HOA Flooded My Workshop — So I Turned Their Golf Course Into Swamp
Chapter 2
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"Russell," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "did your board approve a drainage change that directs water onto my land?"There was a pause. Papers shuffling. Then: "It's within community guidelines.""I'm not part of your community."Another pause, shorter this time. "It's stormwater, Nathan. It's natural runoff. You'll be fine."You'll be fine.I looked out at my workshop while he said that: the warped beams, the rusted saw, my dad's old lathe sitting there like it had aged 10 years overnight."It cost me everything in that building," I said.He sighed like I'd inconvenienced him. "With all due respect, your structure sits at a lower elevation. Water flows downhill. That's not our fault."Now, here's the thing: water does flow downhill, but trenches don't dig themselves. I hung up before I said something I couldn't take back.For a couple of days, I paced around like a dog that can't find the fence line. Angry, sure, but also embarrassed, like somehow I should have seen this coming. That's when something clicked in the back of my mind.The pond.There's a pond that straddles the property line between my land and Briar Glen's course. It's been there longer than either of us. My dad used to fish it with me on Sunday mornings. When the developers first bought the adjacent acreage decades ago, they asked if they could draw irrigation water from it. Back then, it was a handshake deal. My dad was the trusting type. No paperwork, just neighborly goodwill.Over the years, Briar Glen expanded. Sprinkler systems got more elaborate. Their pump house, a small cinder block structure, was built near the water's edge. I never thought much about it. Figured it was mutually beneficial: they kept the pond level stable, we all enjoyed the view.But standing there staring at my flooded shop, I started wondering something I probably should have wondered a long time ago: Did they actually have any legal right to that water?That night, I pulled out the old property surveys my dad kept in a metal filing cabinet. Spread them across my kitchen table. Traced boundary lines with my finger.According to the map, about 70% of that pond sat on my land. And the pump house? That sat entirely on my side.