I moved into the cabin in April 2023.
My plan was straightforward.
Renovate the cabin enough to live comfortably.
Clean the barn.
Build a larger permanent house in several years.
Maybe start a small woodworking shop.
I worked remotely for an environmental equipment supplier, so I could live almost anywhere with decent internet.
I had spent fourteen years in Denver apartments.
I wanted trees.
My grandfather left me trees.
The first week was peaceful.
The second week introduced Carolyn Whitmore.
I returned from the hardware store one afternoon and found a laminated notice taped to my rural mailbox.
CREST VIEW ESTATES HOMEOWNERS ASSOCIATION
ARCHITECTURAL VIOLATION NOTICE
UNAPPROVED VEHICLE / VISUAL NUISANCE
Fine: $250.
The violation?
My 1998 Ford F-150.
Blue.
Rust around both rear wheel arches.
Dent in the passenger door from an incident involving an elk and a decision I still defended.
The truck was parked in my driveway.
On my property.
Outside Crest View.
At first, I assumed someone had made a clerical mistake.
Then I saw a handwritten note at the bottom.
Vehicle must be removed from street-facing view within 72 hours.
C.W.
I walked to Crest View’s entrance.
It was difficult to miss.
Two massive stone columns.
Electronic access arms.
Decorative ironwork.
Gatehouse.
Flower beds.
A paved road curving through landscaping before disappearing between the first houses.
Carolyn stood near the gatehouse holding a ruler against a patch of grass.
I wish that detail were invented.
It was not.
She wore cream trousers, a fitted navy jacket, oversized sunglasses, and held a leather clipboard under one arm.
“Carolyn Whitmore?”
She looked over the top of her sunglasses.
“Yes?”
I held up the violation.
“I think this belongs to someone else.”
She looked at it.
“No.”
“That’s your truck.”
“Yes.”
“That is the problem.”
I waited.
She seemed to expect immediate submission.
“My property is not in Crest View.”
“It directly borders Crest View.”
“Still not Crest View.”
She adjusted the clipboard.
“Our governing documents give us standing to address adjacent nuisances that negatively affect community appearance.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Then perhaps you should read them.”
“I don’t need to read your HOA documents to know I never joined your HOA.”
Her expression hardened.
“Mr. Porter, is it?”
“Yes.”
“Crest View contains more than eighty million dollars in residential property.”
“That truck is visible from our entrance.”
“My truck is visible from my driveway.”
“It looks abandoned.”
“It runs.”
“That isn’t the standard.”
“What standard?”
“Property values.”
I laughed once.
That was a mistake.
Carolyn heard disrespect.
“You find this amusing?”
“I find a fake $250 fine on land you don’t govern amusing.”
“It is not fake.”
“I’m not paying it.”
“Then we escalate.”
“To whom?”
“County code enforcement.”
“Please do.”
She leaned slightly closer.
“You inherited that property, correct?”
“Yes.”
“That explains some things.”
I stared.
“What exactly does that explain?”
Carolyn smiled tightly.
“Nothing.”
I handed the notice back.
She refused to take it.
So I placed it on her clipboard.