Then laughed.
His mother, sitting across from him, looked up.
"What's funny?"
He handed her the pages.
She read them.
Then frowned.
"Are they serious?"
"Apparently."
Ruth looked toward the barn.
"Your grandfather painted that thing red because he liked red."
Hank smiled.
"Well, the HOA prefers something called Heritage Sandstone."
His mother stared.
"What kind of color is that?"
"I have no idea."
She handed the letter back.
Then said firmly, "You don't belong to their HOA."
Hank nodded.
"I know."
He placed the letter in a folder, assuming it would be the end of the matter.
He was wrong.
Two weeks later, another notice arrived.
Then an email.
Then a request for an inspection.
Each communication described the farm as though it were subject to Prairie Meadows' residential rules.
Hank replied with the recorded easement agreement and county parcel information.
Moren didn't acknowledge the distinction.
Instead, she accused him of refusing reasonable community standards.
For the first time, Hank began wondering whether she genuinely misunderstood the property documents or simply didn't care what they said.
Moren's next tactic was to turn neighbors against him.
She began distributing photographs at HOA meetings. The images showed the Briggs farm from the subdivision's eastern fence, but the barn appeared badly deteriorated, the ground looked covered with debris, and the fence seemed dangerously unstable.
Hank didn't know about the photographs until a neighbor named Tim Brennan called.
Tim was forty, a construction contractor who lived in Prairie Meadows with his wife and two children. He was friendly with Hank and occasionally purchased fresh produce from him.
"Hank, have you seen what Moren's showing people?"
Hank frowned.
"Showing them where?"
"HOA meetings."
Tim sent him several photographs.
Hank opened the first image.
For a moment, he stared in disbelief.
The barn looked as though half its siding had fallen away. Rusted machinery sat near the fence, and the yard appeared littered with discarded materials.
But there was no rusted machinery in that location.
The barn siding had been repaired the previous spring.
And the fence had been replaced six months earlier.
Hank examined another image.
It showed a sagging fence that didn't match the actual posts or wire arrangement on his property.
He called Tim back.
"Those pictures aren't accurate."
Tim hesitated.
"How inaccurate?"