The innocence of being in your mid teens and heading to the woods, sometimes alone, sometimes as part of the orange army with the
old guys, a generation ahead of you, you know,
old like their mid 40's
No ghosts in the woods for me then, just exuberance. Now when I sit, I remember the ones that've been called home and their memories.
Good ol' days for me.... Freedom hunting small game in the mid 80's. Running a trap line before school, getting off the bus and grabbing my single shot, breaktop 20ga, a vest with brass showing in every shell loop with #6's and lacing up Redwings I bought with yard mowing

they had so much mink oil rubbed into them, had to be 4lbs a boot.
Our farm butted up to 3 1/2 square miles of undeveloped Industrial land, some farms I worked on and had permission to hunt. I'd let Fred my beagel off his run and we were off. No cellphone, no camera, no watch, just off to explore and hunt with a good dog. Bunnies were the mainstay with a glorious rooster once in awhile. Watch the sun and try to make it home for dinner. Get maybe 3 hours in.
Saturday (no hunting on Sunday) same routine but pack a pb&j and a canteen, no water bottles back then and head out with the buddies, 3 to 5 14-15 y/o's they'd bring their hounds, some were pups from my pair, Fred and Maude...
Joshing and laughs the entire day, ribbing about misses, hollering about hits, being young men, figuring it out.