used to waiting at this point.

A larger piece of Margie Lynch’s house waits to be unloaded from a semi-truck in Hoback, Wyoming. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

Part of what got me interested in talking to Margie about her modular home is kind of self-serving: I also want my own house! If you listened to my Modern West story last year, my partner and I were living with a roommate in a dingy overpriced apartment in Jackson. Now, we’re a bit more settled. We live in a mother-in-law unit right down the road from Margie in Hoback, a 20-minute drive from Jackson. The Snake River is in our backyard, and I’m obsessed with the cats that roam the property. But we still pay 2,500 dollars on rent every month to share less than 500 square feet. We’re really starting to feel like we want to put down more roots somewhere. 

We have dreams of owning land. And — dare I say it — having a garage of our own for all our skis and climbing gear! But on a reporter’s and carpenter’s salaries, finding a more permanent solution often feels impossible. Even home prices in the commuter towns near Jackson are pretty unrealistic for us. It seems like the only way to become homeowners is trading in our community and outdoor access in the Tetons, and moving somewhere that’s a lot cheaper. But maybe we could find an alternative option here, like Margie did.

“ I decided to go with modular, with a goal of saving money over a custom conventional construction,” Margie explains.

And she has saved money. The project is coming in under a million, a practically unheard-of feat in the Jackson area. That’s in part because, before the Covid boom, she bought this almost half acre piece of land for $275,000.

Prices have really gone up since then. These days, the average price of a single-family lot in the area is 5 and a half million.

“Cheapest land on the market in Jackson at the time,” Margie says. 

Going modular is generally cheaper here. That’s because, number one, pre-built homes bypass the challenge of trying to find local construction workers, which there’s a shortage of because they can’t afford to live here.

And number two…

“Because of bulk construction, the raw materials of lumber and all that stuff, they tend to get a much better deal for all products,” says Jackson architect Greg Mason over Zoom.

He says building in a factory-controlled environment also means there’s far less waste than on a typical construction site. 

From ‘man camps’ to ADUs

Greg has been designing modular buildings for two decades. He says the industry exploded back in the mid-2000s when modulars were used for man camps — housing bunkers for workers at oil and gas extraction sites. 

“But then that industry kind of collapsed and this is when things change,” Greg says. “These plants resurfaced with a new strategy.”

That was to tag onto the tiny home revolution, which increased interest in minimalist designs and changed zoning laws around the country. While modulars can be built any size, many new ones are backyard ADUs.

Modular construction still only makes up less than 7% of new commercial and residential buildings in North America, according to the Modular Building Institute, but that number has steadily been growing . 

The quality has come a long way from your classic ‘70s double-wide manufactured home.

“All modular buildings used to have plastic laminate countertops,” Greg says. “And everything comes out now with some really nice marble or stone countertops in a kitchen with very nice appliances.”

But these kinds of features aren’t what Margie invested in. 

Her house isn’t that fancy. It’s a rectangle with a shed roof. In addition to making buildings more energy efficient, Margie also leads the Jackson Hole Climate Action Collective, so her priority was preparing for a changing climate. 

“A lot of people focus on their custom cabinets and their granite countertops, and I love those things, too,” she says. “I paid a bunch of extra money for my triple-pane windows.”

And a heat pump, air filter and extra thick insulation.

“As our climate continues to warm, and as we continue to have these disruptive weather events, having more insulation in my walls, having a ventilation system with an air filter, so that when we have wildfires, I'll be able to breathe clean air in the house when I have to shut it up,” Margie explains.

Margie sits in her garage, which was built on site, watching as the rest of her home is dropped off on a hot summer day. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

It doesn't quite meet the requirements to be LEED or Passive House certified. That’s expensive. Instead Margie was inspired by something called the “pretty good house” movement.

“The pretty good house concept is generally like, where's that sweet spot of balancing higher levels of performance and cost?” she explains. 

No matter where a home is built, on site or in a factory, this stuff still costs a little more up front, but it can also save you big bucks on electricity in the long run.

Adding all these features, however, may have extended her construction timeline. Margie partly chose modular because it was supposed to be way faster than building on site, but the project is now a year behind schedule.

”I  think the main challenge was not necessarily that what I was asking to be done was especially complex, but rather that I was asking this company to do things that it hadn't done before, and so there was a learning curve there,” she says.

Plus some modular home start-ups are having trouble scaling up, since there’s a lot of upfront costs in this industry.

And customers like Margie often end up having to deal with the same construction shortage issues that they were trying to avoid. Modulars aren’t just dropped off ready to go. Customers sometimes still need to hire a local general contractor to put a roof on and do other finishing touches. 

