I’m so pleased you posted this, its one of the Georgian quirks that fascinates me, and is quintessentially Georgiam, just as beetlenut chewing reminds me of my work in India. Funny what sticks in your mind and reminds you of places long since travelled:)
Rustavi, Georgia. It’s a windy city. The wind blows often and it blows hard. The wind brings with it earaches, dust, and a strong desire to stay indoors. This wind has many voices. When I’m inside, it’s a high-pitch howling as it tries to bypass the windows. It’s the flap and snap of half-dry laundry. It’s a rustling ocean of leaves. It’s the scuttle-y skitter of millions and millions of sunflower seed husks.
Sunflower seed husks? Millions and millions? Yep.
For me, sunflower seeds are nostalgic of summertime, of Little League, of nascent baseball somebodies carrying on a hymn of cracking, nibbling, and spitting in the dugout. Strike! Crack! Spit! Batter up! Nibble! You’re out! Spit nibble crack spit!
But Rustavi has no Little League baseball team. And it’s not even summer yet. What, then, can possibly explain the torrent of sunflower seed husks dancing in the breeze along Megobroba…
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