Books · Christmas · family · Memories · Mom · My Thoughts

Holiday Magic: A Mid-Summer Touch of Christmas

Holiday Magic

Do you need some holiday magic right now? While the July heat has us all reaching for extra ice in our tea, my thoughts have been drifting toward a different kind of warmth—the kind that comes from a crackling fireplace, the scent of fresh pine, and the chaotic joy of a family gathered together.

They say it’s never too early to start celebrating, so today I’m bringing a little “Christmas in July” to my blog. I’m featuring my memoir, Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Christmas Memoir. This book is a collection of my favorite festive memories—from the spiritual beauty of the season to those hilarious, “only-in-our-family” moments that make the holidays so unforgettable.

Whether you’re a long-time reader or new to my stories, I hope this snippet brings a smile to your face and a bit of holiday spirit to your summer day.

Cutting Down a Christmas Tree - Holiday Magic

We never bought a Christmas tree when I was growing up. Why would we? Growing up in southeastern Colorado, we could choose a tree on our family ranch to become our star Christmas tree every year —free for the selection and lots of fun.

Mom and I would start looking for the year’s Christmas tree in October, during hunting season, as we walked the canyons, measuring trees in our minds.

“There’s the perfect one.” Mom pointed to a small three-foot piñon pine tree that she wanted to put up on the coffee table. She went on and on about the virtues of a small tree. Dad, Bub, my brother, and I moaned and groaned. Oh, not this again, but we knew her—she always wanted a small tree, and we didn’t.

Driving a little farther near the canyon, I spotted a regal six-foot piñon pine tree and exclaimed, “Here it is! Let’s mark this one. This is it, for sure—our Christmas tree for this year.”

Dad and Bub nodded their heads in agreement. We continued our lighthearted banter back and forth about small trees versus big trees. Then we would continue our task of hunting for deer to have venison for the winter. This routine repeated itself throughout the months of October and November and into the beginning of December if Dad or Bub didn’t get a deer. With the three of us outnumbering her, Mom often lost the tree size debate.

One year, though, we three “big Christmas tree lovers” overdid ourselves.

It was early December, and the time had come to cut down our tree. For some reason, Mom didn’t go—too busy baking our fudge, divinity, and other Christmas goodies. Without her there, the three of us could choose a big tree that year with no fuss. We scouted out the ones I had mentally marked throughout the fall, but Dad and Bub spied one they wanted that wasn’t on the list. The saw came out, and they cut it down as a team, laughing about how Mom would react.

Yes, it looked fabulous out on the ranch against the deep blue sky and the snow drifts surrounding it. We admired our tree and laughed about Mom’s possible response. What added to the joy of our selection—it was our first year in our new home with much higher ceilings, so the taller the tree, the better.

As we drove home, we prepared for Mom’s comments, rehearsing our answers to her probing questions. We drove up to the front of our house and backed the pickup into the driveway so it would be easier to get the tree out. Already Dad and Bub had lamented about the sticky sap on their hands.

My part of the plan was to distract Mom while the guys brought the tree up. I hurried up the walk to get to Mom before she could see what we brought. She stuck her head out the door, quizzing me about the size. Kidding her, I replied, “It’s your size.” Her laugh told me she didn’t believe it.

Normally Dad could carry our tree by himself, but it took both Dad and Bub to carry this one up the sidewalk and lay it on the front porch. As I stood measuring the tree in my mind, the tree seemed to go on forever.

Dad retrieved his hacksaw from the pickup and cut the bottom of the stump off evenly, a usual practice to fit it in the tree stand. The savory pine sap aroma filled the air. Still on its side, he easily slid it into the stand, tightened the bolts, and they stood it up. In our excitement to find the best tree, and thinking our ceiling higher than it was, we made a major mistake!

I held the screen door open, but already I realized we were    in trouble. Bub and Dad wrestled to get the tree through the door. They tried to carry it upright in the stand, but it wouldn’t fit, so they laid it out lengthwise and finally shoved it through. Thank God it was freshly cut or pine needles would have scattered everywhere!

Mom watched this show with amusement but was wise enough not to say anything. Dad and Bub set the stand on the floor by the front window, which Mom had cleared to showcase our tree to the passing traffic, and raised the tree.

All four of us gasped at the same time—the tree reached the ceiling and curled down at least a foot! What were we to do now?

Mom finally chimed in, “Don’t forget to leave room for the star on top.”

Dad took control. “That’s easily fixed.” He and Bub wrestled the tree out the door again. Once it was on the porch, Dad cut a foot and a half off the stump of the tree, and a few lower branches, and brought the shortened tree in and set it up. Dad’s precision cut allowed just enough room for our traditional angel on top.

We stood back and admired our beautiful six-foot-plus piñon pine tree. Already its aromatic fragrance filled the room. Our decorations were stacked in boxes nearby, so now the fun of decorating began.

