People who believed that being placed in charge of a small committee somehow made them superior to everyone around them.
Usually, the best way to handle them was simple.
Be polite.
Follow the legitimate rules.
And avoid unnecessary arguments.
That was my plan.
Unfortunately, Brenda had other ideas.
The first notice arrived after Chloe parked her car slightly crooked in our gravel parking space.
The email explained that her vehicle was not properly centered within the designated parking area.
I read it twice.
Then I looked out the window.
The car was parked on our property.
There were no painted lines.
No neighboring vehicles.
No obstruction.
Just gravel.
I shook my head and deleted the email.
A few days later, another notice arrived.
Our firewood stack was visible from the road.
Apparently, this violated the community's exterior appearance standards.
The road in question was little more than a dirt path.
The only regular traffic consisted of deer and one determined neighbor who somehow considered jogging in jeans an acceptable recreational activity.
I moved the firewood.
Not because I agreed with the complaint.
Because I didn't have the energy to argue about logs.
Then came reminders about parking decals.
Guest identification.
Dock usage.
And an increasingly elaborate collection of community regulations.
I paid my dues.
Answered the necessary emails.
And continued enjoying the cabin.
At the time, I thought Brenda was merely an overenthusiastic HOA president.
I was wrong.
The first real warning arrived in the form of a community security newsletter.
The subject line read:
CEDAR RIDGE COMMUNITY SAFETY TASK FORCE — NEW ENFORCEMENT INITIATIVE.
I opened it while drinking coffee.
The message announced that the HOA had established a volunteer patrol to address unauthorized visitors, suspicious teenagers, improper dock usage, and other supposed threats to community safety.
There was even a photograph.
Three middle-aged men stood shoulder to shoulder wearing matching polo shirts and cargo shorts.
Each displayed a shiny badge bearing the words HOA SECURITY.
I stared at the picture.
Then I called Chloe over.
“Take a look at this.”
She leaned over my shoulder.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she burst out laughing.
“Oh my God, Dad. They made their own police department.”
“Apparently.”
“Look at those badges!”
“I see them.”
“They're literally playing cops.”
I smiled.
“They're just guys with walkie-talkies and too much free time.”
Chloe laughed again.
I closed the newsletter.
And that should have been the end of it.
But somewhere between issuing parking warnings and creating their own security badges, Brenda Kensington had begun convincing herself that Cedar Ridge was a small kingdom.
And every kingdom, apparently, needed enforcers.
The trouble started when those enforcers noticed my daughter.
One afternoon, while I was working downtown, Chloe drove to the cabin with a friend to study for their final exams.
They took their textbooks down to the dock.