Dear Friends,

Today I celebrated the Fourth of July in a small western Colorado town, and I must say, it was one of those days that felt like it had been wrapped in sunshine, dust, laughter, and just a little bit of elf nonsense.

Which, if I’m being honest, is my favorite kind of day.

The town sat tucked between red rock, rolling hills, and mountains that looked like they had been painted there by someone with a very steady hand. The main street was lined with flags, old brick storefronts, folding chairs, lemonade stands, and children waving little stars-and-stripes as if they had personally been assigned to keep the whole country cheerful.

The parade began with a marching band that was mostly in tune and completely wonderful.

There were horses with braided manes, a fire truck polished so bright I could see my beard in it, veterans waving from the back of a pickup, children on decorated bicycles, and one very proud dog wearing a patriotic bandana and the expression of someone who knew he was the main event.

I stood near the edge of the street with Jingle and Pip, thinking we were simply there to enjoy the parade quietly.

That lasted approximately four minutes.

A little boy spotted me first.

“Santa?”

Now, I was wearing a summer shirt, not my full red suit. No hat. No sleigh. No snow boots. Just sunglasses, suspenders, and a cup of lemonade large enough to concern Mrs. Claus.

Still, children know.

Within moments, a small crowd had gathered. Someone asked for a picture. Then another. Then someone handed me a tiny notebook and asked for an autograph.

I was happy to sign, of course.

I wrote, “Keep being kind. Santa.”

Then the elves decided I needed “security.”

This was funny for many reasons.

First, elves are not security.

Second, Pip is four feet tall and once lost a staring contest to a cupcake.

Third, Jingle kept saying, “Please form an orderly line,” while standing in the middle of the line.

They folded their arms, looked very serious, and wore sunglasses they clearly bought from a gas station. Every time a child asked for an autograph, Pip would say, “State your holiday business,” then immediately smile and hand them a candy cane sticker.

No one was intimidated.

Not even a little.

At one point, an elderly woman asked if she could get a photo with me. Jingle stepped forward and said, “Do you have clearance?”

She said, “Young man, I made three pies this morning.”

Jingle stepped aside immediately.

“Cleared,” he said.

After the parade, we sat beneath a cottonwood tree and ate barbecue, corn on the cob, and something called peach cobbler that nearly made Pip emotional. The mountains glowed gold in the evening light, and the whole town seemed to slow down together.

That is one of the things I love most about small-town celebrations. They remind you that joy does not need to be fancy. Sometimes it is a folding chair on a sidewalk, a paper plate full of food, a band playing just slightly too loud, and neighbors waving at each other like the world is still a good place.

Later that night, we had one more stop to make.

New York City.

The sleigh carried us east just in time to watch the fireworks over the skyline. We hovered high above the city, with Jingle on one side of me and Pip on the other, both suddenly quiet for once.

Below us, the buildings sparkled. The rivers caught the light. Then the sky burst open in red, white, blue, gold, and silver.

Fireworks from above are something special.

They bloom upward, but from the sleigh they also seem to bloom beneath you, like the whole city is sending sparks of hope into the night.

Pip leaned over the side and whispered, “That one looked like a snowflake.”

Jingle said, “That one looked like a jellyfish.”

I said, “That one looked like I should have gone to bed an hour ago.”

They ignored me.

We stayed until the final burst faded and the city settled back into its summer glow. Then I turned the sleigh north, toward home, toward quiet, toward my favorite chair and a very necessary good night’s sleep.

Tomorrow, I begin packing again.

The elves tell me we are heading for an island next.

Island adventures.

Warm sand.

Bright water.

Strange birds.

Possibly snorkeling.

Definitely sunscreen.

And knowing the elves, probably at least one coconut-related misunderstanding.

But tonight, I am grateful.

For small towns.

For big cities.

For children with autograph books.

For elves who are absolutely not security.

And for the kind of day that reminds me adventure can be found almost anywhere, as long as you bring a little wonder with you.

With tired feet and a full heart,
Santa