Several exceeded one million.
Advertisements called Lawson Lake “Oakhaven’s pristine private mountain lake.”
That wording nearly made my lawyer choke later.
At the time, I did not have a lawyer.
I simply had anger.
The first trespass happened on Memorial Day weekend.
Three kayaks appeared near my dock.
I rowed out.
A middle-aged man waved cheerfully.
“Beautiful morning!”
“You’re on private water.”
He laughed.
“We live right there.”
He pointed toward Oakhaven.
“I know where you live.”
“The lake belongs to my property.”
His smile disappeared.
“We were told we have lake privileges.”
“Who told you?”
“The sales office.”
That was the first moment I understood the scale of Arthur’s problem.
He had not merely implied views.
He had apparently sold access.
I asked the man to return to his side.
He argued.
Then eventually paddled away.
The next weekend there were twelve kayaks.
Then paddleboards.
Then two jet skis.
The first jet ski nearly hit a loon nest near the north reeds.
I lost my temper.
I stood on my dock shouting while a teenager circled in front of me laughing.
The next day I installed NO TRESPASSING signs.
Someone removed them.
I installed replacements.
Those disappeared too.
Then Oakhaven residents dumped white sand across a narrow portion of the eastern property line and built what they called a residents’ beach.
The sand extended approximately twenty feet onto my land.
That was when I hired a surveyor.
Not Arthur’s.
Mine.
The survey confirmed what Grandpa’s markers already showed.
The beach trespassed.
Parts of a walking path trespassed.
Several landscaping beds crossed the line.
One decorative stone wall crossed it by nearly five feet.
I sent certified notices.
Arthur ignored the first two.
Then Margaret Gable arrived.
Margaret was sixty-one and had retired after thirty years as corporate litigation counsel for a pharmaceutical manufacturer.
She had purchased one of the most expensive cabins in Oakhaven.
Within weeks, residents elected her HOA president.
Margaret liked rules.
More specifically, Margaret liked rules when she controlled their interpretation.
She appeared at my porch wearing white pants, an expensive navy jacket, oversized sunglasses, and shoes unsuitable for gravel.
“Mr. Lawson.”
“Mrs. Gable.”
“Margaret.”
“No.”
She blinked.
“I prefer Mrs. Gable.”
I said.
She removed her sunglasses.
“We need to discuss community relations.”
“We’re not in the same community.”
Her lips tightened.
“Oakhaven residents have purchased property with established recreational expectations concerning the lake.”
“Expectations are not deeds.”
“There are representations in our closing materials.”
“Take that up with Arthur.”
“We have.”
“Wonderful.”
“Goodbye.”
I started closing the door.
She placed her hand against it.
That changed my tone.
“Remove your hand.”
She did.
Margaret inhaled.
“The hostility is unnecessary.”
“You’re standing on my porch demanding access to something you don’t own.”
“I’m asking for cooperation.”
“I said no.”
“Then perhaps the courts will clarify.”
That was exactly what happened.