I was a young teen and at my grandparents' farm one day. It happened to be the day they decided to make blood sausage. URP. The smell was awful. There wasn't air conditioning in the house so it was hot, humid, and smelly. I offered to make the casings that grandma was sewing out of some sort of cheesecloth or something similar. I worked away on a treadle machine near a window in the hall in the hopes that I could escape some of the smell. Needless to say, I didn't eat any of the stuff being cooked up in the kitchen. Grandpa loved that stuff, with maple syrup.
I'm your huckleberry.
