SOUTHERN BELLE DEFINES HOME THROUGH LITERATURE
By Kellin Gibson
It was a truth sentimentally acknowledged that my childhood home in Abingdon, VA could never be replaced. The historic settlement was my haven, the cozy, wondrous dwelling that seemed to have everything to offer. It was that special place that barricaded any fear or worry, a sort of fortress where I was protected by the surrounding Blue Ridge Mountains.
So I wasn’t exactly happy to leave and move seven hours away, from the mountainous southwest to the salted eastern shore, specifically Chesapeake. I felt like a piece of driftwood—broken off and thrown somewhere lost without a purpose. My heart was calling towards home.
When I arrived in Chesapeake, there was neither a divine or heavenly place waiting for me. Instead there was just what seemed like a mocking apartment complex that I refused to call home. I believed nothing could come and rescue me from the life I had just entered. I wanted nothing more than to bring the car back to life and return to the only home I had ever known.
Abingdon to Chesapeake
That move happened three years ago. Now I live in a campus dorm room in Fredericksburg, VA, a world away from the miles of farmland of Abingdon, which I’ve now decided will always feel like my real home.
As I’ve tried to adjust to various communities, I’ve often asked myself what makes Abingdon feel like home to me. What makes Abingdon more “homey” than Chesapeake or Fredericksburg? It’s a question with many answers, but as an English major, I believe that I would find the answer through literature. I wondered, what did great authors think home meant to them.
* * *
After class, I stopped by my creative writing professor’s office to ask him to recollect a literary hero who supplied a definition of home.
His example was promising.
In the short story “Tribulites” by Breece Pancake, the narrator feels the loss of his West Virginia home when his family decides to sell the land.
Professor Pineda explained, “The loss of home is redefining self.”
That’s how I felt. While crossing the many forlorn miles to Chesapeake, I had left a piece of me back in Abingdon. I was half a person. I had lived in Abingdon my whole life, and though I would have said goodbye when I went away to college, my departure had been abrupt. I was not ready to leave just yet. My stay in Chesapeake had only reconfirmed the fact that I was a proud born and raised woman of the South.
Like the narrator in “Tribulites,” I was in search of evidence that would enlighten me regarding the intense connection I felt toward Abingdon. My professor went on to further illuminate me on this subject.
“Home is an entrance into history. It is not encapsulated by time but rather on-going. There was a history there before you came to it, so you automatically feel a connection to the landscape.”
But I did not stop there.
One day, I brought up the subject to one of my classmates, Jordan Schultz, who is also an English and Creative Writing major.
She mentioned one of her favorite novels, North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell.
I had read the book in a previous English class and knew that the idea of home was a major symbol throughout the novel.
I compared myself to the heroine Margaret Hale, who leaves her childhood home in the English countryside of Hampshire and moves with her family to the industrial North of Milton. At first, Margaret struggles to adapt because her life at Hampshire is all she ever knows until she meets the brooding hero, John Thatcher. When Margaret falls in love with John, she comes to terms with herself. Hampshire is only a sweet memory when Margaret chooses to live in Milton with John. For Margaret, the true meaning of home is found through her love for John, thus the concept of home is more of a person than a place.
“Home is something you can make,” Schultz explained. “It’s not really about the place itself or what people you are with, but it’s how you choose to adapt so that place becomes home to you.”
That’s what I had to in Chesapeake, and later, Fredericksburg.
Although I don’t feel exactly nostalgic when I think of Chesapeake, it did help me in a lot of ways when I moved there. When I came to Chesapeake, I had a job waiting for me, and later, I got a better job. On the weekends, I would volunteer at the local humane society. I started going to church again. I became stronger, more independent.
* * *
After talking to my professor and my classmate, I now understood that my home of Abingdon, VA inhabits history, my history. Home defines the history of the family who came before me, my roots. The land where I was born is molded and carved by time. I felt I should have never left because I was like a queen abandoning her kingdom. Abingdon was home because it displayed the essence of me. It was my origin. But for now, I need to use my time away to allow it to redefine me. Life is all about changing. Different scenery could introduce me to new parts of myself. In feeling unmoored I was also experiencing personal growth.
Home to me is not tangible but rather a feeling, a sense of self. Not only is home a feeling of security and comfort, it is also a feeling of strength and fearlessness. Wherever home is for me, I am content.