I can’t sleep. After a harrowing several days simply surviving, I arrived in Wichita, Kansas yesterday with a couple of hours to kill before Christy and Tre were picking me up, four hours round-trip for them from the 80-acre farm owned and operated by the Dominican Sisters of Peace.

After my excellent five-mile bike ride around Wichita, they arrived to much of my squealing delight. Have I known these people forever, or do our hearts and minds just know when we are home?

They took me grocery shopping with a generous weekly stipend. They shared about their lives and the small towns and cities we drove through on the way to the farmstead. We laughed comfortably together and I felt welcome — which, I’ve learned while traveling Round America with a Duck, is no small thing.

We entered the farmstead on a long gravel road. Even lit just by stars and moon, they were able to point out the alpaca barn. The spinning/pottery studio. The silo converted into a meditation space. The chicken barn. The office. The gift shop that sells soft, warm alpaca-wool socks and freshly-made jams.

And then we arrived at my spotlessly-cleaned, fully equipped house. Full kitchen. Three bedrooms. Wood floor. Quilts. Indoor modern bathroom (hurray!). Washing machine. Fresh eggs in the fridge and a loaf of sourdough bread baked for me by a nun. In short, heaven on earth.

And to think I almost disrespected myself enough to accept a filthy, rodent-infested old camper elsewhere. Thank God, and these self-less souls in Kansas, that I didn’t.

Now, finally feeling safe, welcome, and cared for again, I am ready to get to work.

Sleep can wait.