I mentioned it to Glenda the next week, at the mailbox. Just in passing. "Somebody might want to look at the pool equipment," I said. "Sounds like a fan bearing going out, or something running that shouldn't be."
She looked at me for a second too long. "The pool company handles all of that," she said. "Thank you, Rae."
The second thing happened in May. A line of severe thunderstorms came through on a Tuesday night, and a big straight-line wind gust snapped two poles on the feeder that serves our side of Calder Springs. I knew those poles. I could have told you which ones were going to go. The whole subdivision went dark at about eleven at night and stayed dark for nineteen hours.
Except my house.
I didn't even notice the power was out until Splice started barking at the window and I looked out and saw that the whole street was black except for my own porch light. My inverters didn't so much as blink. The batteries carried the house through the night, the sun came up and refilled them, and the next afternoon, while the rest of Larkspur Bend was sweating through a ninety-four-degree day with no air conditioning, I had both mini-splits running and a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge.
I did what I'd want a neighbor to do. I ran a heavy-duty extension cord out of my garage and across the side yard to Ozzie's, so he could keep his insulin cold and run a box fan. I ran another one across the street to the Arreolas, because Ines Arreola had a baby who was eight months old and a nine-year-old named Rafa who was taking the dark extremely personally, and I figured a fan and a phone charger and a working fridge would help. I left my garage door open, so people could come charge their phones off the outlets on my workbench, and a good dozen did, over the course of that day.
Glenda didn't come. But she drove by twice in her golf cart, slowly, and on the second pass I saw her hold up her phone and take a picture of the extension cord running across the Arreolas' lawn.
The third thing happened in June. I got a letter.
It wasn't a violation notice, not yet. It was a "Courtesy Inquiry," which I've since learned is what Glenda called a letter when she wanted to accuse you of something without the paperwork. It said that the Association had experienced "a significant and unexplained increase in electrical consumption at the Amenity Center," that the Board was "reviewing all possible sources of unauthorized use," and that residents were reminded that "connection of any personal equipment to Association-owned outlets, circuits, or fixtures, including landscape lighting, irrigation controllers, and monument lighting, is strictly prohibited." The letter had been sent, I would learn, to exactly one household.
I wrote back. I explained, in a page and a half, that my house was not connected to the electrical grid in any way, that my power came from solar panels and batteries, and that I had a letter from Blanco Ridge Electric confirming the permanent disconnection of my service. I attached a copy of the letter. I attached a copy of the city's final inspection. I offered to give any member of the board a tour.
I got a reply two weeks later. It was one sentence long. The Board does not accept unsolicited third-party documentation not maintained in the Association's records.
In July came the first actual violation notice: Section 6.12, Nuisance and Unauthorized Use of Common Elements. A photograph was attached. It showed an orange extension cord running across a lawn. It was the Arreolas' lawn, from the day of the storm. The notice did not say that. Fine: two hundred and fifty dollars.