My wife and I had purchased an older parcel that existed before the subdivision was built. When the developer created Oakridge Meadows, the recorded boundaries excluded our property and two neighboring lots. We shared the street and enjoyed the neighborhood, but our deeds had never been subjected to the association's private covenants.
For years, that distinction barely mattered.
The original board understood the boundaries.
Nobody tried to charge us dues.
Nobody demanded approval before we painted our porch.
And when residents organized holiday gatherings, we were invited like everyone else.
I occasionally donated money toward neighborhood cleanup projects, not because I was legally required to, but because I believed good neighbors should contribute when they could.
Then the old board president moved away.
His replacement was the woman in the orange blazer.
At first, she seemed merely overenthusiastic.
She sent lengthy newsletters about property values, neighborhood image, and the importance of maintaining what she called a premium residential environment. She complained about cars parked near curbs, basketball hoops visible from the street, and homeowners who allowed garden tools to remain beside their garages.
I didn't pay much attention.
I'd spent thirty-one years in federal law enforcement.
I wasn't going to become emotionally invested in a disagreement over mailbox colors.
But the new president began treating the association as something much more powerful than it was.
She introduced aggressive fines.
She demanded personal approval for ordinary landscaping work.
And she repeatedly suggested that residents who questioned her decisions were threatening the community's financial future.
Several neighbors complained privately.
An older woman told me she'd received three warning letters over flowers planted in her front garden.
A young father said the president threatened to fine him because his children left bicycles near the garage.
Another homeowner received a notice demanding removal of a small American flag attached to his porch, although he believed the association's interpretation of its rules was incorrect.
I encouraged them to review the governing documents and ask questions through the proper procedures.
Then the notices began arriving at my house.
The first envelope appeared on a Tuesday morning.
It carried the HOA's logo and a bright red stamp reading OFFICIAL COMPLIANCE NOTICE. Inside was a letter accusing me of violating community parking regulations because my dark-gray sedan had remained in the driveway overnight.
I almost laughed.
The car was registered, insured, and parked entirely on my private property.