Josh Kilmer-Purcell's Blog, page 76

“Mortgage Lifter Heirloom Tomato Pasta Sauce” Recipe Contest

 

Hopefully you’ve heard about our new “Mortgage Lifter Heirloom Tomato Pasta Sauce.”

We’re hoping it launches a movement towards building a brand that supports American small farms. Part of how that can happen is if you enjoy the sauce on a regular basis in your home.

So we’re starting something called “Farm-Fed Fridays.” When every Friday night families incorporate small farm-produced foods into their dinner menus. Naturally, we’d love our Mortgage Lifter Heirloom Tomato Pasta Sauce to be a part of that meal, along with other healthy stuff from your local Farmers Market.

But, let’s face it, it could get really boring to have spaghetti and pasta sauce every week. So we’re starting a recipe contest.

We want you to develop a recipe using our Mortgage Lifter Heirloom Tomato Pasta Sauce, and email it to us!

Could be your family’s famous Chicken Parm. Or a vegetarian Lasagne. Even a soup or stew. It just has to use the Mortgage Lifter Heirloom Tomato Pasta Sauce. (If anyone comes up with a dessert recipe we’ll be really impressed.)

We’ll select one recipe each week, and make it ourselves.

Yep. We’ll cook it right here in the Beekman kitchen, and post the photo and recipes on Facebook and here on the site. With your name and story, of course.

(We’ll post recipes on Wednesdays so that you have time to buy what you need to make Farm-Fed Friday Dinner.)

So get a jar. Get creative. And Email us  your recipe!

Earning The Grade, Twenty Nine Years Late

1984.

9th grade.

Hated gym.

Pretty predictable story, really. Scrawny, awkward, shy kid hates getting picked last for every team. Suffers indignities. Cowers in locker room. Makes up fake illnesses. Throws like a girl. Actually, aspires to throw as good as a girl. Let me be clear, however. I wasn’t picked last in gym because I was gay. I was picked last because I sucked.

But this scrawny shy kid decided to do something about it.

If my life had been like Glee, (or, more era-appropriate – Fame,) I would’ve stood in the middle of gym class, covered in dodgeball welts, and made some brave impassioned speech in defense of “the little guys.”

But, obviously, bravery and scrawn-ery rarely go hand in hand. So instead, I did something cowardly.

On a scale of cowardice, however, this was some pretty brave gutlessness:

I skipped gym.

Not just a class or two.

All of Spring Quarter.

From the moment we returned to school after Spring Break, till the last Field Day before summer vacation, my way-too-short 1980′s OJHS gym shorts and tee sat mouldering in my gym locker, left there from Winter Quarter.

I just never reported for duty. Went completely AWOL. I hid away in the band room, choir hall, library, art supply closet. Nowadays, in this time of gay-straight alliances, LGBT proms and anti-bullying programs, I suspect these are the first places a school administrator  searches for missing gym students. But back then, these were the safehouses for the fey set. An underground railroad delivering the physically unfit from competitive indentured servitude.

After a week or so, I remember worrying more about the lack of search parties being sent out for me. In fact, I was soon flaunting my freedom. I began volunteering my services for Study Hall tutoring during that time. Cleaned up the art classroom after big projects. I even formed a breakaway group from the main Jazz Band. (Our bassoon, electric keyboard, trombone & oboe jazz quartet never really took off. Like every group, we had ego issues. Cathy, I’m looking at you.)

Eventually the horrors of gym class became such a distant memory that, well, I forgot about it. Completely.

Until about a week into summer vacation when I realized that my report card was due to arrive in the mail at any moment. And one of the line items on it would still be “PhysEd.” And there would be a letter between “A” and “F” next to it. I could most certainly rule out “A” through “D.”  “E” for “effort” was, under the circumstances,  a real long shot as well. Which left “F.” Which I’d never personally seen on a report card before. And which, I had a vague notion, meant that one couldn’t proceed with their current academic trajectory. The prospect of having to repeat ninth grade wasn’t something I’d considered while improvising syncopated bassoon harmonies during my illicit breakaway Jazz Band  jam sessions. (Otherwise, I’d have been practicing the blues.)

When the document finally arrived, I was the first to intercept it. It had my usual random smattering of “A’s” and “B’s.” In fact it had only “A’s” and “B’s.” I had to search for my quarterly gym evaluation. It was hidden amongst all the rest of the year-end averages.