After our sigh of relief and chuckles, Mom took one last look at our tree before decorating and said, “Next year I’m for sure going with you three so we can get a smaller tree.”

We all laughed, happy with our selection.

© Horner Publishing Company 2023

In 2024, I wrote in my blog about where this advertising idea of Christmas in July came from and shared another chapter of this book:

Do you cut down your own tree now? Did you do it as a child? Any favorite memories? What holiday magic did you enjoy?

Larada Horner-Miller - holiday magic
I believe in holiday magic all year long!


Don’t let the summer heat keep you from the holiday spirit. For a limited time starting July 13, you can grab your copy of Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming and Humorous Christmas Memoir for just $9.50 (normally $15.00)!

Whether you’re looking for a laugh or a touch of seasonal magic to brighten your July, this is the perfect time to add this collection of memories to your shelf, holiday magic ahead of time.

Click here to buy your copy of Hair on Fire for only $9.50!



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Dad · Holidays · Memories · Mom · MY LIFE · My Thoughts · square dance

If Your Dad Is Still Alive: Hug Him Today!

Dad, as a young man
Dad, as a young man

If your dad is still alive today—hug him! My dad died January 6, 1996, thirty years ago. I would love to hear his voice, smell his leathery sweat from his cowboy shirt and hat, and hug his lean firm body.

As I’ve thought about writing this blog on Father’s Day 2026, I have lingered over the loss of my dad. After thirty years, you might think I was over the pain, the loss, but no! If I could dance once more with him and do his unique dance steps he taught Mom and me, I would celebrate.

Dad riding his favorite horse, Rusty
Dad riding his favorite horse, Rusty

Dad led a full rich rancher’s life. He worked besides his dad until Granddad died November 6, 1966. They didn’t always agree on everything, but they had a system that worked.

After Granddad died, Mom stepped in to be his right-hand woman. Daily she went with him to the ranch, doing whatever the season required: feeding cattle and digging out of snow drifts in the winter, calving in the spring, preparing for shipping calves in the fall, and stepping back to relax in the summer. His eyes lit up when he bragged on how much she helped.

He loved his brand, Lazy H Spear Point. He put this on the calves when he branded them each spring. Yes, it hurt. I remember the smell of the hair burning, but the state required it to protect the ranchers from cattle rustling. You can see it on Dad’s tie in the first picture above.

Dad and Granddad ran Herefore cattle. He often said, “My favorite colors in the world are red, white and green: Hereford cattle in a green pasture.”

Dad and Mom danced whenever and wherever they could. Remember, they met on the dance floor. They loved the local country and western dances in the Branson gym. I remember watching them glide across the dance floor so fluid and graceful—to me they competed with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Dad always had a dance or two for me. And he often danced with nieces and great nieces. At many dances around the area, they had a tradition of exchanging dances with other couples too.

 Often after the Branson dances, they hosted After Parties at our house. I remember the living room and dining room overflowing with friends, laughter and alcohol!

They also loved to square dance. Dad was our 4-H club caller and taught many members to square dance. They traveled hundreds of miles to dance and made lifelong friends with square dancers all over southeastern Colorado, northeastern New Mexico and beyond.

When we were growing up, Dad didn’t have the means to travel much. When I was ten years old, we did a trip to San Diego, California to my half-brother’s graduation. While there, we went to Disneyland and had an amazing trip.

Later in my teen years, we made other trips to San Diego for Christmas.

After I left home, I went with Mom and Dad on several local trips around Colorado and New Mexico. We also traveled to California to see us family out there. On almost every trip we took, he had several rules: get up early and travel until about 10:30 PM each night. I fought with him to stop earlier so I could enjoy the motel’s swimming pool. Once he did and I had a blast. Another rule he had—we could only be gone a week. Dad was such a country boy; he couldn’t accept being away from home and the ranch for very long.

They traveled to Nashville on a tour and had an amazing time.

Dad was a family man. He took care of his parents until their dying days.

He had three children with his first wife and two with my mom. They had nine grandchildren and I’ve lost count of the great grandchildren. He did not live to see many of his great grandchildren.

Holiday gatherings like Thanksgiving and Christmas meant the world to him. He never joined us in the games around the round table in the dining room, but often I saw him laughing a long with us and keeping up with the conversation going around the table.

I long for another dance around the gym floor in Branson, in his arms as he leads me through the waltz or two-step. Anytime I heard “In the Mood” at a dance with Dad, I would grab him to dance because that’s the rhythm he did his unusual movement. Oh, to do that again!!!

But mostly I’d like a hug, a bear hug and a whisper in his ear, “Happy Father Day.” I know his reaction—he’d smile and snuggle close and say, “Shorty, I love you.” You can’t beat that!

