Let’s go home.
Faron Lofton • August 4, 2025
So here’s the story.
About ten years ago, Kristi and I looked at each other and said, “Let’s go home.” Not just back to Austin—but back to the Hill Country. Austin’s where we met, graduated, got married, and started building a life. Then work took us to Houston.
Now, no offense to H-Town, but let’s just say it wasn’t where we planned to plant roots. Still, you go where the job takes you. That’s part of the deal. Houston was very good to us. Many memories and dear friends too.
Fast-forward a couple of kids, a few gray hairs, and one empty nest later—we found ourselves in Horseshoe Bay. And something about this place just clicked. The people, our church, the rhythm of it all. A tad bit different than Houston I must say.
Funny thing is, we never set out to be homebuilders. That wasn’t the plan. But turns out, God had a blueprint of His own.
And now, here we are—ten years, countless custom homes, and one unforgettable journey later.
Here’s to the next ten years.
“You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.” – James Clear, Atomic Habits The Challenge There comes a point in business where everything outgrows the duct tape holding it together. We’d gone from juggling a few homes… to juggling all the homes. More clients. More vendors. More questions. And a whole lot more chances to screw up. The work was solid. The people were capable. But the coordination? That’s where we wobbled. We cared deeply—but we hadn’t built the structure to carry that level of care. The Moment of Truth I remember walking a jobsite—house looked great. Clean lines. Solid craftsmanship. But the homeowner? Not smiling. Not confident. Just standing there with that look… like they were still in the dark. That’s when it hit me: If your client feels uncertain and in the dark, the job’s not going nearly as well as you think it is. Building a home is emotional. And sometimes, the emotions you evoke aren’t the ones you intended. We aim for joy. We work toward peace. And we do everything we can to stay away from stress and anxiety. ⸻ The Solution So we tightened the bolts. Not to replace the personal touch—but to support it. We started showing up with a plan: • Regular meetings • Clear updates • To-dos that actually got done It wasn’t flashy. No one threw a parade because we built a better spreadsheet. But it worked. Jobs ran smoother. The team felt lighter. Clients could finally breathe. ⸻ The Truth About Building Building a great home isn’t just about wood and stone—it’s about trust. It’s giving people confidence even when their dream house still looks like a pile of lumber. We’ll never be perfect—but we’ll settle for excellent. Excellence is the aim. All while keeping real relationships at the center—with clients, vendors, and trades. Because at the end of the day, systems don’t build homes. People do.
The first few years of Treo Signature Homes? It was just Kristi and me. No office. No team. No backup plan. Just a lot of faith, some stubborn optimism, and the willingness to figure it out as we went. I wore every hat in the business. Bookkeeper. Sales team. Trash picker-upper. And on some days… taco delivery driver. You could say I was the original Uber Eats—just with a measuring tape and a level. I didn’t do it because I had time. I did it because there wasn’t anybody else. And I didn’t mind. My dad always said, *“If you’re too proud to pick up trash, you’re not ready to lead anybody.”* That stuck with me. Still does. When we started building out here, we didn’t know a soul. No list of trades. No network. But God has a way of sending the right folks at the right time. We ended up surrounded by some of the most solid craftsmen I’ve ever worked with. They weren’t flashy. They were early risers. They showed up ready to work, ready to laugh, and ready to get it done right. I didn’t pretend to know everything about their trade—thankfully, they didn’t expect me to. They took the time to teach me. Show me the details. Help me understand *why* they did things the way they did. And in return, I made sure they knew what we were aiming for: A team that worked like one. All rowing in the same direction—or not rowing at all. We leaned on each other. We learned from each other. And we built some dang good homes. Not just because of the materials or the design… but because of the *people* behind the work. Our clients felt it. Our crew felt it. And truth be told—it made the job fun. Those early years set the tone. They shaped our values. They raised the bar. We didn’t have an official “team” back then, but Kristi and I had a crew we trusted—salt-of-the-earth, hard-working, gracious, funny, loving people we eventually came to call our Treo family. We could count on them. And that made all the difference.
The first house we built out here wasn’t for a client. It was supposed to be ours. I’m a third-generation contractor. I grew up watching my dad build homes the right way. So yeah, I knew what I was signing up for. But the real lesson came when we saw how often people took shortcuts—not because they had to, but because they always had. That first home build showed us real quick: If we were going to do this home building business, it had to be with our own standards and expectations— not just what passed for “normal.” Around here, that means doing what you say, and saying what you do. It’s simple—but it’s not always common. The Bible talks about a good name being better than wealth. We’ve staked our business on that more times than I can count. And because we’ve built on that foundation, we’ve been lucky to work and live—alongside some incredible people here in the Bay. Folks who’ve challenged us, taught us, and helped shape what Treo has become. Those relationships have raised our standards. They’ve stretched our thinking. And over time, they helped define what we now call luxury. Not necessarily more expensive—just more intentional. More thoughtful. More true to what a home should be. We still drive by that first house sometimes. It reminds us where it all started. We thought we were building a house. Turns out, God was building us.
