My Homeward Bound Vision Quest (Readers Digest Version)

I came to the Abbey knowing this was my oppurtunity to get away. To get away from Hattiesburg, away from the responsibilities I have at home, and away from somethings that were starting to poison my life. I never thought that getting away would only make me want to go back.

I've always been a complete and total New Orleans nut. My home, my city, my Saints, you name it from NOLA, I'll love it. I even like the crazies down in the quarter. All my life, my home has been a huge part of my identity. I was and am Charlotte Brown, a Dominican girl from New Orleans who loves her family and loves Jazzfest more than life itself. But then again, Jazzfest is life. I came here absolutely certain of the definition of home. But, I wanted to know other people's definition. I learned that to the Beguin's in Pontlevoy, their home was a small farm with fresh duck eggs, bike rides after a very long, alcohol ladden meal in the beautiful Loire Valley country side. I learned that to the Austrian man who helped Carlee and I find the Belvedere gardens in Vienna that home was a place to share. In Interlaken, I learned that home was a place to cherish, but that was a lesson I am already familiar with. My friend Peche (like the fruit) lost his house to some very bad flooding in the Swiss Alps, and hearing his story made me think of the thousands of people who had experinced the same thing five years ago in Hurricane Katrina. I learned from him that suffering is universal, not just local. This is a lesson I should have learned years ago, but I was too wrapped in my own sadness to figure it out. And to the Italians home is a source of loud, proud pride. They wear their hearts on their sleeves and they are not afraid express their emotions.

Coming back from Spring Break, seeing my Abbey for the first time was like a fresh breath of air. I hadn't realized that over the past couple of months, I had made a new definition of home.

Home is nights around a table, sharing a meal and fun stories. Home is a ballet in a Viennese opera house. Home is duck egg hunting. Home is being wrapped in plastic while your French professor sings a very scary song. Home is disobeying quiet hours. Home is sharing an experience you'll never be able to fully explain to some other than your fellow Abbey students.

But, home is also where the blues was born, and it takes a cool cat to blow a horn.