Moving on to the ranch was my first experience with an HOA. Within five or six weeks of my arrival (still settling, still arranging, still unpacking) my neighbors complained to the HOA about me; the HOA process began early on in regards to making sure the new guy knew there were many rules to follow. Where is the HOA’s accountability to the owners, new or otherwise? That is the topic of today’s thought.
Choosing to move here was not an easy decision, for the aforementioned reason of the HOA itself. I am not one to be told what color I can paint what building, what vehicle might sit in what location, etc.; each HOA is a unique animal unto itself. The tipping factor, for this man to sign and thus relocate, was a combination of this fabulous location itself, coupled with being a gated community, such that anyone wandering about our fair lands also has passed our security screening.
We have cameras at the entry points. We have an LPR system. We have special locks. We have keys. We have gates. Giving up a touch of freedom for security? It seemed like a fair trade.
But we do not have security here, we have the illusion of security. We have had at least two notable incidents where we could not ascertain the license plate of the perpetrator. (We have been told that if we have not provided license plates to the HOA in advance, they wouldn’t be able to track the vehicles even if plate numbers were captured.) We have poachers wandering about, freely. We have had an incident of the wind shifting the camera out of site of the gate so we could not follow a matter. We have folks bringing in large back hoe type equipment scraping and altering our roads. We have had someone remove and steal our railroad gate padlock, with nary an image of who, or when the transgression occurred. Since then, at least three weeks now, the gate is simply swinging wide open, with no replacement lock yet available. Security? We don’t need no stinkin’ security!
We pay for this security we do not get. We trade freedoms where neighbors can complain about what our lot might look like, but management seems not to care if strangers wander in, explore, and maybe visit our storage facility, about a half mile away. Owners have stored a few hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment here under the guise of it being behind a locked gate. Nearly all of them are gone for the winter and trust that this gate is locked, protecting their property. I have a nearly new truck sitting down there, eight miles from home, with no ability to see it, and the gate intended to protect it swings wide open for weeks now; the management company has no spare lock on hand, but has placed an order.
Two nights in the past week I have seen an array of snow machines wandering about the northwest end of the park, riding the ranges, zipping around this wonderful land. I do not think they belong here. I do not think they live here. I wish we could get our gate locked, such a fundamental, ridiculous breach of security. A breach we should have had a spare lock on hand to resolve.
(Hey, Mr. Burns – how about a gate latch so the gates would at least stay closed, if not locked? Could we maybe trouble you for a damned latch?)