Now, normally, I don’t care much about HOA stuff. Our little subdivision is small, maybe a dozen homes. And for the most part, the association only exists to manage shared road maintenance and keep people from turning their yards into junkyards. Nothing too dramatic. But Vanessa was different. You could tell from day one she had plans.
The first time we spoke was actually pretty friendly. I was out back trimming some shrubs when she walked up to the fence line. “Hi there,” she said with a bright smile. “You must be Luke.” “I’m Vanessa. I just moved into Carl’s old place. I wiped my hands on my jeans and walked over.
Welcome to the neighborhood, I told her. Carl was a good guy. You’ll like it here. She nodded politely, but I noticed her eyes drifting toward the retaining wall behind me. That wall had a way of doing that to people. She tilted her head slightly. So, that structure, she said, “Retaining wall?” I replied, “Right,” she said slowly. “Is that permanent?” I chuckled a little.
Well, unless gravity takes a vacation. Yeah. She didn’t laugh. Instead, she gave a tight little smile and said, “Internesting.” That was the end of the conversation. At the time, I didn’t think much about it, but about 3 weeks later, I opened my mailbox and found a certified letter. The return address said Caldwell Design Interiors.
Inside was a neatly typed document on expensive looking paper. It read like something written by someone who had spent a lot of time telling people what their home should look like. According to the letter, “My retaining wall was, and I quote, visually inconsistent with the aesthetic standards of the community.” Apparently, Vanessa had recently installed a new infinity style pool in her backyard, a project that, judging by the contractor trucks I’d seen, probably cost more than my entire landscaping business. And from her pool deck, she
could see the top portion of my wall. She described it in the letter as an eyesore. Her solution was simple. I had 30 days to remove the structure and replace it with ornamental stone that met HOA design guidelines. If I failed to comply, the association would begin issuing daily fines of $200 until the issue was resolved.
I read the letter twice. Then I leaned back in my chair and laughed. Not because it was funny exactly, but because sometimes when something is that ridiculous, laughter is the only reasonable response. Still, I figured there had to be some misunderstanding. So that evening, I walked down the slope and knocked on Vanessa’s door.
She answered, wearing yoga clothes and holding a glass of sparkling water, the sunset reflecting off the perfectly smooth surface of her new pool behind her. “Yes,” she said. I held up the letter. “Hey, Vanessa, I just got this in the mail. thought maybe we should talk about it. Her expression didn’t change.
“Oh, good,” she said calmly. “I was hoping you’d come by, and that’s when I realized something important. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was the beginning of a fight.” Vanessa stepped aside and motioned for me to come out to the back patio. Now, I’ll admit, the pool was impressive. A long, narrow infinity edge that looked like it just poured straight into the trees below.
The tile was this deep, dark blue, the kind you see in fancy resorts. and the water reflected the sky like a mirror. And right at the far end, if you looked up the slope, you could see the top edge of my railroad tie wall, about 2 feet of it. Vanessa noticed me looking. “You see what I mean?” she said, sipping her drink. I shrugged.