I’d gotten a “B+” in PhysEd for the quarter.

A “B+.”

Now that I’m middle-aged and realize the fallibility of teachers and middle-aged adults in general, I can speculate that my poor gym teacher for that quarter (whom, for obvious reasons, I don’t remember) just sorta winged it when assigning that grade. Faced with a name she/he didn’t recognize in the slightest, she/he probably figured that a “B+” was high enough to elicit no complaints, but low enough to not draw scrutiny.

So “B+” it was.

For never even showing up. This is not the sort of lesson you want to pass on to your children. So let me turn it around for you.

Now that I’m 43, my gym class attendance is much improved.

Here in Sharon Springs, every Sunday night is Community Volleyball night.

The gym is unlocked from 6-8pm in our small rural K-12 school (about 300 kids total,) and any adults from the surrounding communities can come play volleyball.

Anywhere from 10 to 20 people show up each week. All ages, sizes, shapes and resting heart rates. We set up and take down the nets ourselves. We have the school’s retired gym teacher to help guide us. We all do the best we can. Some played volleyball as students. Some skipped gym class as students entirely. Ahem.

Me getting ready for Sharon Springs Sunday night PhysEd:

Everyone who comes to play volleyball tacitly acknowledges who among us is better at what skills. And given that everyone playing is pretty much done with any growth spurts (at least vertically,) those who are tall enough to be good spikers are set to, and those who are low enough to be good bumpers are given clear paths. And those who aren’t astounding at either (again, ahem,) are just plain encouraged.

The best part? We line up and count off to pick teams. No one is ever picked last.

Part of the reason I love Sharon Springs so much is that it’s giving me a second chance at a lot of things. Growing my own food. Learning patience. Working with neighbors. And now Sharon Springs is helping me make up karma for an undeserved Junior High School grade.

I’ll wager that the majority of people in America, on Sunday nights, are probably sitting around their televisions – either not talking to each other or bitching about going to work the next day. Or perhaps buying something online from their La-Z-Boy that they hope will make their lives even La-Z-Er. Or surfing gossip sites to catch up on the latest scandals of celebrities whom they’ll never meet, who don’t care about them, and who certainly would never yell out “great try!” when they missed the easiest volleyball return ever by a country mile.

In Sharon Springs, we do celebrate every neighbor’s individual “B+’s” in their respective lives and careers.

But as a community – as displayed at Sunday Night Volleyball – we know that the most important grade to earn will always be an “E.”

For effort.

S. P. R. I. N. G. Contest

Win this beautiful piece of art!

Title: Sun-Kissed

Size: 27 1/4 x 27 1/4

“Let there be many windows to your soul, that all the glory of the world may beautify it.”

At Beekman 1802, we’ve always believed in creativity and love introducing you to other creative people that can inspire creativity in you.

So we’ve decided to do a series of “Meet the Artist” contests.  We’ll introduce you to an artist whose work will stimulate your own creative flow, and as an extra incentive to get those juices flowing, someone will win a piece of that artist’s work!

The artist not only gets to promote their work, but, who knows, we might even spawn a new artist that will be featured in this very same series five years from now!

The Contest

By this point in winter, nearly everyone is looking forward to Spring, so the person who can convey that desire the best through writing a SPRING acrostic will win the beautiful piece of art pictured above.

For example:

Leave your acrostic in the comments section below. Artist Michele Mueller will choose the winner on March 11.

 

About the artist:

Working full-time as an Administrative Assistant most of her life was right up Michele’s alley…or so she thought.  Once her son, Matthew, was born she became a stay-at-home mom.  While being a wife and mother consumed her days and nights, in between were those few short moments where she wondered what she was doing to take care of herself – how she was meeting her wants and needs.  Michele was  longing for something that was just about her – and she found that in painting.  She chose to use vintage windows as her canvas.

To her, each old window and old barn has a story to tell and it’s her task to bring those stories to… color. Each mile she drives to retrieve a window, each piece of sand paper she uses on a frame, each slide of the putty knife to each brush stroke are all part of bringing out those stories. To Michele, each story takes her back to days of living in the small village of Schuylerville, in upstate New York, and spending family weekends on her great-grandparent’s farm in Plattsburg, New York.

