Walking Blind

By Tom Rudloff

The morning brought a new questionwould anything be different? Well, I was still in the shed, wearing worn rags, and feeling the effects of Cains wrath. But my perspective was different. I rolled of out of bed slowly, painfully, but with a new outlook. My robotic attitude had been replaced by a renewed determination. I knew it was my choice if things were going to go differently. If I chose that path, I knew God would help me. Somehow, I also knew he didnt want me in this place anymore than I wanted to be here. This was possibly a new day, and the choice was mine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524547271

Tom Rudloff

Tom Rudloff is a father of four grown children and the grandfather of more than three times that many. He and his wife, Nanette, live on a small farm in the rolling hills of Missouri. He is a bivocational minister working in automation electronics during the week. It is from his ministry that he pulls the perspective for his writing, hoping people will learn from his mistakes and grow to fully enjoy life as he has.

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Copyright © 2016 by Tom Rudloff.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/29/2016

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CONTENTS

Packing and Planning

The First Step

Wise Ride

Tough Travels

Cowboy or Slave

Possible New Day

First Step Again

Fighting Direction

I Want to Get Off

The Toughest Fight

Here I Go Again

Long Live King

Packing and Planning

I had just crested a small rise that was somewhat open. I could see out over the trees as the valley spread below me. In the background were the rolling hills of Missouri that made up the stomping grounds that I often played in. If someone had handed me a pencil and some paper right then, I could have made them a map on the spot—sketches of the trails and deer runs that covered much of the local territory. Everything was recorded in my head.

It was the autumn of 1973, and I had just turned thirteen. I was the only person around for miles, and that knowledge filled me with a sense of adventure that I relished. I felt like I was a part of these woods, and they were a part of me. I just had to be in them, even during the summer months which meant putting up with the chiggers and ticks and tolerating the poison ivy. However, fall and winter were the best seasons to be spending long hours in the forest. Today the trees were aflame with oranges and reds, along with the unavoidable tans and browns. A breeze picked up a swirl of leaves and carried them off. I followed with my eyes and longed to go with them. Like the leaves, something inside me swirled to see more of the wild things. I wanted to know what that particular hillside looked like, or if a creek or stream traveled down where that valley met those ridges.

This was, I thought, the world I should be living in. I would often dream of seeing through the eyes of the first white man that had ever seen this country. I loved playing make-believe, about being out on my own, being able to travel and provide for myself. I had tracked the animals often enough to know that I was fairly good at it. I could read the signs around me and know where to find game or a good place to camp for the night. I would dream in my head of a place where there were no roads or cars, a country in which houses had not changed the landscape and people had not intruded. Deep thoughts for a thirteen-year-old, I know, but I’d been thinking like this since I was ten or so. That’s when my family had moved here. The first time I experienced being surrounded by the Ozark woods, I was hooked. I had an overwhelming desire to get lost in it—to get away from everything and everyone.

Oh it wasn’t that my home was an unhappy one, quite the opposite. I was on the low end of a big family. There were eleven of us. Holidays were a huge deal with Mom cooking up a storm and us eating like crazy. Extended family was invited in, and the house rang with laughter and voices, even singing at times. On those special days, you felt like you belonged somewhere. Even on the not-so-special days there were chores and work, which also provided me with a sense of purpose. I loved doing with my hands and straining with my back. I know I’m only 10, I would say, but I can do it; and I often would. At that time in my life I was a roly-poly kind of kid, but learned early how to use that weight to move things along.

During the summers, you would find me shirtless more often than not, running free, swimming, wandering in the woods, and playing at whatever our imaginations could dream up. And wow, what imaginations! One time we spent days just emptying out a partially hollowed-out log and digging out tunnels to hide in. The old log became our Fort. Long days in the sun would turn my skin a dark brown, to the point that I must have looked pretty odd when I smiled, all that brown and a little white line of teeth. We had a tire swing hung between two old junk cars. My brothers and I would swing from one vehicle to the other, jumping off the tire onto one roof. Then, barely having time to catch our footing, we would hop onto the swing as it came back, only to let go and land on roof of the other old junker. What fun! What timing. Not bad for a kid, unless of course you missed and fell to the ground. No matter how many scrapes we got falling off, we couldn’t go crying to Mommy; we’d have gotten in trouble for doing such a foolish thing in the first place.

So you can see, my discontentment had nothing to do with coming from a poor family; I don’t even think I knew what the word poor meant back then. We were happy enough without money. No, it came from a yearning inside—a constant nagging to answer questions like: What’s over there? I wonder if I can? What am I missing out on? What else can I do? I started thinking more about going and seeing, leaving and doing. Not just playing or dreaming, as I had for the past three years, but actually living the rugged life. At times I would think so seriously about it that I would get scared and stop. However, the desire continually stirred me until my mind finally submitted to the call to dream, think, and even plan.

Sometime shortly after Christmas, I picked a date. I settled on the spring, at Easter time. School always let us out a few days before that weekend. I decided that the warmer weather would be better to walk in, and the school break would open the door to a few extra days without anyone looking for me. I would get that far in the plan, and my thirteen year old mind would almost break down to the point that tears would well up in my eyes. Was this play and pretend again, or was this really what I was going to do? Was this a kid’s dream or a real plan? I’d push it back and run off and play or ride my bike, but it was only a short period of time until the constant waves would crash over the wall, and I would begin planning again.

Here’s how it would work. I would pack my stuff, hide it in the woods the night before, and act like nothing was going on. I would tell Mom that I was spending two nights with a friend from school, lying about all the plans we had made for spring break, and that I would go home with him as soon as the final bell rang. But in reality, I would cut out of school, head through the woods, hustle my way back to my pack, and set out for Colorado. At that point, I would usually take a deep breath and reflect for a moment. This was getting serious. I knew it was a good plan, and that it might work. So I must be seriously thinking about doing this. But I was only thirteen; I didn’t even know how to get to Colorado! However, I told myself not to worry about that. I just kept planning and figuring out what to pack.

One cold, snowy day, I was in my room and laid out everything I thought I should pack for the trip. It was fun looking at what I had, and what I would take. I had hunting gear, and camping equipment, fishing tackle and such. Then I looked around and figured there must have been a hundred pounds of stuff laying there. No way could I carry so much to the edge of our woods, much less all the way to Colorado. I started over. I began to become more realistic about what I needed. Just a few clothes would have to do, then food, and water which became obviously more important. I figured that for spring and summer I would maybe need a light jacket, and planned to buy some winter clothes after I worked for a while. Not the greatest plan, but it was the best I could come up with, and I just hoped it would work out. If I was going to follow through with my dream, I had to accept that most of the gear I wanted to take would have to be left behind. I felt that the backpack I had was the right size for the trip, but I knew that not very much was going to fit into it. Ah, well, the lighter I traveled, the faster I would make it to my destination.

It was not at all odd for Mom to see me going through the house and out the door with my pack on my back. I had been playing the role of explorer for years now, and she thought it was adorable. The more I did it, the less she noticed. It opened the door for me to practice and see what worked and what didn’t. It even helped me get used to the extra weight. Most evenings after school I’d grab my pack and head out for a walk, pushing myself to go farther and farther. Since I had little idea of what I was actually going to do when I got out to Colorado, I didn’t really know what to bring. It became clear that I needed to start working on a second plan. The first one would get me where I was going, but I needed a plan for supporting myself after I arrived.

I had heard that a person could find a ranch and get a job as a