The woods were where we played, cousins and I. And deep,deep woods they were.
More like forests.
With hindsight of six decades and different automated vehicles, it is plain to see how remote and how dense those woods really were,are.

A few hundred acres for grazing of livestock and planting the food, our grandparent’s place was an oasis plateau partway up a ridge. From the front porch, or kitchen windows, we could look due south across the tops of sections to the river, and beyond to another county, to the edge of another state.

It was magical and real.

To climb north was an exertion that made for strength of more than just the physical. There were so many places of dense vegetation that losing one’s way was easy. Find the breath to climb to the top and direction could be found again in the light at the edge of the witch’s fields. East or west could only exhaust the adventurers as the climb would go down deeper than the lowest valley, and then back up again, only to go down into another gully and back up again, until eventually one of two single lane dirt roads, miles from home, would be found.