Ultimately Margie says there’s no silver bullet for building a home.

“ I am certainly questioning whether I will build another house again in the future, versus just buying an existing one,” Margie says. “The idea of it is much more romantic than the reality of it.”

Many months after her home was dropped off, Margie still hasn’t moved in.

‘It just happens to be in a shop’

But for one Jackson family, the Johnsons, the modular home process has been a lot smoother, partly because they’re renting instead of buying.

“Don't mind the disaster,” says Danielle Johnson.

Right now, she and her husband, Clark, are getting ready to move out of their old place, part of a fourplex, and packing up boxes in their messy living room. Their two kids, 2- and 4-years old, run around and get in the way.

They’re packing up kitchen stuff like silverware and spices.

“All the random bits and pieces that you don’t know which box to throw them in,” Clark says, “and they’ll be…”

“Lost forever,” Danielle chimes in.

Clark and Danielle Johnson pack up boxes in their living room. They’ve already moved the big furniture to the new place, but still have miscellaneous stuff to deal with. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

Clark is a fisheries biologist for the Wyoming Game and Fish Department, so they’re moving into the agency’s new modular employee housing. Their new place’s rent will be about the same — around 2,500 a month — but it could rent for double that in the Jackson market. It’s three times as big as the duplex, which has been pretty cramped for the family of four and their two wire-haired pointers.

“You kind of see everything from where you're standing, two bedrooms, bathroom,” Clark says. “We've got just two little closets, and then a little living room and kitchen.”

The Johnsons might have left Jackson had the new housing not been in the pipeline. This 10,000-person mountain town has made headlines for rents that are just as high as New York City’s, plus stories of people living in vans or dividing living rooms with curtains to create another bedroom.

About a decade ago, when Clark moved from Lander for his Jackson job, his housing immediately fell through. Luckily a childhood friend of his had a room open up in his five-bedroom, one-bath house.

“Then I remember right before I drove up from Lander reading a newspaper article about a skier that died trying to come down the Grand Teton,” Clark recalls. “And it had a mention of his housing. It kind of rang a bell.”

Turns out that’s who’s room he was taking.

“All this stuff was still in the room. So it's a weird deal where it's like somebody had to die climbing in the mountains for me to get my first place to live,” Clark says.

And he isn’t the only Jackson worker who’s encountered situations like this. The town is so expensive, even lawyers and doctors have hard times finding housing, so some employers are stepping in to increase affordable housing stock. They pay for construction and then rent to employees at below market rates. 

“Trying to get brand new employees to move to Jackson after they find out what the rents are around here is a challenge,” says Loren Woodin, the chief engineer at Wyoming Game & Fish.

Loren Woodin, chief engineer at Wyoming Game & Fish, stands in front of one of the modular homes, with the Tetons in the background. This project has been almost a decade in the making.  CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

He says the agency had been trying to build employee housing the typical way on-site for years, but the numbers weren’t panning out. They even went as far to consider moving their regional office out of Jackson to a cheaper Wyoming town, until they found modular housing. 

“It's the same style of construction as stick built, it just happens to be in a shop,” Loren says.

Building in Jackson is hard when sites can be snowed in for more than half the year.

“Winter in this part of the world is not kind,” he says.

Factory construction can speed up the schedule — in some cases — since you’re building inside.

“A temperature-controlled environment and guys running around in shorts in the wintertime building stuff, instead of being all covered up in carharts and dealing with snow all the time,” Loren says.

Plus, as we know from Margie’s story, modulars can cost less. Wyoming Game and Fish saved more than five million dollars on seven buildings, partly because they mass produced homes with the same floor plan, and they went with a different company than Margie.

Plus Jackson isn’t the only place where the numbers add up. The town of Kemmerer, Wyoming is trucking in about 90 townhomes to house workers for a new nuclear plant. And in Colorado and Michigan, state governments are incentivizing new projects with loans and grants for modular home companies.

Half of one of the Game & Fish modular homes dangles above the foundation south of Jackson. CREDIT: Loren Woodin/Wyoming Game & Fish Department

But there’s still stigmas to overcome. When Danielle and Clark Johnson first learned that their new place would be modular, they weren’t completely sold.

“I was like, ‘Oh, what's it gonna be like?’” Danielle says. “I just was thinking it was gonna be piecemeal, not very good quality or something.”

But on move-in day, Clark Johnson says their new place looks like a typical house. 

“If I hadn't seen them come in on pieces, I wouldn't really think that they were modulars,” he says.

The kids are running around and exploring all the open floor space. There are three bedrooms, a fenced-in backyard, a laundry room and a walk-in pantry.

