THE HOA WAR: HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO KEEP WHAT’S YOURS?
(A True Story About Power, Fear, and a Man Who Wouldn’t Bow)
Have you ever had someone threaten to kill you just because you wouldn’t write a check? I don’t mean metaphorically; I mean literally. Someone choosing whether or not you could live on your land was a problem they wanted to “fix.”
This is where the story begins.
At that instant, I knew that my new house had a conflict buried under the ground. Not a gunfight, not cartel business, and not something that made the news.
Worse.
A fight between homeowners’ associations.
If you’ve never been on the receiving end of a homeowners’ association that perceives itself as a shadow government, I can assure you that they lack fairness. They don’t play fair. They fight with clipboards, rules, threats written in red letters at dawn, and a kind of petty anger that can eat through steel.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Let me take you back to the start, when everything started to go wrong.
THE LAND THAT WAS MEANT TO BE peaceful
I felt something I hadn’t felt in years when I turned off the freeway and started bouncing down that long, bumpy country lane.
Calm.
Sixty acres of untamed, pristine land in Montana, with a sky so wide it might take a man whole. Space—real space—that made you breathe deeply without you knowing it.
I had recently departed Las Vegas after twenty years that had aged me twice as rapidly. Nights spent chasing shadows that weren’t mine and dealing with men whose grins hid knives. A life full of noise, sirens, and bloodshed. A life I had finally left behind.
So as I stopped the truck, got out, and smelled the pine and dust, I believed that maybe, just maybe, I had gotten away from the ghosts.
There was no breeze. The birds were even whispering. It seemed like the world was giving me another chance.
That serenity lasted for 10 minutes.
THE FIRST TIME I SAW KAREN
She showed up before I had even finished unpacking the first box.
A shiny white SUV drove up the road, and dust swirled around it like a holy aura. A woman with a cardigan that was too clean for rural Montana and pearls that probably hadn’t been outside in years stepped out.
She looked at me like I was bothering her HOA-approved air.
“You must be the new person,” she murmured in a clipped, sweet voice, as if she were giving me poisoned lemonade.
She handed me a big binder without saying anything further. It was a thick, shiny, overstuffed packet with gold lettering on it:
WELCOME GUIDE FOR THE SUMMIT PINES HOMEOWNER ASSOCIATION
I opened it.
Front Page: $3,500 initiation fee due right away
Next page: Required yearly dues: $1,200
Next page: You must obey the rules of the community strictly.
Next page: Sign the Membership Agreement When You Arrive
I gently looked up.
I answered, “Ma’am, my land isn’t in Summit Pines.” That line stops before my property starts. “You don’t take care of this road or this land.”
She didn’t even blink. “That’s a road that the community takes care of. You need permission from the HOA to get to it.
I said, “The county owns the first half.” “The second half is covered by a federal easement from 1973.” “You don’t have any power here.”
A thin, harsh, and chilly smile spread across her face.
She answered, “You’re either with us or against us.”
I’ve dealt with cartel thugs, corrupt politicians, and gang leaders who would kill you and use your blood as ink. But none of them ever said anything that dumb.
I gave the binder back.
“No, thank you.” Not interested. “My land is free.”
Her smile got tighter. “We’ll see how long that attitude lasts.”
Then she turned around and drove away, leaving a cloud of dust and a warning that smelled worse than her perfume.
The first shot crosses the bow.
Things went wrong quickly.
A week later, a white pickup truck with a “Westbrook County Inspection Services” magnet on it came by. Two guys got out. One big one that looks like a brick wall. The other is thin and has a clipboard and a resting weasel face.
“Checking for fire compliance,” Clipboard Guy stated. “I have a problem with your barn.”
Do you have any complaints?
I had been there for twelve days.
I told them to go ahead.
They poked about, looked at the rafters, and snapped pictures of cobwebs as if they were illegal items. Like middle school bullies preparing a lunchroom attack, they murmured to each other.