Adding to each story is a unique see-through canvas , a “window,  into the past.  If you can look through any window and see the world outside as it is now then take a look into the past through these Panes of Art to read the colors, the shapes and the stories that Michele has chosen to share.  To see more of Michelle’s work, click here.

 

Leave your SPRING acrostic in the comments section below

 

 

Gartending: Tequila!

 

Klaus spent a weekend recently in Santa Fe soaking up as much Tequila as his little ceramic stomach could bear.  He was visiting close friends who sought to show Klaus as much of this area as possible through eating the best food and drink.

Klaus is very appreciative of the journey, safely tucked into his leather briefcase- away from the curious, probing hands of TSA Agents.  He gets nervous when going through security.  He remembers leaving Paris at Charles de Gaulle Airport.  He almost got lost into the fervent morass of angry policemen carrying sub-machine guns and unsmiling customs agents who didn’t see Klaus as just a drinking gnome.  Fortunately, Klaus brings a smile to almost everyone he meets.

They finally saw his little ceramic flask on his chest and knew that this little gnome was someone very special.

After all, Klaus is the Soused Gnome!  He makes people smile because if there is one thing that Klaus knows about- and that is DRINKING!

And that makes most people smile, at least most of them.  The others?  Well, let’s just say they don’t get it.  And that’s ok, Klaus understands.  He’ll even have a drink for them if needed.  He can actually drink most of these disbelievers under the table!

Out in Santa Fe, Klaus discovered the passion of Tequila.  He actually fell in love with a bottle of Arrogante Reposado Tequila, although at the time, the only bottle to be had was back in New Jersey.  Each time Klaus went out, he secretly hoped that somewhere he’d be able to find a nice bottle of Arrogante Reposado for his multitude of Margarita cocktails inhaled.  Put a drink in front of Klaus and it just disappeared!  Turn your back for a second and yours is gone too.  Oh Klaus, where do you put it? And what about the Arrogante?  Will Klaus be able to drink this in New Mexico or even Arizona?  Maybe, just maybe in his little terracotta brain and stomach, Klaus’s dreams will come true?  Stay tuned on that one.

Klaus visited many amazing places for food and drink while out in Santa Fe.  One of his favorites was a simple taco stand, a concrete building actually, surrounded by bleak, sandy parking, shaded from the sun by a gigantic Cottonwood tree.  This wonderful place is called simply, El Parasol.  Klaus wished that he brought some beer or a bottle of Tequila for the impromptu luncheon of impossibly crunchy tacos, filled with long cooked beef, cheese, deep-fried and then stuffed with onions and shredded lettuce.  There was a salsa that defied the imagination.

This simple food pleased Klaus to no end, but his thirst got the better of him with only soda to drink.

Today at lunch, Klaus sought to recreate the luncheon of a few weeks ago.   In this case the tacos were soft, but the filling was as passionate as the simple luncheon enjoyed in New Mexico.

Klaus?  Are you drinking again?  Where are you?  Of course.  He ran off again searching for a party, or a drink.  I’m not sure which one.

The maple syrup has begun to flow here in NJ.  My friend Hunter Stagg is tapping trees on his property, capturing the essence of the maple trees.  But before you ask if maple syrup comes from New Jersey, let me tell you right off, yes it does.  At this time of the year the syrup is barely sugary.  The color is light gold and when mixed with Tequila, simple syrup needs not to be used.  When fresh lime juice is added in a 50/50 mix with lemon juice, the maple syrup really shines.  A touch of Damiana, Turnera diffusa, is added to the mix instead of triple sec. Damiana is an ingredient in a traditional Mexican liqueur, which is sometimes used in lieu of Triple Sec in Margaritas. Mexican folklore claims that it was used in the “original” margarita. The damiana Margarita is popular in the Los Cabos region of Mexico. Then the audaciously smooth Arrogante Tequila makes a play for your palate.  Finally, in a tip of the hat to my friend Chris Milligan out in Santa Fe, I burn a piece of sage into an overturned Boston shaker, filling the vessel with the thickly sticky smoke.   I finish this cocktail with the extraordinarily potent Bitter End Mexican Mole Bitters from Bill York, and of course use the best ice, made with filtered water from my Mavea pitcher.

