About three years ago, I got in my car and traveled to a mysterious place called Waco, Nebraska. Trapped by a railroad and encompassed on three other sides by corn fields, it was a quiet area of Nebraska where neighbors knew each other, and Hunter's is a place that is always happening, especially their tractor tread (waffle) fries. As I entered there to begin my first year of teaching, I couldn't help but reiterate the words spoken by Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. I looked at myself in the mirror and said, "I don't think I'm in California anymore." I was so far from home, in a strange environment where people wave to you as you pass them in your car, and watching the Huskers was their religion. I didn't know how to begin a life like this, I was lost. Home. Such a simple word that we take for granted, that is, until we realize we are out of our comfort zone. But what is home? Is it merely a place with four walls and a roof? A place to find shelter and live?...