The Hitching Post
The room that made us believe this house could become Outcrop.
When we first walked through this house, we didn't create some grand plan for an event center and then figure out where to put it.
The room was already here.
Huge. Open. Almost ridiculously perfect for what we had been dreaming about.
Truthfully, this room was one of the reasons we bought the house.
I remember looking around and thinking, Are you kidding me?
It was almost as if somebody had built this house years ago, not knowing that someday we were going to walk through the door and say, “Yep. This is it.”
The room itself gave us the space. Our job was figuring out what to do with it.
And that's where The Hitching Post began.
We started imagining sixteen women creating in here. Where would they sit? How much room would they need? Where would the cords go? Where would quilters lay things out? Where would scrapbookers spread out approximately 47 things for a project requiring three? Where would everyone cut, iron, stand, stretch, charge a phone, and inevitably wander over to see what somebody else was making?
So while we didn't design the room, we designed its purpose.
We added 16 individual crafting stations, arranged in pods of four, comfortable reclining chairs, power and charging access at the tables, cutting and ironing areas, design walls, and the little things we're continuing to discover make a crafting weekend easier.
And I didn't want any of it to feel like we had dropped a conference room into the middle of a country house.
The Hitching Post still needed to feel like Outcrop—warm, comfortable, a little country, a little elegant, and a place where you actually want to spend an unreasonable number of hours.
We're still changing it. We're still learning from the women who use it. And I'm pretty sure we'll always find one more thing we want to add.
But the room itself?
It was waiting for us long before we knew we were looking for it.
And someone behind me lets out the loudest burst of laughter.
I jump.
“What the hell?”
The entire table erupts.
I look back at them, completely disoriented, and then immediately turn toward the window.
The pasture is empty.
The grass is still glowing.
The horses are still out there.
But my cowboy?
Gone.
I look toward the spot where he tied his horse.
There isn’t even a hitching post.
Damn it.
I was just getting to the good part.
And that is the story behind the name The Hitching Post.
Because sometimes when you’ve been sitting at your crafting table a little too long, the creative juices finally start flowing...
They just may have absolutely nothing to do with your project.
The Hitching Post
I’ve been sitting at this table for way too long.
I came here to be creative. Instead, I’ve moved the same pieces around so many times that somehow my project actually looks worse than when I started.
I lean back in my chair and stare at it.
Nothing.
Not one creative thought left in my head.
That’s when I notice the light.
The sun has started to set outside the windows, casting this soft golden glow across the pasture. I watch for a moment, mostly because it gives me an excuse not to look at my project anymore.
The longer I stare, the more I notice.
The very tips of the grass have started to glow. The hills are darker now, but their edges are outlined in gold. Even the dust floating above the pasture catches the light.
And then I see movement at the top of the hill.
One of the horses.
At least, I think it’s one of the horses.
I squint.
There’s someone riding it.
Now that’s more interesting.
He’s too far away to make out much more than a silhouette. The sun is directly behind him, hiding his face beneath the shadow of a cowboy hat.
He starts down the hill.
Slowly.
I should probably go back to my project.
I don’t.
As he gets closer, the details begin filling themselves in.
Broad shoulders. Worn jeans. Boots resting easily in the stirrups. One hand holding the reins while the other rests casually against his thigh.
The horse moves beneath him with that slow, effortless rhythm that makes it obvious they’ve done this a thousand times together.
He reaches the bottom of the hill.
And somehow, there’s a hitching post near the house.
Was that always there?
Apparently it was.
He brings the horse alongside it and swings himself out of the saddle.
My eyes follow him.
He ties the reins to the post and pulls off his hat. He runs a hand through his hair, then wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm.
Okay.
Maybe I’ve been sitting at this table a little too long.
Then he looks up.
Straight at me.
I stop breathing for half a second.
There’s no way he can see me through these windows.
But his eyes stay right where I’m sitting.
And then he smiles.
Not a big smile.
Just that slow little lift at the corner of his mouth that says he absolutely knows I’ve been watching him.
Oh, hell.
He starts walking toward the house.
My project has officially ceased to exist.
He gets closer.
Close enough now that I can finally start to see the face that’s been hidden beneath that hat.
And I have to admit...
My imagination has excellent taste.
He reaches the door.
His hand comes up—