If it seems like a lot of steps, think again.  For Klaus to get soused, there are things every gnome must do.  And that is drink!

Get merry Klaus!  We have drinking to do!  Tap those maple trees!  Boil that syrup!

 

The Damiano Swingers Cocktail (makes two exceptionally strong cocktails)

Ingredients:

2 oz. Grade A (NJ if you can get it) Maple Syrup

2 oz. Damiana Liquor from Arrogante

3 oz. Arrogante Reposada Tequila or your choice of high quality Reposada Tequila

4 oz. Freshly squeezed lime juice

2 oz. Freshly squeezed lemon juice

Ice made from filtered water with your Mavea pitcher

Sage leaf

Bitter End- Mexican Mole Bitters (Essential)

 

Preparation:

Flame the sage leaf into an overturned Boston shaker, filling it with smoke

Turn over and add the liquors and the juices with the maple syrup

Fill ¾ with ice, cover and shake for 15 seconds

Add a couple cubes of the Mavea filtered water ice to some rocks glasses

Double strain the shaken drink over the ice, make sure you salt the rim first!

Garnish with a sprig of sage and three drops of Bitter End Mexican Mole Bitters with a hunk of lime.

 

What can top a smoked Sage and Damiana Margarita?  Another Taco please????? 

 

 

 

Culinary Roundtable

Are you ready to be jealous?

Like, insanely jealous?

Okay…the next time you hear me complain about anything farm-related, remind me that the farm got me invited to this amazing culinary roundtable event.

See, Lean Cuisine invited myself, two other cool farmers, three top style bloggers, and six world-renowned chefs to spend the day playing together. Inspiring each other with the latest food and fashion trends.

Yes, that’s right. I got to play in the kitchen with chefs Michelle Berstein, Brad Farmerie, Anita Lo, Paul Kahan, Lior Lev Sercarz & Lucien Vendome.

Then we all sat down at tables, styled by Liz Stanley, Jenny Komenda & Jessie Artigue.

And then we all ate huge meal cooked by all those incredible chefs.

Can you imagine what it would cost to have a private dinner cooked, served, and eaten by those chefs?

You have permission to hate me a little.

Just a little.

Below are some pics and video of our day together. It was wonderful.

Here’s a video showing some of what we got to do:

 

This photo is from Jessie’s blog about the day, Style & Pepper:

And here are some photos from  Jenny’s blog about the day, Little Green Notebook. Jenny was on my “team,” along with Brad Farmerie and Michelle Bernstein. Yeah. I know. Dream Team, right?

Here’s Jenny’s table setting. She bought that white tureen and then, on the spot, fancied it up with red porcelain paint. Smart, right? Great Scandinavian rustic look.

You can see more of Jenny’s photos here.

Style blogger Liz Stanley wrote about the day on her blog, Say Yes To Hoboken. Here’s one of her photos of the table setting she created:

Aren’t those name card holders made from carrot tops amazing?

I wish we had more photos of the food. But we were all pretty much just…well…scarfing.

You can get three of the recipes here.

Here’s a photo of the meal from Say Yes To Hoboken:

It was definitely a once-in-a-lifetime meal.

But that won’t stop me from hoping it happens again.

5 Beautiful Things

 

 

Anne Siems

I recently discovered the amazing work of German-born artist Anne Siems. I liked her artwork immediately and I know that you will too. The artist currently resides in Seattle and creates beautiful imagery with an almost dreamlike quality. She often uses waxed found paper as the canvas to her acrylic painting, which is then overlayed with pen-and-ink sketching to convey her interest in overlapping forms, botanicals and the human form. I love the childlike optimism in the work as it melds with something more ghostly and intangible. In addition to her solo work, Anne has also collaborated to design book covers for authors like Alice Munro. Anne is currently showing at the Obsolete Gallery in Venice, California, until March 17th. You can read more about Anne and her process at her website. There, you will also find a small gift shop where you can purchase her book and limited-edition prints. Below are five of Anne’s beautiful paintings.

All artwork by Anne Siems

 

Andrew Ritchie is the creator of Martha Moments, a blog devoted Martha-Stewart related content and her community of supporters. He lives and works in Toronto, Canada, and has been a longtime friend of Brent & Josh, Beekman 1802 and Sharon Springs. Each week he’ll scour the world (wide web) to find the 5 most beautiful things to inspire you. Follow Andrew on Pinterest.