Is your dad alive? Hug him if he’s near. Call him if he lives away from you. Celebrate him today! And let me know what you did!

My Last Dance With Dad!
My Last Dance With Dad!

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Dad · family · Holidays · My Thoughts

How My Dad Became a Real Cowboy

My Cowboy Dad
My Cowboy Dad

Because it’s June, I want to share more about Dad. Father’s Day is coming next Sunday, so I’m still celebrating him. His family transplanted from Tulsa, Oklahoma to Branson, Colorado because of my his health.

Dad Immediately Loved It!

Somehow very soon, Granddad bought Dad and Aunt Helen a horse and Dad’s life was changed forever more. They moved in April 1927 and they had their first horse by May 1927. He never told any stories of a horse in Oklahoma. They lived in the city, so I don’t think it wasn’t possible.

He quickly learned to ride, and any time my grandparents needed to find him, they just looked for him and his horse. Because he was a natural, horseback riding became his major hobby.

He attended Branson school and graduated there in 1937. I loved to hear his stories about tricks and antics they pulled on the superintendent and other students. Somehow a car ended up on the roof. They turned over many outhouses, and were surprised if someone was in it then.

It was a carefree life.

The Horner Ranch Started

Granddad as mail carrier in blizzard in 1930 - Dad
Granddad as mail carrier in blizzard in 1930

My grandparents, dad and aunt arrived in Colorado in 1927. Granddad immediately realized he had an edge on the other ranchers in the area because he had a job working for the post office, delivery mail to the ranchers east of town. He started buying land and cattle in 1927. Granddad wheeled and dealt with the bank for loans and worried about increasing his debt. Also, he dealt with other ranchers in the area who were building their ranches too.

When the depression hit in 1929, Granddad’s postal job really helped him buy up land and pay off the loans he accrued. And Dad enjoyed every minute of the ranching life Granddad provided for him.

World War II & Being a 4-F

Horses, ranching and cattle became Dad’s life. After he graduated, he went to work with Granddad on the ranch he had put together, and he worked it for the rest of his life.

When World War II hit, Dad stayed home while many of his friends went to fight the war. He rated a 4-F because of his health—the asthma.  When he shared these stories, he had shame about it, but he found a way to serve. He did day labor on ranches around the area whose sons went to war.

Dad loved to work on Louden ranch, east of Branson, near Mesa de Maya. He had hilarious stories about working there and having lunch with Dick and Zita Louden. I think his presence helped them with the ranch work, but it also diverted their worries away from their sons being gone.

Dad told stories about going to Trinidad, Las Animas County seat, to get tires for the ranch truck. They rationed the tires, so he had to be wise about what he did. The man ahead of him in line told the judge he needed four tires and the judge said that was excessive, so he shooed him out of the courthouse. Dad listened and asked for two and got two. He thought he was pretty smart learning from the other man’s greed.

Dad’s First Marriage

He married Nell Williams from Walsenburg, Colorado. They lived in a house near our ranch’s headquarters. They had three children but divorced in 1946. During this time, he grew his herd but lost half of it with the divorce.

Dad spent five years single but having his children as often as possible. Nell moved to Denver, so they were 250 miles away. Around this time, his sister divorced, so he stepped in helped with her two sons.

In fact, I was visiting with her eldest son today, and he said, “Your dad, Granddad and Grandma raised me because Mom was too busy.”

Dad ventured out in his cattle buying during these and some years he did well and others he lost money.

Life Changed for Dad

So in 1949, life changed for Dad. He met my mom at a dance and he was smitten. She had eyed his dance moves and wanted to dance with him but worried she couldn’t keep up. One night he sauntered across the dance floor to a group of young ladies. Mom hoped he chose her, but she wasn’t sure.

He did, and they became a couple.

One night they had plans to go to the Crystal Lounge in Raton, New Mexico and dance. The owner knew Mom was underage, so he threw them out. Apparently, she hadn’t been truthful with Dad about her age. Dad stayed away for a year until she turned 21 and. . .

Finally,

Yes, my dad became a real cowboy—he smelled of sweat, leather and manure. I’ll keep the story going next week with what happened with my parents.


For more of my dad’s story and how my Granddad put our ranch together during the depression, check out my book I co-created with Dad and Mom, Let Me Tell You a Story. It’s available as paperback, e-book and audiobook format.


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Time Measured Out!: Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetry, Book #2 e-book

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Was It a Dream?: Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetry, Book #1 – e-book

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Dad · family · My Thoughts · Ranching

Father’s Day: An Early June Celebration

Happy Father's Day - early

Let’s start early on celebrating Father’s Day. Yes, it’s two weeks away, but I want to share my father with you, Harold Horner and his story and how it unfolded.

