The HOA President Who Went Too Far
Part 1:
We believed we had discovered the perfect place to start our married life when my wife, Sarah, and I first drove through the gates of Willowbrook Estates. The subdivision was everything we had hoped for. The lawns were well-kept and looked like green carpets, the pathways were clean and bordered with young oak trees, and the houses looked like they had come straight out of a home design magazine. We had lived in apartments for years, so the thought of purchasing our first house in such a lovely neighborhood made us feel like we had finally made it.
Linda, the real estate agent, was a pleased woman who had been selling properties in the region for twenty years. She couldn’t stop talking about how wonderful the neighborhood’s amenities and community spirit were.
As we drove up to 247 Maple Lane, a gorgeous two-story colonial with cream-colored siding and black shutters, she whispered, “You’re going to love it here.” “The HOA does an impressive job of keeping everything looking great.” Because everything is so well-kept, property values have been going up steadily for years.
As we climbed the front stairs, Sarah clasped my hand. She was finally receiving the house she’d been dreaming of since she was a kid when she turned twenty-eight. It had enough bedrooms for the family we were planning, a yard where we could have barbecues with friends, and a garage where I could set up a studio for my woodworking interest.
Linda took out a giant folder of papers and said, “The HOA fee is very reasonable.” “Just $150 a month, and that covers all the upkeep of the common areas, the pool, and the great management that keeps this place looking so nice.”
Friends and coworkers had told us scary things about homeowners organizations, such as board members who wanted to control everything and crazy fines for small mistakes. Willowbrook Estates, on the other hand, seemed distinct. We looked at the guidelines and thought they were fair: keep your lawn neat, don’t park business vehicles on the street, and keep the outside of your property in decent shape. Nothing that looked unfair to folks who wished to live in a pleasant neighborhood.
“Who is responsible for the HOA?” I asked since I always want to know who I’ll be working with in a new environment.
“Oh, Margaret Thornfield,” Linda responded in a tone that I would later see was purposefully neutral. “She has been president for about eight years now.” She is very devoted to maintaining the community’s standards.
When I heard the word “dedicated,” I thought it was a good thing. I had no clue that Margaret’s sense of dedication would soon turn our dream home into a place where we were always fighting and stressed out.
The house was just right for what we needed and could afford. There are three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms, a modern kitchen with granite countertops, and a finished basement that would be perfect for my workshop. The backyard was big enough for the vegetable garden Sarah planned to establish, and the neighborhood was quiet and good for families.
That same afternoon, we placed an offer, and within a week, we owned a home in Willowbrook Estates.
Chapter 2: The Committee to Welcome You
The day we moved was perfect: sunny and pleasant, with just enough wind to keep us comfortable as we drove the moving truck and started the long, tiring process of relocating our lives from our small apartment to our big new home. Sarah was in her element, telling people where to put the furniture and creating plans for how to decorate each area.
We were worn out but thrilled by the time night fell. We sat on our front porch with takeout pizza and chilled drinks and watched the sun set over our new neighborhood. Several neighbors came by over the day to say hello, and everyone looked pleasant and hospitable.
As we watched kids ride bikes on the sidewalk and families walk their dogs, Sarah leaned against my shoulder and murmured, “I think we’re going to be really happy here.”
We saw Margaret Thornfield for the first time then.
She walked up to our house like someone who was on official business, carrying a leather portfolio and wearing what seemed like business clothes, even though it was a casual Saturday night. Margaret was in her early sixties. She had silver hair put back into a flawless chignon and stood up straight, which made it look like she had been in the military or had been in charge for a long time.
As she got to our front steps, she remarked, “Good evening.” “My name is Margaret Thornfield, and I am the president of the Willowbrook Estates Homeowners Association.” I wanted to personally welcome you to our neighborhood.
Sarah and I rose up to say hello, and we both noticed right away that the tone was too official for a casual neighborhood welcome.
“Thanks,” Sarah said in a friendly way. “We’re Sarah and Tom Mitchell.” We are pleased to be here.
“I know you are,” Margaret answered with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I always like to meet new residents in person to make sure they know what our community standards and expectations are.”
She took a thick stack of papers out of her portfolio. “This is your copy of the HOA’s rules, conditions, and restrictions, as well as our handbook on community rules, landscaping requirements, and architectural guidelines.”