 

 

 

 

 

Saving the Marshall: Part 1

Poor Megan, Maria & John.

Every day in Beekman World brings a new, unexpected challenge. Recently, while we were traveling halfway across the country, they got this email from us:

“Hey Guys…We just found out that our four Marshall Strawberry plants have been shipped. It’s looks like it’s going to be below zero so they won’t survive long sitting on the porch.  Can you keep a lookout for them? There’s only 600 of them in the world, we can’t let them die!!!!!!!!!!”

We got hourly updates for the next two days:

“No strawberries yet.”

“Not yet.”

“Still no berries.”

“THEY’RE HERE! WE GOT THEM! THEY’RE ALIVE!!! GETTING READY FOR TRANSPLANT….”

Once again, they saved the day. Or in this case, they saved some culinary history.

Here’s what they (potentially) saved. Worth it, right?

Marshall strawberries were once one of the most favored strawberry varieties in the world. First discovered in Boston in 1883, it achieved peak popularity and propagation West Coast, where it once filled field after field of Washington, Oregon & California farms.

Why was it so popular? For the right reason: it tasted amazing. James Beard himself declared the Marshall: “the most delicious strawberry ever grown.” The sugar content is so naturally high that they only last hours after ripening…not days. When Queen Elizabeth and King George VI visited Vancouver, farm workers were sent into the fields to pick the ripest berries for a royal luncheon, and Canada’s custom regulations were waived to allow the fruit to enter the country without any delay.

But by the mid 1960′s, there was hardly a Marshall strawberry field to be found. Why? We’ve told this next part of the story so many times we could copy and paste it from an old post:

With the rise of our present day industrial food production and distribution network, the [insert great tasting heirloom vegetable/fruit] became extinct due to its susceptibility to disease, fragility during transport, and short shelf life.

Except the Marshall didn’t go extinct. But only just barely. A single clone of the Marshall was saved by the USDA’s Germplasm Repository in Corvallis, Oregon.

We’re not sure naming something a “Germplasm” is great marketing, but whatever. Thank you, USDA, for saving the Marshall.

In 2004, it was named one of the ten most endangered foods in the USA by the RAFT (Renewing America’s Food Traditions) coalition.  And in 2007, an artist named Leah Gauthier requested some runners from Corvallis, and since she planned on growing them for food, not research, they agreed. She’s since propagated additional plants from runners, and now has enough for sale. But just barely. Only 600 small plants are available this year.

The plants are shipped in these cute little “pouches.”

 

Each has a little tag with the plant’s individual number. We have 21-24 out of 2013′s batch of 600:

 

They also come with explicit directions for transplanting indoors (if your season is cold right now) or out. And certificates of authenticity:

Because we believe in both biodiversity of our food supply (that’s a fancy way of saying “healthy choices,”) and saving history, we’ve decided to make Beekman 1802 Farm a permanent home for the Marshall, and are dedicating an entire bed to propagating them.

These plants aren’t cheap. So we’re starting with four, and will grow them out season by season until the bed is full. But we believe the investment is well worth it to save this important variety. So far they’re looking good:

Even got a new shoot forming!

 

Nice sunny window…waiting till spring…Wanna help us save the Marshall?

You can learn more and order online here.  Because of their scarcity and fragility in shipping, they do come at a price, but there are options at the link that make them cheaper.

Plus…think of the reward. Mmmmm.

OR, if you’re lucky enough to live around Brooklyn, you can come pick up plants at Brooklyn Flea, March 16 +17, and save the shipping fees entirely!

Please let us know if you purchase any. We’d love to be “Marshall cousins” with you. We’ll update you on our progress as the season progresses, and will certainly share pics of the first (knock wood) fruit.

What should we make with the first berries?

 

 

 

There Goes the Neighborhood

We’ve often spoke of our love of community, not just the one that we found in Sharon Springs when we moved here, but all the opportunities we have in our daily lives to find good “neighbors” – online, in the Mercantile, sitting next to us on an airplane….wherever.

Recently one of our neighbors, Carrie, who runs Black Willow Pond Farm with the help of her two young sons, shared an inspiring story of community with us. We asked her to write it down so that we could share it with you. 

