“Spring break” is associated with road trips to the beach to party, tan, and kiss some hunks underneath the pier. Well, at least it is at most universities. Here at Arcadia, spring break is associated with traveling to some beautiful foreign country with fellow students to learn (and, most likely, to also party, tan, and kiss some foreign hunks).
Unfortunately, this association is only applicable to first-years. As I am a sophomore, this past spring break I stayed at home in good old Lebanon. No, not the country, though that would probably serve for a more interesting story. I mean Lebanon County, an hour and a half away from Arcadia, but alas, still in Pennsylvania. There, I live in a big, slightly run-down house that was once a church, surrounded by cornfields, cows, silos, and pretty much nothing else. Oh, and a graveyard. Yes, my next-door neighbors are not very lively, literally. Have I painted the picture vividly enough?
Don’t get me wrong—I love Lebanon, in a way. It’s beautiful and peaceful. If you’re the type who prefers lots of nature and landscapes over…well, stuff to do, Lebanon’s the place for you. I do totally enjoy living there (sometimes) because it’s the perfect place to relax when all you want to do is hide away for a while. However, Lebanon pales in comparison to New Zealand, where I spent my spring break with Arcadia’s Spring Preview program as a first-year. Hiking up mountains next to a blue-green ocean, exploring volcanoes, marveling over beautiful rolling hills dotted with sheep, gorging on Maori feasts…it’s hard to top. As this year’s spring break approached, I couldn’t help but long for the smell of the New Zealand beaches, not the smell of cow manure.
All the first-years’ Facebook statuses filled my newsfeed as they understandably became more and more excited over traveling the globe—France, China, Scotland, Israel; the list goes on and on—and I burned with jealousy. Oh, to be a first-year again. I was stuck going back to Lebanon, the bologna capital. No, I didn’t make that up. That’s quite seriously my hometown’s claim to fame. People like our bologna.
The beginning of March flew by, and finally, spring break had come. I was on my way home in my Grand Prix, the windows down and the music blasting. After getting off the turnpike, I motored down the road. The beautiful thing about Lebanon is the high speed limits, since there aren’t too many people on the road at one time. As I drove, I couldn’t help but smile when I passed the spring flowers surrounding my old high school and the cows munching on the green grass nearby. I had really missed this place.
When I pulled into the driveway, my two wimpy little dogs bolted across the yard towards my car, my mom only a few paces behind. As my dogs howled and jumped up in excitement, my mom opened her arms, her face beaming. “I’m so happy you’re home!” she laughed, hugging me.
As I smelled her perfume on her sweater and felt the dogs trying to worm their way into our embrace, I came to a realization: I never truly left home. I may have traveled an hour and a half away to Glenside, and I may have traveled all the way across the globe, seventeen hours ahead. But no matter where I was, I was still Sammy Nickalls from Lebanon, PA, the bologna capital. I was still my parents’ daughter. Even when I was in another hemisphere, I was thinking about this place, from the cornfields to my big, run-down house to the people in it. No matter where I go, I will always have that piece of me.
My mom and I stood, still embracing, in the middle of the yard with the dogs barking at our heels. I smiled as I realized that at that moment, even if someone walked up to me and offered to send me all over the globe, I wouldn’t want to unless I could take these people with me. After all, home is where the heart is, and no matter where I go, mine will always remain in the bologna capital.