“I’m going to have to start doing Costco runs or something. We never have that much food on hand,” Clark says.

And there’s the kind of echo that comes with having tall ceilings.

“Way, way, way more space than we are used to have been used to being in for the last eight years,” he says.

Now that all the furniture and boxes are moved in, next up? Getting the kids to settle into bed..and digging out the silverware.

The Johnson family sits on their couch in their new modular home. CREDIT: Wyoming Public Media

Reframing home ownership dreams

What the future holds for the Johnsons beyond this place is still uncertain. Clark says, if they’re ever able to buy land, they may consider getting another modular house. 

“Like I think there's always that ‘American dream’ of owning a house somewhere, which we know with the jobs we have here probably won't happen in Jackson or Teton County,” Clark says. 

“I feel like growing up you think of, like he said, the American dream,” Danielle responds. “You get married, buy a home, have a family, that kind of a thing, and I just think that that's not as realistic for everyone anymore.”

The majority of boomers paid under $100,000 for their first home. These days, with record-high inflation and wages that have been stagnant for decades, the market isn’t always friendly to millennials like the Johnsons or Gen Z-ers like me.

The row of modular homes sits in front of a view of the Tetons. CREDIT: Mark Wilson/Stratford

“We've also talked about putting money away for later, for when our kids are looking for houses,” Danielle says, “and being okay with something being a little different than just owning a house, which is not easy when you've like had this vision kind of pushed into your head for 30 years, you know?”

I hadn’t realized I had that vision until the last two years when I started to get more serious with a partner. I was like, “Okay, what are the next steps?” I was starting to see friends who live in more affordable places buy houses, and I felt like I should be doing that too, even though I never thought that was a priority for me. 

“We talked to a guy for finance stuff this last year,” Danielle says. “And he was talking about how it's actually getting to be more, from a financial standpoint, kind of like sixes, as far as renting for life versus owning, with the maintenance of a home and all of that.”

“You can make other investments and get a similar or better return that's not real estate,” Clark adds.

“So, again, just reframes,” Danielle jumps in. “Trying to think positively about things instead of just getting bummed out about them.”

This really resonated with me. I’ve done a lot of Googling around renting versus buying. One calculator told me, even with my Jackson priced rent, it would take about five years of owning a house to make it more worth it than renting here, and that’s if we could find something for under $400,000. And we definitely couldn’t get anything that low in Jackson.  

But, this doesn’t take into account sweat equity. What if you have a slight advantage like me and are planning on settling down with a carpenter who knows how to build houses?

Ultimately, modular doesn’t make a ton of sense for us because he has these skills. Doing a lot of the work yourself takes a lot of time but can help you save money and give you the freedom to use more alternative building methods, like insulating your home with straw bales. 

That’s what Doug Rellstab did, at least.

‘A living house’

At the end of a dirt driveway at the top of a sagebrush-covered hill, a dark green two-story house stands tall. The home in Pinedale, Wyoming — an hour and a half from Jackson — looks pretty normal at first glance, but to Doug…

“This is a living house,” he says. “When you go through it, it just seems alive.”

The retired geologist stands in the entryway pointing out the features. And on closer inspection, it’s clear he’s right. The walls are kind of rounded and wavy, partly because they’re filled with straw.

“If you look at all the curves that are built into the window wells and places, it's got its own feeling to 'em. It's just not squared off and flat,” Doug says. “I don't know if I believe in aura, but if there is aura, these kinds of houses have it.”

Doug Rellstab stands on his front porch, pointing at the dimpled texture of the recently repaired walls. It’s painted with a mineral-based plaster, and the texture helps disperse raindrops. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

Doug and his family built their home in the early 2000s. They wanted something more eco-friendly than your standard house with synthetic insulation. 

“I'm not a fan of perfect and uniform stuff, obviously,” Doug says.

So they got straw bales from a barley farmer in Idaho and stacked them high atop a foundation, supporting it with locally-milled wood posts and beams and sealing it in with another alternative material, lime-based plaster, to prevent decomposition.

“You pulled the trigger, and the air would blast the plaster into the straw at such a force that it would embed into the straw and cure and wear,” Doug says. “This house is so sealed with plaster, you can't break the plaster off with a claw hammer.”

The main benefit of straw is it’s a renewable insulation source. Winters in Wyoming are known for being long and snowy. Yet, Doug says this house has kept him warm, since straw has a similar R-value to fiberglass, and it has hardly needed any maintenance.

A hallway leading into the kitchen at the Pinedale straw bale home. The walls are painted with non-toxic paints – burnt oranges and mustard yellows that change with the light. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

“I was so amazed by how well it has held up,” says straw house expert Lindsey Love. “For almost 20 years, in one of the most harsh environments in the U.S.”

