Landscaping consistency.
Richard talked about property values the way preachers talked about salvation.
My bridge bothered him immediately.
The Reserve’s original developer had advertised a continuous recreational boating loop around most of the shoreline.
That statement was technically true for small boats.
It was not true for large boats.
My bridge crossed the narrow southern channel.
A fishing boat could pass beneath.
A canoe could pass.
Most pontoon boats could manage depending on height.
A large wake boat could not.
A cabin cruiser definitely could not.
Residents began entering the cove.
Seeing the bridge.
Turning around.
Some complained.
Then Richard decided the bridge itself was the problem.
The first HOA letter arrived in April.
NOTICE OF NONCOMPLIANT SHORELINE STRUCTURE.
I almost framed it.
The letter informed me that my bridge violated Reserve architectural standards.
I wrote one sentence in response.
My property is not located within the Reserve at Oak Haven Homeowners Association and is not subject to its covenants.
Then I attached a parcel map.
Two weeks later, another letter arrived.
NAVIGATIONAL OBSTRUCTION NOTICE.
This one claimed my bridge interfered with community access.
I responded:
The channel beneath my bridge lies within private Hastings property boundaries and the bridge predates your development by approximately thirty-six years.
I attached the 1981 permit.
Richard called.
I did not answer.
He left a voicemail.
“Arthur, this is Richard Covington. We need to get past the adversarial posture and find a market-based solution.”
I listened twice.
Mostly because I enjoyed the phrase market-based solution applied to a bridge I had no intention of selling.
I called him back.
“What solution?”
“Remove the bridge.”
“No.”
“Arthur.”
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the offer.”
“I don’t need the offer.”
He paused.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
I laughed.
That did not help.
Richard’s voice changed.
“You understand the bridge negatively affects the enjoyment of dozens of homeowners.”
“I understand some homeowners bought boats too large for the lake.”
“It’s not your place to dictate boat size.”
“It is absolutely my place to decide whether my bridge stays.”
Richard became quiet.
Then:
“We’ll revisit this.”
He did.
Repeatedly.
Drones appeared over my property.
I photographed them.
The HOA filed a complaint claiming my boathouse roof violated shoreline color standards.
The county rejected it because the HOA had no jurisdiction.
Another complaint alleged unshielded lighting.
I had one porch bulb.
The county inspector laughed.
Then came Mitchell Gallagher.
Mitchell was the attorney retained by the HOA.
Unlike Richard, Mitchell was not foolish.
He was aggressive.
But careful.
His letters cited cases.
Water-access doctrines.
Riparian rights.
Navigability principles.
Public-trust theories.
Most had limited relevance to a private landlocked reservoir.
Still, the point was obvious.
Richard did not need to win quickly.
He wanted me to spend money.
My attorney, David Levin, had a small office in town above a pharmacy.
David was sixty-one.
Quiet.
Patient.
Not impressed by expensive letterhead.
He read Mitchell’s first twenty-page letter.
Then looked at me.
“They’re trying to create uncertainty.”
“Do they have any?”
“Not much.”
“Much?”
David leaned back.
“Arthur, every lawsuit has uncertainty.”
“But your bridge permit is valid.”
“Your land is outside the HOA.”
“The channel boundaries favor you.”
“And their commerce argument is nonsense.”
“Good.”
David raised one finger.
“That does not mean they cannot make your life miserable.”
He was right.