When you read it, look to the person nearest to you and think of something nice to say to them, even if it’s only a “hello”.

Carrie’s farm:

 

And her boys:

Carrie’s story…

Not sure how to begin  this – other than with a huge THANK YOU to an unknown person who spoiled me with something I would have never splurged on for myself. I sit here reflecting in awe and amazement of the outpouring of blessings from so many during this difficult year.

From people sharing their valuable time assisting me by watching my boys, work my table at the local farmer’s markets or help me in a variety of ways on the farm.

To those who have helped financially to keep my head above water or my car running.

To those who have dropped off gluten free meals and or left bags of GF groceries at my door- to “fatten” me up!

To my amazing customers who purchase meat and eggs from my little farm.

To those of you who have listened and allowed to me vent, breakdown and wiped away my tears.  And to so, so many of you, who have lifted the boys and I up in prayer….I will never be able to thank you!!!

I have never been so humbled. I can only hope I can pay you all back in some way, somehow, but be sure I will continue to “pay it forward” helping and reaching out to others, as so many of you have taught and encouraged me to do.  My faith has led me through this storm but your kindness, love and prayers has kept me going!

All these examples of kindness, leads me to share the most recent amazing story of kindness.  A few weeks ago I shared on my Facebook page a fabulous pair of cowboy boots embroidered with wildflowers that were being featured in a giveaway from an online store called Country Outfitter.  As a nature loving, country farm girl, I stated on my status: “Do these boots say “Carrie” or what?!?!?  So me!!! So ♥ them!  But the price tag is so not for this frugal girl!!! What an evil email to open this morning! But a girl can dream!”

Well the other day a package was delivered to my house. You can imagine my shock, as I opened the brown box to discover the amazing, wildflower boots. Yes, in my exact size.

My seven year old, stood there with me as puzzled and filled with questions as I was. Being the realistic, tad bit melancholy person that I am – I quickly searched for a phone number to call the company. As I spoke with customer service, explaining my “dilemma”, I questioned “did I win these boots?”

The representative asked for the packing number.  A short pause. He came back on the line.  “Well I pleased to tell you that those boots are indeed a gift. The person indicated that they wished to stay anonymous. The boots cannot be returned unless they do not fit and then they must be exchanged for the correct size.”

“Well,” I exclaimed, “they fit like a glove!” The representative laughed with me and told me to enjoy them!

While I may never find out who purchased this extravagant gift for me, I can make the promise to this person that each time I wear them I will remember the struggles, the pain I have experienced – BUT I will smile at the beautiful wildflowers stitched on a simple pair of cowboy boots and FOCUS on the new season of life and happiness my boys and I are entering!! How’s that song go…”these boots were made for walking?” ….Well I hope these boots get to walk, dance, and skip down the wondrous path laid out before me! Big hugs and blessings from the bottom of my heart!!!

 

You can see Carrie and all the goods from Black Willow Pond Farm at the Sharon Springs Farmers’ Market on Saturdays

Is Faintly Bigger Than….?

Those of you who have been following along with the births of all the goat kids this year recently met the smallest of them all. She was the third born in a set of triplets. Her siblings were quite large – about 8lbs. But she, bless her wee little womb-squeezed heart, was only about 3lbs. Tops.

So Farmer John named her “Faintly.”

Because she’s just barely, faintly here.

She’s got a good appetite, and a good voice. So she’ll likely be just fine.

Many of you wanted to see a comparison photo with another one-day-old baby goat. So we posted this one:

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(She’s on the left. Obviously.)

But then some of you realized that you really didn’t know how big either of the goats were, so you asked for another comparison photo.

So we took several. Because we’re nice like that. Plus, Faintly’s pretty easy-going. So to answer your questions…

Is Faintly bigger than a bread box?

Yes. Unless she squats.

Is Faintly bigger than a grapefruit?

Sure is, the cutie-patoot.

Is Faintly bigger than a Kitchen Aid?

Nope. She can fit in its shade.

Is Faintly bigger than a Top Hat?

Well. Would you look at that?

Is Faintly bigger than a grand piano?

Not even on tip toe.

Is Faintly bigger than a clock?

Maybe its Tick. Not its Tock.

Is Faintly bigger than a tea cup?

By three feet, she is. Yup.

Is Faintly bigger than this very fragile collection of glassware?

We’re not gonna find out.

