Did I work from home?
Partly.
Did I live alone?
Yes.
Did I have family nearby?
My sister lived two counties away.
Was I planning major construction?
Not immediately.
Would I ever subdivide the land?
No.
At the time, I considered the questions slightly intrusive but harmless.
Then Karen looked toward the road.
"That must be difficult to maintain."
"It needs grading twice a year."
"The HOA could handle that for you."
"I'm not part of the HOA."
"No."
She smiled.
"But we maintain several nearby roads."
"It might be beneficial to combine services."
"I prefer to manage it myself."
She nodded.
"Of course."
Then she looked toward the trees.
"The community has discussed whether a secondary route might be useful."
"A route to where?"
"Through your road to the county highway."
"That would make it a through road."
"Only for emergencies."
"It's private."
"I understand."
She smiled again.
"I was only thinking about safety."
She returned to her SUV a few minutes later.
As she drove away, I noticed she moved slowly.
Too slowly.
She wasn't admiring the scenery.
She was studying the road.
The shoulders.
The drainage ditches.
The curves.
At the time, I didn't think much of it.
Later, I realized she had been inspecting the property.
The Friendly Requests
Karen returned four days later.
This time she brought muffins.
She also brought a printed flyer announcing an HOA meeting.
"I'm not a member," I reminded her.
"You are still part of the broader community."
"Geographically adjacent."
"Exactly."
"That's not the same thing as membership."
"No one is forcing you to join."
She said it lightly.
Then she pointed toward my road.
"We're discussing emergency preparedness."
"What about it?"
"Your access road could provide tremendous value if the main entrance becomes blocked."
"What blocks it?"
"Storm damage."
"An accident."
"Construction."
"Hawthorne Ridge has two exits."
"The eastern entrance is narrow."
"So improve it."
She smiled without humor.
"Your route would be more direct."
"For some homes."
"For many homes."
I folded the flyer.
"The road remains private."
Her smile tightened.
"Of course."
Two more visits followed.
Gardening advice.
A town newsletter.
A suggestion that I allow HOA maintenance vehicles to use my road for an "evaluation."
Every conversation somehow returned to access.
Every time, I refused.
I remained polite because I didn't want conflict.
Karen interpreted politeness as uncertainty.
One Saturday morning, I found her standing near my road entrance with two HOA board members.
They had parked on the county shoulder.
One man held a measuring wheel.