So heres the story...
When I was 19 or 20 and working my first real and hated job at NBT. National Bank and Trust a.k.a. Nothing But Trouble.
I rented a funky third floor apartment in a large red brick house on some back street in Norwich with a girl named Liz.
One day Liz asked me if I'd like to take some painting classes. I loved the idea having hung out most of my high school life in Fred Buhner's art room at Sherburne Earlville High School. All my friends in high school were a grade ahead of me so when they all graduated my grades all went up but I was lost with out them. I stole away to the art world of Mr. Buhner and all his whimsical paintings and clay frogs or what ever they were that he made. Being the kind and wonderful man that he was and sensing my loss. He gave me my own drawer to replace my locker for my books an stuff so I could avoid the crowd in between classes.
I loved art back then in my creative explorative years. So I was eager to take more art classes.
One Sunday, Liz and I jumped in her car and drove 6 miles south to the village of Oxford. We took a right at the light and headed a short way out of town. We then took another right up a hill to a great old barn over looking the quaint village. No problem here being a little farm girl in another life on my Uncle's farm. We got out of the car and there he was. This long haired hippy man bare assed naked in his garden weeding and working the dirt. He simply put his hoe down, walked over to his shorts laying in a pile on the ground, bent over an picked them up and put em on. Liz had the biggest red blush grin over her face. I then learned of the space between her two front teeth as I have never seen her smile so big. I can just imagine how stupid I looked being the chubby girl I was after sitting on my butt for three months, seven hours a day, sorting out and putting in order the checking accounts of the people of Chenango County in the "nothing but trouble" bank.
I was like, well all of 19 and oh my god there is a naked man right in front of me! What do I do! He held out his hand and introduced himself. Patrick Mills. I can't remember what I did. But I apparently signed up and payed for several sessions of painting classes in this amazing barn studio with this pretty amazing fella!
So that was years ago. Like 27 years ago. Yep. Twenty Seven years ago I wrote a song. One of my first. It wasn't that great as I was honing my craft. And I sang it up in the loft of his barn and Mr. Mill's recorded it. On a 8 track I believe. Nope I stand corrected. It was an open reel tape deck.
So all these years later I get an email one day from Mr. Mills.
He found my website in the Binghamton paper as I did a gig with a long lost cousin of mine, Renee Swan DeMarco and another fine musician, Patti Witten. This had to of been a good three years ago now. Time's a flying!
Long story short here. Mr. Mills had to sell his beloved barn as his wife came down with MS and he and his family moved to Florida to avoid the cold winters up here. Things didn't work out for Patrick in Florida as his wife "fired" him. So he packed up an moved back to Central New York and settled in a "hovel" as he calls it in Norwich.
Patrick is a dear friend of mine and we have shared many meals and ideas together since his return. It's wonderful to have a older artsy fartsy to hang with. He has helped me immensely with my writing. Immensely. Just look at me write! I love it! My 5th CD, "Patchouli Room" had Patrick's artwork on the cover. A painting he did back in 1969 in mourning of the death of his little boy, The Painting is called, "The 3 F's" Fed Up, F--ked Up and Far From Home.
One day he was going through all his stuff. And stuff this man has. He is a pack rat and has saved everything. When he came across the recording of my "Barn Song". I couldn't believe it!
So I got the idea to make an iMovie of the song. I re-recorded it and kindly Patrick has shared with me shots of his life and paintings he and others did at this special place. This barn was magical to say the least with all the creative minds that once painted in it and the concerts he had in the loft. Stories of the barn are endless. This piece of property on the hillside outside of Oxford town was transformed into an Irish Woodvale that Patrick built in memory of his favorite spot from his homeland in Ireland and has become and will remain Patrick's heart.
I'm grateful to have this man as such a special friend.
If only I could be rich for a moment. I would buy the barn back and work to get it back to the glory it once was.
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