Apparently history became incompatible when landscaping companies got expensive enough.
The Homeowner ignored most of it.
Until the HOA bought the neighboring land.
Two days after closing, the President arrived at his fence.
She brought the Board Treasurer.
The Vice President.
A clipboard.
And the expression of someone arriving to collect a debt.
The Homeowner was replacing a fence post.
He saw them coming and kept working.
The President stopped near the gravel road.
“Good afternoon.”
The Homeowner drove the post another six inches into the ground.
“Afternoon.”
She waited.
He continued.
Finally:
“We need to discuss the access road.”
He looked toward it.
“What about it?”
“It is now association property.”
“The dirt under it?”
“Yes.”
“The road itself?”
“All improvements transfer with the parcel.”
He leaned on the post driver.
“That’s not quite how access rights work.”
The President smiled.
“We had attorneys review the acquisition.”
“Good.”
“Then there shouldn’t be confusion.”
“There isn’t.”
She did not like that answer.
She opened the clipboard.
“The board has approved immediate site preparation.”
“Okay.”
“The clubhouse foundation will overlap the current road.”
“I saw the plan.”
“You’ll need to stop using it Monday.”
“No.”
The Treasurer looked uncomfortable.
The President remained confident.
“We own the parcel.”
The Homeowner nodded.
“You bought surface title.”
She stared.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
The President laughed.
“The deed conveyed the property to the HOA.”
“Which deed?”
“The current deed.”
He smiled slightly.
“That’s not the only one.”
Her eyes narrowed.
The Vice President looked toward her.
She ignored him.
“If you believe you possess an easement, submit documentation to the board.”
“I already asked your attorney for the title chain.”
“That has nothing to do with whether you can trespass.”
The Homeowner looked at her.
“Interesting word.”
“It’s accurate.”
He set the post driver down.
“Show me the paperwork proving you can extinguish a historic access road.”
The President rolled her eyes.
“I don’t have to prove ownership to you.”
“No.”
“But you might eventually have to prove it to someone.”
The Treasurer shifted.
The President snapped the clipboard shut.
“We voted on this.”
The Homeowner nearly laughed.
“Your board can vote on sunrise too.”
“It doesn’t change who owns the sun.”
Her expression hardened.
“You think because your family was here first, normal rules don’t apply.”
“No.”
“I think property records apply.”
She stepped closer.
“The road closes Monday.”
He looked toward the open field.
“Then I guess Monday will be interesting.”
The President left believing she had won.
That afternoon, the Homeowner called the county recorder.
Not because of the access road.
Not yet.
Because of something his father said twenty-eight years earlier.
The Homeowner had been fourteen.
They were repairing a tractor near the eastern pasture.
His father pointed toward the neighboring field.
“Remember something.”
The boy barely listened.
His father continued.
“The Callahans sold the grass over there.”