Finally, Clipboard Guy leaned very close to me and hissed.
“Off the record?” You should join Summit Pines instead. “These headaches go away for members.”
I gazed at him until he looked down at his boots and swallowed hard.
They went without anything to accuse me of.
But they weren’t the last.
Not even close.
I HAVE RED PAINT ON MY SHED.
They sent me the first serious communication that night, after midnight.
Letters in crimson spray paint that are three feet tall:
ARE YOU BLIND? JOIN OR LOSE
There are tags in Vegas, like warnings, territory markers, and subtle threats. But this felt different. Less. More petty. More personal.
I did not call the sheriff. Not yet.
Instead, I put up six trail cameras that are camouflaged, can see at night, and turn on when they sense motion along the road, the south fence, and the treeline.
Nothing happened the first night.
On the second night, the wind blew in.
The third night marked a significant victory.
3:00 in the morning
A new gray Dodge Ram truck was parked without any plates.
Two individuals, both wearing hoods, are present.
Paint in a spray can. Light bulbs. Whispering.
One moved like an adolescent girl: thin, quick, and anxious. She pushed aside her hood and scratched her head at one point.
Enough to glimpse her face.
I cut off still frames and submitted them—anonymously—to a sheriff’s tech I trusted.
I am not ready to reveal all my intentions.
Not yet.
THREATS IN THE MAIL
A few days later, I got another note. There is no return address.
In:
EVERYONE BURNS, SHERIFF OR NOT.
Adorable.
But now it was time to stop playing defensive.
I went to the county recorder’s office and spent six hours going over Summit Pines’s charter, land-use proposals, and attempts to annex the area.
They had tried to expand their borders two years previously, but it didn’t work.
Can you guess whose land they wanted?
Mine.
There was a red circle around my 60 acres.
One vote turned it down.
All of a sudden, everything clicked.
Things were about to get a lot worse.
THE PARADE OF SURVEILLANCE
Within a few days, three different cars started slowly rolling past my house.
A Hyundai in blue.
An SUV that is black.
The vehicle in question is a gray minivan.
Phones were held up behind windows that were tinted. Recording. Looking. Trying to scare me.
But I had been observed by worse folks.
I didn’t pay attention to them.
They didn’t like it.
THE NIGHT OF THE BANG
I got up at 4:07 a.m. to the kind of boom that rattles the bones before the ears.
The whole home shook. The windows were bright orange. Next came the smell: burning diesel, melting rubber, and scorched dirt.
My John Deere tractor, which I had spent three months fixing up, was on fire.
I ran outdoors quickly.
The flames were high above me, roaring and ravenous. The heat was so strong that it hurt my face.
Firefighters got there quickly because that’s how it works in rural areas. But when they were done, my tractor looked like a mangled skeleton.
A friend who is a firefighter drew me aside.
“This wasn’t an accident, Shane. Someone put gas into the engine compartment. A lot of it.
I retrieved the video from my fence camera and brought it back inside.
There she was.
Hoodie.
She holds a can of red gas.
She moves like she practiced for it.
Turns it on.
Goes.
The girl remains the same as before.
And this time, I captured the perfect picture of her face.
I emailed everything to forensics with just one note:
ARSON SUSPECT: FEMALE, GETTING WORSE
Now it was personal.
For them.
It also held personal significance for me.
KAREN’S FACEBOOK POST—THE FINAL STRAW
Karen hit first before I even had a chance to talk to the sheriff.
She wrote on the Summit Pines Facebook page for everyone to see:
“Some people don’t care about our community.
I heard that our new neighbor lost his tractor.
What you do has effects.
If I were him, I’d think about moving before more bad things occurred.”
He is no longer acting in such a manner.
The threats appear to be perceived as rumors within the community.
Then a former groundskeeper for the HOA sent me a message:
“I heard Karen and her daughter fighting.” “Let him rot without his damn tractor,” Jules remarked. I thought you should know.
