Borders, Wildflowers, and What Travel Has Taught Me About Being Human

Jumpingpound Trail, looking into Kananaskis

By Shannon Hurst | Gower Media

I just got back from another whirlwind trip to the U.S., this time to Billings, Montana, for my oldest son Jordan’s baseball tournament. Four days of cheering from the stands, camping in my truck, cold tea, dugout dust, and those quiet little heart-snap moments where you see your kid doing what they love and suddenly, the world feels soft and right.

These trips have become almost routine now, with long stretches of highway, sports gear crammed into the back, snack stops, and car rides that smell vaguely like dirty socks and adventure.

But what hasn’t become routine, what continues to surprise and deeply move me, is the kindness I encounter across the border.

As I watched people interact in parking lots, restaurants, and the bleachers, something kept bubbling up: a sense of connection, unexpected and refreshing, especially when the news so often tells a very different story about our countries.

And it’s made me think: with all the noise lately around U.S.- Canada relations, immigration, politics, conflict, and division, what if we’ve forgotten who we really are underneath it all?

As the hours of the beautiful, yet rainy, drive home passed, I knew I couldn’t ignore the urge to write about it.

This week, I’m stepping away from my usual comparisons between writing and nature (though don’t worry, they’ll make an appearance), and instead I want to talk about borders, people, perception, and why travel, both at home and abroad, is more important than ever.

Top of Sulphur Mountain, Banff

I Am a Proud Canadian

Let me start by saying this, I am deeply, fiercely proud to be Canadian.

Over my fifty-plus years, I’ve had the absolute honour of traveling across every major city in this country and thousands of small towns in between. I’ve paddled hidden lakes in BC, eaten poutine in Montreal at 2 a.m., wandered the alleys of St. John’s listening to incredible music, stood awestruck by the tides in Fundy, cheered on the Blue Bombers in Winnipeg, and explored the crisp northern reaches of the territories.

And what I’ve come to love most about Canada is its diversity, not just in landscape, but in people, culture, and community. From prairie skies to dense coastal fog, we are a patchwork of experience.

Any time someone asks me for tips on where to go or what to do in a certain region, I light up. I love sharing those off-the-map gems. That little diner in the Maritimes. That lakeside cabin in the Rockies. That hidden trail through the moss-covered forest. Our country is rich with wonder, and I will never stop singing its praises.

Bryce Canyon

But I’ve Also Been to 47 U.S. States, And They’re Incredible, Too

Yes, I’ve been totally blessed to travel to 47 U.S. states. And let me tell you, they are just as diverse, beautiful, and surprising.

The red rock deserts of Utah. The soul-filled streets of New Orleans. The lush backroads of Vermont. The thunderous pace of Manhattan. The sweeping silence of Montana. Each place has its own rhythm, and each one has introduced me to extraordinary people.

And here’s what I’ve learned:

We Canadians pride ourselves on kindness. And yes, we are kind. But so are people everywhere.

In the U.S., I’ve been met with generosity that stopped me in my tracks.

People have upgraded our hotel rooms for being nice. Paid for our breakfast because they enjoyed our conversation. Shared their stories, asked about our country, and even apologized on behalf of their government, which always humbles me, because they aren’t the ones making political decisions.

They are just people. Like us. Trying to live well.

When we’re honest and respectful, when we walk in with humility instead of entitlement, we’re met with the same. And when you lead with openness, kindness usually meets you halfway.

I could fill pages with stories from this year’s travels:

• In Florida, a campground owner refused to let us pay, simply as a thank-you for visiting and being kind.

• In Nashville, our hotel room was upgraded to a luxury suite just for showing up with a smile.

• In New Orleans, a young mother, dreaming of visiting Canada, upgraded our stay, while a waiter treated us like absolute royalty.

• In Houston, a stadium security guard cracked jokes, offered tips, and thanked us, yes, us, for attending a game.

• Just last weekend at Stella’s in Billings, we had amazing conversations over breakfast with couples we’d just met. One couple from Houston bought us dessert. Another paid for our breakfast. Complete strangers.

What do all of these people have in common?

They are not the antagonist. They are not the headlines. They are simply human and beautifully so.

So many strangers have gone out of their way to be warm, generous, and welcoming. And like I previously mentioned, some even apologize, for politics, for past missteps, for things that are far beyond their personal control.