Lindsey helped Doug with some recent repairs, and she lives in her own straw bale house across the stateline from Jackson in Driggs, Idaho.

“ I guess I should take a little segway and show you this,” Lindsey says standing in her own house. “So, this is what we call a truth window.”

It’s a little plexiglass covered hole next to her coat rack and you can see the straw inside. 

“They're kind of obligatory in every straw wall, or straw house,” Lindsey says. “You can see the depth of the plaster if you stand close to it.”

Lindsey Love stands on the porch at Doug Rellstab’s house, where she helped with recent repairs. She says she loves to teach others how to build with straw, since it makes her feel confident knowing she can construct a home. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

Lindsey is part of basically all the alternative building projects in the region. She helps do repairs on straw houses like Dougs when there’s water damage and cracks in the plaster. This looks a lot like repairing a crack in, say, a clay pot.

“It's the same concept as attaching a handle to a mug in ceramics,” Lindsey says. “You scratch it and add water, and then they bond well.”

Lindsey sits on the adobe floor in her house, digging through a bucket filled with the plaster she used for another recent repair. 

“ It's all just clay that came from the valley floor and sand, or what I call aggregate, of varying sizes. And chopped straw. And then you add water to make it sticky,” Lindsey says.

People who build with straw often rely on lots of materials that grow organically, so nothing goes to the landfill when doing repairs.

“We ground up the lime plaster and used it as aggregate for our new lime plaster,” she says. “And then all of the rotten straw just could become compost or mulch in the yard.” 

This isn’t a newfangled idea. Straw building was born in the midwest in the late 1800s, a way to reuse an agricultural byproduct. But by the 1940s, mass-produced cement, spray foam and fiberglass had taken over. 

Now, Lindsey says people in this part of the country are more aware of the environmental costs of those materials, and want something that actually lowers their carbon footprint. Just like trees, straw stores carbon. 

“We need to contribute less from burning fossil fuels, but we also know that it's not enough if we want to curb climate change,” Lindsey says. “We've got to store some of the carbon that's already out there, and so storing it within buildings is a really great opportunity.”

She says building with all these materials feels similar to being out in nature hiking or exploring.

“It just feels right to me. It feels more humane than being in many of the new construction where everything's covered with paint, which is plastic,” Lindsey says. “It just feels kind of cold and plastic. It’s like my soul has a connection to these materials. I don't know really how to explain it.”

Lindsey Love sits on her adobe floor, digging through a bucket of clay, sand and chopped straw which she used to repair a house. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

Straw comes in at about the same price as those more plastic conventional materials, but working with it can be tricky. You’ve got to make sure it’s done right to keep moisture away, and not many architects and construction workers know how. So homeowners often do a lot of the work themselves and take on some of the sweat equity.

“ I think because it's a little more approachable because so much of it doesn't require big heavy tools,” Lindsey says.

To make it even more accessible, she is trying to launch training programs in eastern Idaho to teach low-income households how to build their own straw homes. She’s currently looking for land donations or families that already own land but are struggling with construction costs and want to take on some of the building themselves.

Lindsey sees this as a way to tackle the massive housing crisis and get more people to build with straw, like one couple finishing up their house down the highway in Victor, Idaho.

Sweat equity

“I'm Will Haywood,” says the heavily bearded man wearing a plaid shirt. He works in construction. 

“I'm Aska Langman, and Will is building this house for me,” his wife says laughing.

That’s pretty much my plan with my carpenter partner, except these two are a little bit farther down the line. They have a 5-year-old and a boatload of animals.

Married couple, Aska Langman and Will Haywood, stand on the porch of the straw-insulated house they are building. They currently live in a house next door, where Langman runs a dog boarding business. She bought that house for $180,000 back when property was still cheap and says they’ll rent it out for an affordable price when they move into the new place. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

In fact, Aska runs an animal boarding house next door. While chatting on their front porch, a stocky, pink pig even crosses the dirt driveway.

“That’s Stuart,” Aska exclaims.

Moving into the entryway of their almost-finished three-bedroom straw house, Will says they decided to choose a bit more conventional look.

“The only way you can tell now that it's straw bale is the thickness of the walls here,” he says, pointing to an exterior wall.

In the other straw home we saw, straw bales were literally stacked on top of each other inside the walls. This one has all normal wood framing and drywall, but with three-foot-wide straw panels as insulation inside all the exterior walls. 

“It's just a good way to demonstrate how you can use straw, but it really doesn't look like a straw bale house,” Will says.

This method of stitching together panels comes in at a similar price and takes a lot less time than bales, since they come in ready-to-go, delivered from a company in Vermont.

