The cameras went up on a Wednesday. I mounted them the way I'd been trained to set up surveillance on a fugitive target: overlapping fields of view, motion activated, recording timestamps synced to the second, positioned where they were invisible to anyone who wasn't specifically looking for them. One on the barn post facing the western fence line, one on the ranch gate facing the access road, one on the stock tank dam overlooking the hay pasture, and one on the utility pole by the cattle guard covering the approach from Stone Creek Estates.
The cameras started producing evidence within 72 hours.
Within three days, Gary had entered my property through the fence gap, photographed every piece of equipment in the shed, and left a laminated card zip-tied to a fence post: "Visual obstruction scheduled for removal per HOA Directive 2024-009."
There was no Directive 2024-009. Gary was manufacturing jurisdiction he didn't have.
The following Tuesday, I came home to find all four tires on the Kubota flat. The valve cores had been removed and laid in a neat row on the tractor seat like a message. New valve cores: $16. The message: priceless.
I filed a criminal mischief report with the Burnet County Sheriff's Office. The deputy noted the trail camera evidence and told me what I already knew: "This is escalating."
The following week, Gary blocked my private ranch access road with his Silverado.
I called him. "We're conducting a visual impact study," Gary said, as if that sentence made sense. "The truck stays until the assessment is complete."
I told him to move it.
"File a complaint with the board," Gary said, and hung up.