Earlier in January of that same year, Chip and I had traveled to Scottsdale, Arizona, to watch the Baylor Bears play in a national bowl game on New Year’s Day. I had a twofold purpose for the trip. I wanted to watch the Bears beat the University of Central Florida with Chip. (Unfortunately the Bears lost, much to Chip’s dismay.) And I wanted time to get fresh perspective for the New Year.
It was a beautiful sunny day when Chip dropped me at a park near our hotel. I’d asked him to give me an hour or so to journal and gather my thoughts for the New Year. I found a tree to hide under and I sat there to reflect on the past year. And within moments of sitting down, I heard that voice again. You know the one. That voice said, It’s time to reopen your shop.
By now you know I like to argue first and then reason later. “Are you serious?” I said out loud. “I have four kids now, a business to run, and a television show. How on earth could I do that?”
But the still, small, oh-so-familiar voice whispered again: It’s time.
There is always peace when I finally decide to obey that voice. Although I may wrestle with him at first like a little kid, in the end I always know that he knows best.
I began to get giddy, and I immediately started drawing up a business plan and ideas for my shop’s reopening. When Chip arrived to pick me up I walked toward the car, beaming. I opened the door and said, “Chip, it’s time to reopen Magnolia.”
Of course, in vintage Chip fashion, he responded, “Let’s do it!”
Magnolia had outgrown its offices in that space anyway, and had already partially relocated to a larger location. I had a bunch of inventory sitting around that I had planned to use for remodeling projects and staging homes, so it was easy to set it all back up—basically overnight. I had kept in contact with all of my suppliers as well, since I’d continued to do the Magnolia Home shows through the years. It all happened really, really quickly. My regular clientele flocked in as soon as we opened the doors. And because of Fixer Upper, new customers started coming in too.
By the middle of 2015, it wasn’t unusual for us to see more than a thousand customers a day in that little shop. We had to hire extra help just to stand at the door and control the flow of people in and out so it wouldn’t get too crowded for anyone to move in that tiny space. My close friend Jessica (the one from my early shop days) worked at the shop and made it her job to greet every single person who walked in. Her short, pixie-cut hair, bright blue eyes, and glowing smile made every person feel welcome. She was the only employee I had who remembered back when a busy day consisted of fifteen customers.
As we continued to grow, we put up a large temporary tent in the parking lot and put inventory and another cash register in there to try to alleviate the crowding. We even opened an online version of Magnolia Market so that our out-of-town friends could find the things we were selling without having to come to the shop on Bosque. Overnight, it seemed, we had to figure out how to become a shipping company and a business that could cater to thousands of people on a national level.
We rented a mobile container in an attempt to manage all the products people wanted—pillows, signs, those old rusty-looking letters to hang on their walls, candles, you name it—and we ran out of space in a matter of weeks. Then we went looking around for more warehouse space and wound up purchasing an old warehouse that my father used to purchase tires from.
When I walked into the warehouse for the first time, it all came back to me. The smell of tires reminded me of all those years I had sat in my father’s tire shop and dreamed about businesses and ideas. God heard my dreams way back then, and this old tire warehouse was confirmation for me that he’d had a plan all along.
In 2015, just to put all of the puzzle pieces in place, we brought my father on to help with operations. Dad had always hoped I would take over his Firestone store. My decision to open Magnolia in 2003 had been hard for him, in fact, because it put an end to his dream of passing his business down to his daughter. But God has a funny way of bringing things back the way only he can do. My dad went from the backbreaking rubber-tire industry to florals and delicate home décor and never skipped a beat.
Chip and I stood back amazed at the number of people who were coming to Waco to visit our little shop. It soon became obvious that we’d need to move the brick-and-mortar Magnolia Market to a bigger location to accommodate the crowds.
Anyone driving in or around Waco had probably noticed the pair of big white rusty silos just to the west of Interstate 35. They towered over just about every other structure in town. Located down by the railroad tracks, they were once part of a booming agricultural business. But as long as I’d been aware of them, they had been empty and abandoned.
I had often wondered why that property had stood vacant for so long. Surely some big hotel or convention center or something would have loved that location—right in the center of everything, close to Baylor, visible from the highway.
My children actually went to school right across the street from those giant old silos. The small building in front, the former office for the operation, had once been a floral shop where Chip would buy me flowers. I loved this building and had taken note years earlier that it had amazing potential. And now that I saw it nearly every day, walking my kids up to the school with those silos towering over us—I found myself even more interested.
One day I dropped the kids off, and as I drove past the silos, I felt like I should turn around and look at the property. My heart was drawn to them the same way it had been stirred when Chip and I drove through the New England coastline on our honeymoon and admired similar old structures.
My first thought that day was, How convenient to be right next to the kids’ school. I was craving more time with my kids now that they were all in school, and anything to make the commute quicker would ensure more time with my children. I even daydreamed about watching them on the playground from my office.
All of a sudden a business plan came together in my mind as I sat in my car, staring at the property. I envisioned retail space in the grain barn, movie night in the adjacent field, food trucks parked nearby, and maybe a bakery. My mind just flooded with a vision of turning that abandoned cotton-oil mill into Magnolia’s new headquarters and retail space—and creating an attraction that could become a whole new center of activity for Waco itself.
The history of this property is what inspired me. I saw this vision of life returning to this once-thriving but now abandoned space. I imagined families and friends coming here and taking a step back in time, putting away their phones, and enjoying the site.
Then I called Chip and told him I wanted to buy it.
“Babe, are you serious? What in the world are we going to do with all that?” he said.
I think after all of the problems we’d endured because of the downturn in the economy and the season of turmoil we had been through, Chip had grown a little more risk averse, a little more cautious. Once again it almost felt like we were switching roles a bit, because I was all-in. I just felt that this was meant to be.
Of course, the property wasn’t even for sale, as far as we knew. We didn’t know who the owners were at that point or why the property had remained vacant for all those years. But somehow, I just knew it would happen.
It didn’t take long for Chip to catch the vision. He tracked down the owner of the property and gave him a call. The owner explained he wasn’t interested in selling and that the mill had been his father’s business until he passed away in the nineties. He said everyone interested in purchasing the property wanted to tear down the silos, and he did not want that to happen.
Chip assured him the silos were the very things that had drawn us to the property—that instead of removing them, we wanted to highlight them in the downtown area.