Her child.
Jules Aldrich.
Everything made sense.
I was carrying dynamite now; all I needed was a match.
THE BREAKTHROUGH
My cameras saw the gray Ram pull into Summit Pines late one night. A hooded person with the same build and walk is going into the Aldrich residence.
A maintenance man, who was shaking like a leaf, cornered me behind the store.
He gave me a folded piece of paper and stated, “I can’t keep this anymore.”” Karen yelled at Jules and said, “Next time, wear thicker gloves.” And don’t park where people can see you.
That was it.
That was my order.
That afternoon, we drove into Summit Pines with five units and all the lights on. No longer being polite.
When Karen opened the door, her look was priceless—righteousness turned to panic.
We made a list of the proof:
Prints on gas cans.
Accelerant gloves.
The video was captured by a trail camera.
Letters that threaten.
Messages that were deleted have been found.
Anonymous communications from the HOA proposing forced annexation.
Her jaw got stiff.
She squinted.
Her voice broke.
Do you believe this situation has been resolved? This community supports me!”
However, when the neighbors opened their doors, no one stepped outside to help.
No one came forward.
People can tell when a ship is going down.
WHAT HAPPENED NEXT: THE HOA FALLS APART
They brought in Jules. She didn’t flee or fight. She sat in the questioning room and twisted a hair tie until it broke.
“It wasn’t supposed to go off,” she said in a low voice. “Mom wanted him to be scared; she wanted him to help.”
She broke down.
She put her name on it.
She admitted it.
Karen?
She hired a lawyer and said it was a political witch hunt.
Not important.
The DA brought charges:
Setting fire
Conspiracy
Blackmail
Force
Damage to property
Attempted fraud in annexation
Montana was buzzing with news.
Everyone who had ever been bullied by an HOA suddenly had a battle cry.
Many lawsuits came in.
When her emails got out, the mayor quit. She had been offered “campaign support” in exchange for letting Summit Pines grow illegally.
In three weeks, 70% of Summit Pines’ members left.
Their board went away.
Their accounts were locked.
The HOA, which was a small empire, fell apart because of its corruption.
THE MONUMENT TO STANDING YOUR GROUND
I made something a month later.
A full-size model of a John Deere tractor that a friend made for me as a favor. Sheriff’s colors were red and blue. Parked at the end of my driveway.
I wrote on the blade:
NOT YOUR HOA PROPERTY
I put a permanent sign next to it:
SHERIFF PROTECTED PRIVATE LAND
This sign serves as a reminder, not a warning.
A reminder.
This is not intended for their benefit.
For me.
There is a cost associated with achieving independence.
Sometimes the price is standing your ground.
THE SENTENCING
Karen received 12 years.
For life, they can’t serve on any board, committee, HOA, or land group.
Jules made a deal. 200 hours of community service, five years of probation, and counseling are all required.
I didn’t go to the sentence.
I was too busy putting everything back together.
This wasn’t due to fear.
It was a matter of principle.
THE LAST QUIET
It was summer.
The air becomes softer.
The land got better.
The stillness came back, this time for genuine, earned, and honest.
I sit on my patio and drink coffee every morning while I watch the steel tractor catch the light.
It rusts occasionally.
That’s OK.
It wasn’t made to move.
It was made to be remembered.
And these days, people I don’t know from all over the country send me messages:
“Wow, I thought it was just me.”
“My HOA said they would take my house.”
“Thanks for standing up.”
“You made me brave.”
Because bullies don’t need fists.
Sometimes all they need is a name.
But the answer is always the same:
You talk fire.
to folks who only know how to smoke.
THE LAST QUESTION
Now I’ll ask you:
If someone tried to take your land away from you, what would you do?
What do you think is the difference between “neighborly” and “necessary”?
Leave a comment.
Tell your tale.
Everyone here has one.
And the only way to stop the next Karen is…
is to make sure the last one didn’t win.
