No, not really. I've been visiting relatives in my hometown in southwestern Pennsylvania; but it amounts to the same thing. Sample dialogue:
Cousin Patty: Now up here on the right, this is where my mom was on the way to pick me up from kindergarten and she killed a pig.
Franklin: She what?
Cousin Patty: She killed a pig. The family that had this farm, they had a pet pig and it'd come out every day and meet their little boy off the school bus, and my mother got too close with the car and she killed the pig.
Franklin: That's terrible.
Cousin Patty: Yeah, for the rest of her life every time she come 'round that corner them people would stand on the porch and scream, 'PIG KILLER!'."
This was followed by cousin Patty's own story of running over a dog she thought was a deer, and my father pointed out a spot where he squashed a wayward chicken with his motorcycle.
The only living thing I've ever killed, aside from the occasional insect, was a potted geranium so I felt quite unable to contribute to the conversation.
On the other hand, I had a great time looking over not one, but two collections of vintage needlework. I'll post those in the next few days, once I'm home again.
In the meantime, a reminder that I'll be shooting for the 1,000 Knitters Project at My Sister's Knits this Friday, October 26 from 5-8 p.m.
I'm wondering if anybody out there might be able to offer me a lift from my place on the north side (4000 north and the lake) over to the shop? If not, I can make do, but I'd be most grateful. (You wouldn't have to drive me home - that's taken care of). If you can help out, please drop a note to franklin at franklinhabit daht cahm. Aside from gratitude, I can offer quite nice yarn.
Gotta go. It's time to skin something or shuck something or harvest something or something.