By 42 dad handed me the company. Mercer Marine Works was never glamorous. We had two work trucks, a flatbed, a compact excavator, a welding shop, stacks of aluminum framing, steel posts, dock sections, pontoons, pallets of hardware, a fuel tank, and enough half-finished equipment to make a realtor cry. That was why dad planted the trees. He used to look at the yard and say, "If people can't see the mess, they can't complain about the mess."
For 30 years he was right. Then Silver Ridge showed up. The development was built on higher ground west of my property. The newest section had six large homes marketed as premium lake view residences, stone facades, three-car garages, outdoor kitchens, huge windows facing the water. The cheapest one sold for just under a million dollars.
And from every one of them you could see Lake Hartwell. You could also see the tops of my trees. Most owners didn't care. Vanessa Caldwell did. Vanessa was 53 and president of the Silver Ridge HOA.
She wore a red blazer to almost every board meeting and carried a leather folder thick enough to make everything inside it look official. Vanessa rarely raised her voice at first. She preferred the tone of someone explaining rules to a child. The louder she became, the more likely it was that somebody had just told her no. The first time she approached me, she didn't call my trees trees.
She called them vegetation. That should have told me everything. She walked into my yard one Tuesday morning. "Mr. Mercer?" "Jack."
"I'm Vanessa Caldwell, president of Silver Ridge." "I know." We've received several homeowner concerns regarding the vegetation along your western boundary. I looked behind me. "You mean the trees?"
"Yes." What about them? They're interfering with protected view corridors. "Protected by what?" "Our architectural standards."
I stared at her. "Your architectural standards control my trees?" "They protect community sightlines inside Silver Ridge. The views extend beyond Silver Ridge." "I imagine they do."
She opened her folder and pulled out a photograph. It had been taken from one of the homes. A pine canopy filled the bottom half. The lake was clearly visible above it. "See?"
"Yes." "Residents purchased these properties with lake view expectations." "Then they should speak to whoever made the promise." "The trees have grown substantially." "They tend to do that."
Her jaw tightened. "We are asking you to top them." "No." "Not remove them—reduce the canopy." No, the association would pay.
"No." She closed the folder. "Why are you being difficult?" You came onto my property to tell me your HOA controls trees on land outside your HOA. "That's an oversimplification."
"It's exactly what happened." She stared at me for a few seconds, then she left. Two days later I received an email. Request for vegetation cooperation. I replied with three sentences.
The trees are on my property. My property is not part of Silver Ridge. I do not consent to trimming, topping, or removal. The HOA treasurer, Martin Cole, responded first. Understood.