Where Dad Started

Harold Horner was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma on March 20, 1918, the eldest child of Laurence and Pearle and the first grandchild, celebrated and spoiled by both sides of the family. Because of Dad having “a touch of tuberculosis” that turned into asthma, his family doctor encouraged his young parents to relocate to a higher and drier climate. Such a twist of fate!

I can’t imagine the heartbreak for both sets of grandparents as the possibility of a move of this couple and their children hundreds of miles away loomed overhead. And what about my grandparents? They had lived near their parents their whole lives, but the health of their eldest won out.

Granddad carried the mail in Tulsa after trying his hand at a bike repair business with his brother. Way before the internet, he somehow connected with Mr. Bass in Branson, Colorado and they exchanged jobs. I have idea how they connected, but they did, and the wheels started turning.

Travel in the 1920s

What the trip from Oklahoma to Colorado might have looked like! - early
What the trip from Oklahoma to Colorado might have looked like!

In April 1927 my grandparents, my nine-year-old dad and my eight-year-old aunt left Tulsa, Oklahoma’s tree lined streets to Branson, Colorado in an awesome old car, probably a Model T or A. I don’t know for sure—I’ve seen pictures. As I’ve thought of this, I marveled at my grandparents’ adventuresome spirit.

Was this move necessity in their eyes? I will never know. I do know my grandmother never adjusted to the plains and canyons of Branson and blamed my dad for this move his whole life. Standing at the window, looking out over the vast tree less prairie, she yearned for the tree-lined streets of Tulsa and the green.

Dad never spoke of this journey to me. I just can’t imagine making that five hundred miles then in that car. In a car today, Google says it would take about eight hours. Google AI overview says it would have taken them 14-20 days in the 1920s. I never asked Granddad or Dad how long it took.

Dangers of the Trip

Google AI overview also notes that they would have faced unpaved road networks with dirt or gravel roads. They may have faced mud slippery roads in April. Or they could have faced a spring blizzard, wind and snow drifts.

As “the early automobiles like the Ford Model A or T required frequent maintenance, and flat tires were a daily hazard on rough western roads,” another obstacle followed them. The last issue they faced was the lack of the amazing infrastructure we know today. “Services like gas stations, mechanics, and motels were sparse. Travelers often had to carry extra cans of fuel, motor oil, and spare inner tubes.”

Taking a break from writing, I shared the topic with my husband, Lin. He asked about the speed limit in the 20s. Again, I ran to Google and found out in the AI Overview no federal speed limit existed. On the dusty country roads, my granddad would have driven, the speed limit would have been between 30 and 35 mph on the rural dirt roads. Imagine that! In our 75-80 mph world of today, that seems impossible. No wonder it took so long to travel the five hundred miles.

Where Dad Ended Up

So, at nine years old, Dad and his family started a new life on the plains of southeastern Colorado. He adapted quickly to the rural life and immediately acquired a horse. Horses and the country living became his life.

Dad saw a T.B. specialist in Colorado Springs, Colorado—176 miles away. It would have taken 10-14 hours to travel dirt roads there, so it was another lengthy trip for the times. The T.B. was arrested, but he lived with asthma as a child.

More next week. Meet my dad, the cowboy!

Finally,

For Dad’s 75th birthday, Mom and I compiled a book he helped us put together about how the Horner ranch was put together. This book is available on Amazon in paperback or e-book format.

I would be remiss for not writing down Dad’s stories—he exceled at storytelling. My sister chided me after she read this book to her. She questioned with sadness in her eyes, “Where are his stories?”

So, it’s never too early— be sure and write down, record—do anything to capture those stories. I really would have liked to hear Dad’s nine-year-old version of that long trip from Tulsa, but he’s gone! Don’t wait!

PS – I’m sorry to say I have no pictures here of my dad as a child.

It's never to early to talk to your dad, your mom or your grandparents! A Plushie of Larada!
It’s never to early to talk to your dad, your mom or your grandparents! A Plushie of Larada!

FINAL DAY OF MY SALE: Was It A Dream?: Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetryy E-book is $.99 until TOMORROW. Don’t miss this sale. Click on the title and grabbed it today!


Professional Reader

Alliance of Independent Authors

My Newest Books

Time Measured Out!: Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetry, Book #2 e-book

ISBN – 9798989688654

$3.99 for limited time

is my truth universal? book cover

Is My Truth Universal?: A Woman’s Poetic Odyssey e-book

ISBN – 979-8989688623

ALWAYS FREE

Was It a Dream? book cover

Was It a Dream?: Navigating Life’s Journey Through Poetry, Book #1 – e-book

ISBN – 979-8989688630

 $3.99


Buy My Audio Books:

This Tumbleweed Landed

Let Me Tell You a Story 

Hair on Fire: A Heartwarming & Humorous Memoir Audiobook


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