“There was like A1, A2, A3,” Aska recalls. “And then Will lifted them up with a crane, I think.”

“A forklift,” Will interrupts.

“A forklift, something,” Aska says, “And then put A1, then A2, then A3, and it was like blocks of wood structure with a straw bale in the middle of it.”

Will Haywood uses a forklift to install straw bale panels into the wooden frame of the house for insulation. The house relies on wood framing more than the Pinedale house, which makes it look more like a normal home. CREDIT: Aska Langman.

Why did they go with straw? After over a decade in construction, Will got tired of all the waste.

“To install spray foam, it just takes rolls and rolls of plastic that you just end up in the dumpster,” Will says. “For me, that was a big driving force of just like, okay, how can we avoid this, but achieve the same thing?”

“It has all the same properties as your typical insulation,” Will continues.

“Except it's more fire retardant,” Aska jumps in.

The straw is packed so tightly, it limits the amount of oxygen that can fuel flames.

“And it doesn't poison you, which is nice,” says Will.

“And it's good for the environment. Lower carbon footprint,” Aska add.

And now that Will knows how to build with straw, he hopes to help others do the same, just like Lindsey Love. One possibility is starting a local company that makes straw building panels to take advantage of the bounty of local agricultural byproducts.

‘The Someday House’

But first Will needs to finish his own straw bale house. He’s already two and a half years into building this place, which he did while also working a full-time job.

“We call this the Someday House, cause we'll live in it someday,” Aska says.

They’re yet more people waiting for their home to get finished so they can move in.

I ask them if this is affordable for “normal people” AKA not the uber-wealthy.

“It’s hard to say yes or no,” Will responds. “I don't know what affordable is anymore.”

“I mean, it’s more affordable, but it was, it's at a cost to like our lives,” Aska adds. “We're not gonna pretend that this is like, ‘Oh my gosh, this is the most romantic thing we've ever done in our lives. Raising a child while building a house, super cool, highly recommend. Everyone should do it, it's great for your relationship.’ However, we are still married, and we do still like each other, so that's a plus.”

Will Haywood and Aska Langman have their straw bale house thanks to countless hours Will put in after his full-time job, often after dinner. CREDIT: Will Haywood

This isn’t exactly the cheery housing solution I hoped for going into this reporting, but it’s the truth. Even though I have a partner that can build a house, there’s still a lot of barriers. All of these people who have either straw or modular homes had to buy land first and sometimes had to make compromises around where they live and how they go about their lives.

“Like, cost is money and it's also Will's time and energy to build this is what made it so we could actually do it,” Aska says. “We could not afford paying people to build this house. It would have been done a year ago, but I would have had to commit crimes to get the money.”

Our path still isn’t super clear and it doesn’t need to be. We still haven’t even hit 30. Our priorities right now are still skiing on the weekend and going on climbing trips, but I do think we’re getting closer to knowing what we want in the future. In the end, ordering a modular home doesn’t make much sense for us, but we’re excited to continue learning about alternative building materials, like straw and clay. 

But for now, we’re in the dreaming stage, just hoping someday to have a garage and a house of our own.

Hanna Merzbach and her partner, Alex Rice, in front of the Tetons after a day of climbing. CREDIT: Hanna Merzbach/Wyoming Public Media

Melodie Edwards was the producer and sound designer of this story. Thanks also for help from McKenna Lipson, Cody Hume, Mike Gray, Kamila Kudelska, Diana Denison and Rexanna Kelly. Have a story idea for us? Email us at the modernwestpod@gmail.com. See photos and connect with us on social media @modernwestpod. Our theme song is by Screen Door Porch. The Modern West is a production of PRX and Wyoming Public Media.

MUSIC CREDITS: 

“Waltz With Me” by Beat Mekanik found on Free Music Archive is licensed under a CC BY 4.0 License. 

Idle Ways by <a href=http://app.sessions.blue/browse/track/30645>Blue Dot Sessions</a> Bivly by <a href=https://app.sessions.blue/browse/track/308318>Blue Dot Sessions</a>(?) 

“A Child is Born” by Lobo Loco found on Free Music Archive is licensed under a CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 License.

 “Today’s Special: Jam Tomorrow” by Doctor Turtle found on Free Music Archive is licensed under a CC BY. 

“Clusticus the Mistaken” by Doctor Turtle found on Free Music Archive is under a CC BY.

Capering by <a href=”httpps://app.sessions.blue/browse/track/309020”>Blue Dot Sessions</a> 

Dropped Ticket by <a href=https://app.sessions.blue/browse/track/309219>Blue Dot Sessions</a>