The sunflowers have been here for as long as Katija Stankiewicz can remember. Her grandmother planted the first seeds when the family relocated from Belarus in the late 1870s. It has always been Katija’s job to tend to the flowers.
The air is crisp, and the frost still covers the barren potato fields that surround the village. The only sounds that can be heard for miles come from a small group of chickens pecking on the dusty road, and the subtle humming of a barbed-wire fence that marks the border between Lithuania and Belarus.
Here, in the so-called Dieveniškės “appendix,” as it is known locally, national borders have been redrawn at least five times in less than a century.