Christmas and Thanksgiving are the two days of the year where we

In the words of Ree Drummond: “Christmas and Thanksgiving are the two days of the year where we know the spurs are going to stay off the boots because the family doesn’t have to work. It’s such a nice—and rare—treat!” Though wrapped in the imagery of ranch life, these words carry an eternal truth about labor, rest, and the sacredness of family unity. They speak of the joy found not in possessions or accomplishments, but in those rare moments when toil is set aside, when duty bows to love, and when the weary soul is allowed to breathe.

The ancients knew that without rest, even the strongest warrior or the most diligent farmer would falter. The Sabbath, the feast day, the harvest celebration—all were reminders that life is not only sweat and labor, but also gratitude and renewal. To take the spurs off the boots is to declare, if only for a day, that life’s worth is not measured in work alone, but in the bonds of family, in the laughter around the table, and in the stillness of shared peace.

Consider the story of the pilgrims’ first Thanksgiving. After months of hardship, famine, and fear, they gathered with their Native allies to celebrate survival. It was not wealth that they celebrated, but the sheer gift of rest from labor and danger, the chance to sit, eat, and give thanks together. Their fields were meager, their struggles great, but the feast symbolized the same truth Drummond names: that there is rare sweetness in pausing from labor, in placing aside the tools of survival, and in simply dwelling with those who give life meaning.

Drummond’s imagery of spurs and boots is more than rustic poetry—it symbolizes the toil of daily life. Spurs mark the rider who must guide and labor, boots mark the worker who must tread the hard earth. But when these are set aside, the soul is no longer burdened by necessity. Such moments are rare treats, not because they are extravagant, but because they remind us of what is most essential. It is not the cattle driven, the fields plowed, or the money earned that endures; it is the love shared when the boots rest by the fire and the family sits together as one.

Her words are also a gentle warning. If rest is so rare, then let us guard it jealously. For in an age where work stretches endlessly, where even holidays are consumed by hurry and distraction, the sacredness of pausing with family is at risk of being forgotten. The family that never stops to breathe together will find its bonds weakened, while the family that makes time for joy and rest will be renewed in strength for all the labors yet to come.

The lesson is clear: embrace and protect these days of pause. Do not let them be stolen by busyness or dulled by distraction. When Christmas and Thanksgiving come, lay down the tools of labor, silence the demands of work, and let your home become a sanctuary of warmth. In doing so, you honor not only tradition but also the human need for renewal.

Practical action is simple: cherish your holidays. Protect them as sacred, not for extravagance, but for presence. Sit at the table without haste, listen to the voices of your loved ones, and remember that these moments are the true treasures of life. And if you are burdened with endless work, strive to carve out—even in small ways—your own days of rest, for even the strongest cannot endure without renewal.

Thus, Ree Drummond’s words carry the echo of ancient wisdom: that the greatest gift of Christmas and Thanksgiving is not found in the food or the finery, but in the laying aside of labor, in the spurs left unused, in the boots set by the door. For in these rare pauses, the family is restored, love is renewed, and life is remembered not as toil, but as joy.