I’m beginning to question myself. Pulling back into Lake In Wood campground the other day we found ourselves saying it’s good to be back home. Home? What is that? My quest was that the bus would be our only home for the next few years, with anywhere America becoming our backyard. But this place is creeping into my psyche. Both Robin and I are finding solace, camaraderie, and a sense of ownership while working here in the cafe. This feeling is the antithesis of wanderlust. Coming to work in the mornings is not like actually going to work. We get to meet new people everyday, commiserate with those of the recent past, and I find myself looking at the grille as my palette in which to compose another piece of art cuisine. It’s almost scary. Last night we went out with other workampers for dinner. That’s the Thursday night ritual. And I’m reminded once again that it’s not about the location, or the amenities, or the job. It’s about the people, that human interaction of which is so tantamount to contentment. Everyday we’re reminded of what a good choice this was, deciding on living with a myriad of gnomes.