On the south end, it meets county road 118, a two-lane blacktop that leads to town in one direction and the interstate in the other. On the north end, the road dead ends at my hay barn in the back fence line. Beyond that fence, for 60 years, there was nothing but timber company land, second growth pine, and scrub oak that nobody used for anything except deer hunting. That changed in 2019 when a developer named Garrett Stanton Communities, bought 80 acres of that timberland, and built Ridgewood Estates, 112 homes. Starting price 325, HOA dues 290 a month.
Cement-board siding and three approved shades of gray: Mist, Fog, and Slightly Different Fog. Community pool fitness center with a yoga room nobody used. Walking trails with motivational quotes stamped into the concrete every 50 ft and a single entrance that connected to County Road 118 via a winding two-mile access road called Ridgewood Drive. The entrance had a stone monument sign that said Ridgewood Estates, where life comes home, in brushed bronze letters, which I always thought was a strange thing to carve in stone next to a cattle pasture. Now, here's the thing about Ridgewood Drive.
The developer designed it to curve around the western edge of the property because that's where the topography allowed a gentle grade. But that meant Ridgewood residents had to drive 2 miles on their own access road, then 3 miles east on County Road 118 to reach the same intersection my farm road reached in a quarter mile. My road was a straight shot south to the highway. Ridgewood Drive was a winding detour that added 11 minutes to every morning commute. For 2 years, nobody cared.
The subdivision filled up slowly, the way new developments do in rural East Texas. A house here, a house there. Mostly families from Dallas and Houston looking for cheaper land and better schools. They drove Ridgewood Drive without complaint because that was their road and this was my farm and the two had nothing to do with each other. Then Diane Prescott moved in.
Diane Prescott arrived at Ridgewood Estates in the spring of 2021 driving a white Cadillac Escalade with Dallas dealer plates, a live, laugh, love vanity plate frame, and a bumper sticker that said, "I don't brake for drama." She bought the model home at the top of the hill. Four bedrooms, three-car garage, a kitchen island the size of my hay wagon, and within 6 weeks, she'd been elected HOA president. Not because she was qualified, because nobody else wanted the job and Diane wanted it the way some people want oxygen. She ran unopposed.
She still gave a campaign speech. She was 51, divorced twice, with highlighted blonde hair that moved as a single unit, and a voice that carried across any room like a bullhorn wrapped in silk. Her Facebook bio said, "Community leader, dog mom, warrior for standards." She didn't make suggestions. She issued directives.