I continued.
“I work with easements, right-of-way, drainage facilities, and public infrastructure.”
“None of this is exotic.”
Susan interrupted.
“The violation remains.”
“You cannot fine me for something I don’t own.”
“The structure is adjacent to your lot.”
“That isn’t ownership.”
“You benefit from it.”
“I also benefit from the county road.”
“Should I repaint that?”
A few people laughed.
Susan did not.
“The fine is now two hundred dollars per day.”
I stared at her.
“For what?”
“Insubordination.”
For a moment, I actually thought she had misspoken.
“Insubordination is not an HOA violation.”
“It is when a homeowner intentionally obstructs enforcement.”
“Show me the covenant.”
Susan’s eyes narrowed.
“You are wasting the board’s time.”
“No.”
“I’m trying to prevent you from doing something stupid.”
That was perhaps not diplomatic.
Greg leaned forward.
“Watch your tone.”
I gathered my folder.
“Read the documents.”
Susan looked at me.
“Remove the bridge.”
“I legally cannot.”
“Then we will.”
That sentence was the first time I realized this might become more than annoying.
When I got home, I wrote down exactly what had been said.
Date.
Time.
Who attended.
I emailed the board.
I attached the records again.
I summarized my position.
Please confirm receipt.
No response.
Three days later, a certified envelope arrived.
NOTICE OF CONTINUING VIOLATION.
$200 PER DAY.
The letter was from Garrison & Croft, the HOA’s law firm.
It described the bridge as an “unauthorized private structure maintained by the Harding property.”
That phrase mattered.
I wrote back.
The bridge is not maintained by me, was not constructed by me or any predecessor acting as private owner to my knowledge, and lies within a recorded public access easement.
I attached the survey.
I asked the law firm to identify the deed or instrument establishing my ownership.
They did not.
Instead, they sent another violation notice.
Then another.
The claimed balance grew.
$2,400.
$4,800.
$7,200.
Susan started documenting the bridge from the neighborhood trail.
Once, I saw her taking photographs through our trees.
Another time, Greg stood near our property marker holding a measuring tape.
Sarah became nervous.
“What if they put a lien on the house?”
“They can try.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
“I know.”
“You want to hire an attorney?”
Eventually, yes.
But before spending thousands, I wanted the association to be forced to answer one simple factual question.
Who owns the bridge?
I contacted King County Flood Control.
It took four calls.
The first person had no idea what structure I meant.
The second transferred me.
The third found a project number.
The fourth was a maintenance engineer named Elena Morales.
When I gave her the recording reference, she went quiet.
“Where did you say you live?”
“Pinehurst Enclave.”
“And the association wants you to remove the bridge?”
“Yes.”
“That bridge is still in the corridor.”
“That’s what the plat says.”
“It is.”
“Does the county consider it abandoned?”
Another pause.
“No.”
That was the word I needed.
Elena explained that the bridge had not received routine vehicle use for years because newer access routes existed, but it remained part of an emergency maintenance corridor.
The district retained access rights.