The packet was at least forty pages long, which was a lot more information than the short summary we got when we bought the house.
Margaret went on, “I know it seems like a lot, but everyone needs to help keep the character and property values of Willowbrook Estates.” You probably want to protect your investment just as much as we do.
I noticed that Margaret’s eyes were systematically scanning our land while she spoke. She looked at our grass (which the previous owners had kept in great shape), our driveway (where we parked our two cars), our front landscaping (which had been professionally designed and recently refurbished), and even our mailbox (which was the same as all the others in the area).
She responded, “Everything looks okay so far,” and wrote down her thoughts in a little notepad. “However, there are a few issues that require attention.”
Sarah and I looked at each other. We had only been homeowners for eight hours, and we were already getting tickets for breaking the rules?
“Your mailbox numbers are a little faded,” Margaret said, pointing to the black digits on our white mailbox. ” Section 7.3 of the architectural requirements says that all mailbox numbers must be easy to see and in good condition. You should change those out within thirty days.
I glanced at the numbers on our mailbox, and they seemed completely clear to me, but I didn’t want to argue with the HOA president on our first meeting.
“Also,” Margaret said, “I see that there is a small oil stain on your driveway near where your car is parked.” Section 4.2 says that driveways must always be kept clean. You need to pressure wash or treat that stain.
The oil stain she was referring to was difficult to see—a small dark area that was probably difficult to see unless you were looking for it.
“Finally,” Margaret commented, looking over her notes, “people can see your trash cans from the street. Our rules say that all trash cans must be kept out of sight of the public while they are not being used for collection.
Sarah said, “They’re in our garage,” looking bewildered.
Margaret said, “But the garage door is open.” “That means people can see them from the street, which goes against the aesthetic standards we’ve worked so hard to keep.”
It was wonderful how much information Margaret found in her inspection. She found three “violations” in less than five minutes that no reasonable person would have thought were problems that needed to be resolved.
Margaret finished by saying, “I’ll send you a formal notice with the details and deadlines for resolving these problems.” She then closed her portfolio. “Welcome to Willowbrook Estates.” You will learn to value how dedicated we are to doing an impressive job.
When Margaret left, Sarah and I sat back down on the steps of our porch. We suddenly didn’t feel as excited about our new neighborhood.
“Did that really just happen?” Sarah asked, looking at the guidelines that Margaret had left behind.
I looked over the pages and found rules about everything from what colors are okay for front door paint to what kinds of plants can go in front yard landscaping. There were regulations about how to decorate for the holidays, what kind of furniture to put outside, what kinds of presents to give kids, and even how bright the porch lights should be.
“I think we just met the neighborhood dictator,” I remarked with a frown.
Chapter 3: The Campaign That Keeps Getting Bigger
We rapidly realized over the next few weeks that Margaret’s first visit was simply the start of a planned campaign of harassment that was masked as HOA enforcement. Even though we tried our best to follow all the rules and laws, Margaret always seemed to find new ways we were breaking them when she checked our property, which she did way too often.
We replaced the numbers on our mailbox with bold black ones that were visible from space. We used a pressure washer on our driveway until it looked brand new. We put up privacy screens in our garage so that even when the door was open, no one could see our trash cans. Whenever we resolved one of Margaret’s issues, she would uncover another that required immediate attention.
During one of her surprise inspections, she told us, “Your lawn stripes are going the wrong way. Section 6.1 says that grass must be cut in a way that looks good in the neighborhood.”
I had been cutting our grass diagonally, which made lovely diamond patterns that I thought looked professional and well-kept. It looks like Margaret liked parallel stripes that went across the street.
During another visit, she said, “I can see your garden hose from the sidewalk.” “All tools and supplies for maintenance must be kept out of sight of the public.”
The hose in question was neatly coiled on a hose reel that was attached to the side of our house, just like the hose reels on many other houses in the area. But Margaret thought that our hose reel was somehow more obvious or obnoxious than the others.
“Your car is parked too close to the sidewalk,” she said one morning as I was getting ready to go for work. “Cars must stay at least eighteen inches away from the edge of the sidewalk for aesthetic reasons.”
I assessed the distance and determined that my automobile was exactly twenty-two inches from the sidewalk, which is well within the requirement. Margaret said that her measurements were different from mine when I told her about it. She said that I would get an official notice telling me to fix it.