And that breaks my heart a little, because the average American isn’t launching a war. They aren’t writing trade policy or closing borders. They’re living, loving, and doing their best, just like we are.

Mount Rushmore, South Dakota

The Truth About Borders

There’s so much fear around borders these days. The media tells us to be cautious. That things are dangerous. That people from “over there” are somehow threats. But every time I cross the border, I’m reminded of something powerful once again:

The average person is not the conflict.

They are just another flower in the field.

Every time I cross into the U.S., I do so with respect and honesty. I know it’s a privilege to be welcomed into another country. And yet, with all the online chatter and rising tension in our global conversations, you’d think people were building fences with fire.

But here’s the truth: every single time I’ve entered the U.S. this year, I’ve been treated with respect.

Bourbon Street, New Orleans

Travel Teaches Us to See

It’s easy to sit at home and criticize the world. It’s easy to judge what we don’t know. It’s far harder, but infinitely more rewarding, to go out and see it for ourselves.

That’s why I believe so strongly in the power of travel, not just abroad, but within our own country.

It builds empathy. It encourages curiosity. It reminds us that everyone has a story and that most people, regardless of where they’re from, want the same things: safety, connection, joy, purpose.

We don’t need to agree on everything. But we do need to talk.Real conversations, not shouting matches, not online wars. Quiet moments over breakfast. Shared laughter with a stranger. Honest questions, asked with humility.

Kananskis

Wildflowers and the Wisdom of Meadows

This brings me back to nature (you didn’t think I’d leave it out entirely, did you?).

People are like wildflowers in an alpine meadow.

We are different colours, shapes, sizes, and species. Some of us thrive in shade, others need direct sun. Some bloom quickly and fade. Others root deep and last through storms. And yet, we all need the same basics:

☀️ Light💧 Water🌱 Nourishment🌬️ Space

And what’s more, when you step back from the individual blooms and take in the whole meadow, it’s absolutely breathtaking. The beauty isn’t in the uniformity, it’s in the tapestry, the interconnectedness, the collective resilience.

In the forest, trees and flowers are connected by a mycorrhizal network, a web of underground fungi that allows plants to communicate, share nutrients, and support one another. It’s how a healthy ecosystem thrives. When one part is under attack, by poison, drought, or disease, the rest respond. They help contain the threat. They lift one another up.

People can do the same.

We must do the same.

Yellowstone National Park

Even the Poison Has a Place

I’m not naïve. I know there are toxic plants. There are harmful people. There is pain, and there is danger, and there is evil in the world. But even poison plays a role in an ecosystem. Its presence strengthens the good. The mycelium gets smarter. The flowers grow stronger.

The same goes for us. When we’re confronted with fear, division, or cruelty, we bond together. We talk across tables, we upgrade each other’s hotel rooms, we share pie with strangers from another country.

One Wildflower Can Still Make a Difference

One of the most common phrases I hear is: “But what can I do? I’m just one person.”

Here’s the truth: you don’t need to storm Capitol Hill to make a difference. In fact, I believe there are a million better ways.

Be kind. Be curious. Buy local. Support your neighbours, even the ones across the border. Share knowledge. Listen more. Judge less. Ask people about their favourite place in their hometown. Tell them about yours.

Even the smallest act of grace matters. It ripples. It multiplies.

My boys a few years back, taking in the Grand Canyon

Final Thoughts: See the Flower, Then Step Back

So yes, I’ve been to the U.S. a lot this year. And not once have I felt unwelcome. What I have felt is this: hope.

Hope in the smiles of waitstaff. Hope in the laughter of strangers at baseball games. Hope in the shared stories of travel, kids, and dreams.

We’re not perfect. No country is. No human is. But when I look at the people I’ve met, not the politics, I see a field of wildflowers. Vibrant. Resilient. Beautiful on their own, but even more breathtaking together.

Each one unique. Each one worthy. And together we form a quilt more beautiful than any one of us alone.

So yes, pause to admire the individual blooms. Their scent. Their shape. Their story. But don’t forget to step back. Look at the entire tapestry.

That’s where the magic is.

Let’s remember that.

One more final thought, in this world, we’re often told to be vigilant. To protect our borders. To stick with “our kind.”

But the longer I travel, the more people I meet, and the deeper I listen, the more I realize:

We are all wildflowers in the same meadow, and it's beautiful.

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