I was a kid during that time frame too. I lived in paradise - a dairy farm with creeks and woods, and I had the run of them. It was not unusual to tent camp overnight in the woods, walk 50 feet to the creek, and catch trout for breakfast. The trout would be supplemented with wild blackberries, apples, and the sweetest black cherries I have ever eaten, picked off a tree by the road.
My brother and I were usually within earshot, but if we didn’t come after first call, the conch trumpet always got our attention. I had read about the Polynesians using a conch shell for a horn. We pestered Mom to buy us one until she finally relented (I can remember they had large boxes full of them in the local grocery store). I knocked the end off of it with a lucky hammer blow, and danged if it didn’t work! Sounded like a diesel horn.
I feel sorry for my grandkids - they have no idea what they have missed.