Is Faintly bigger than a phone?

Call her. She’s standing by. All alone.

Is Faintly bigger than Brent’s head?

Not when he’s just gotten out of bed.

Is Faintly bigger than your heart?

Nah.

She squeezes right in.

What else is Faintly bigger (or not) than? Let us know in the comments below.

Jolene: The Polydactyl Wonder!

We’ll admit it…Beekman 1802 Farm can be an eccentric little place.

In fact, some people have called us a freak show. We take that as a compliment.

Because we are full of strange and wondrous creatures (present company included.) But perhaps our greatest oddity is one of our barn cats…Jolene.

Jolene was a kitten when she was dropped off at Beekman 1802 Farm after being found by a friend of Farmer John’s under a car in the school parking lot. Most times, these feral or abandoned drop off cats are just passing through. They rarely even let us close enough to pet them. (If we can catch them, we’ll spay them.)

Generally Bubby, the Chief Mouser, determines whether they can stay based on some criteria known only to him. For Downton Abby fans, he’s like the Carson of the barn.

For whatever reason, Jolene passed Bubby’s muster and got her Beekman Green Card.

Recently we posted this picture of Jolene online and some of you noticed something about her…

Yes, our Jolene is a polydactyl cat. A VERY polydactyl cat, in fact.

Polydactyl cats are specific genetic mutation that results in extra “toes.” A “normal” cat (ugh, we hate the word “normal”) has 5 toes on each front paw and four on each back paw.

Jolene has seven toes on each front paw, six on one rear paw, and five on the other. That totals 25. Approximately. But it’s kinda hard to count. Some of her toes have claws, and some slight appendages that don’t look like toes also have claws. Plus not every toe has a pad. Nor does every pad have a toe.

Put it this way: Jolene’s got a lot of strange things going on below the knee, and as you’ll see in the following photos, she doesn’t much care for you poking around and staring at her, thankyouverymouse.

Here’s Jolene’s rear left foot with six toes. Please take note of her face in the upper right corner and how much she’s enjoying us showing this to you.

 

Here’s a shot of her other rear foot:

Back claws, upside-up:

Now that we have you enraptured in cuteness…a little history about Polydactyl cats:

Throughout history, these extra-digital cats were prized by ship’s captains and crews. It was believed that their extra toes made them better mousers, both by having more claws to catch with, and by providing better “sea legs.” Perhaps because these cats kept the ships food stores free of vermin, they were also thought to bring overall good luck to a voyage. Furthermore, some sailors believed ship cats could control the weather with their tails.

This is Pooli, who served aboard the USS Fremont during the Second World War. She earned three service ribbons and four battle stars for her service in the Marianas, the Palau group, the Philippines and Iwo Jima. We salute you, Pooli:

Many folks become aware of the existence of polydactyl cats after visiting the Ernest Hemingway Home & Museum in Key West Florida. Hemmingway was given a gift of a polydactyl cat named Snowball by a sea captain. Many of the forty-plus cats that roam the rooms and grounds today are polydactyl descendents of Snowball, and all are protected in perpetuity by Hemingway’s will. This is why many folks call all polydactyl cats “Hemingway Cats.”

But back to Jolene. Who is not a Hemingway Cat. She’s more likely an “Ithaca Cat,” or “Ithacat.” This name refers to a population of polydactyl cats that can be traced to Ithaca, NY, about 100 miles (as the cat walks) from Sharon Springs. Little is known about this population. Most polydactyl cat populations in the U.S. are found in port cities (for reasons cited earlier.) But as far as we know, the origins of the Ithacat are a mystery.

Here are Jolene’s front paws. Aren’t you glad you’re not a mouse?

Jolene let us get this picture of the underside of one front paw:

After hearing the sounds beginning to emanate from Jolene at this point, neither John nor we felt comfortable pushing for a reveal shot of the the second front paw. She was making that guttural growl that sounds like a chainsaw in the distance. Coming closer and closer.

Here’s the best shot we could get of the other front paw:

Here’s Jolene after we let her go:

That squint means we are fairly certain that those were all of the photos of Jolene’s feet that you will ever see in her lifetime.

Jolene also has a side gig as PolkaSpot’s sidekick in the Diva’s new comic book: PolkaSpot: My Life in Pictures. Available here.