Intruder Alert

For those that fear the ever-increasing attempt to control their daily lives, I feel it is my duty to tell you that we have handed over much of that control to our supposed friends and neighbors under the guise of better living. And the vehicle of our reduced control? The Homeowners’ Association. Yes, my friends: that seemingly innocuous panel empowered to maintain our property values by enforcing the dreaded Codes, Covenants and Restrictions (CC&R’s) and, as a result, eliminating the ne’er-do-wells from our neighborhoods.

Over the past couple of decades, or so, these associations have become commonplace, much to the detriment of what used to be called a neighborhood. Historically, a neighborhood was comprised of various and sundry types and tastes that melded together to create a unique area where one could enjoy a cornucopia of scenery within a block or two from home.

Not any more, though. Exterior colors are mandated, lawns and accompanying shrubbery must be approved by the Landscape Committee, and structures (swing sets, patio covers, etc) need to go through the Architectural Committee before a spade of dirt can be turned. Yes, our neighborhood has taken on the sterility of an operating room in the name of “maintaining property values”.

What could be more elitist? There was a time when a neighbor creating a problem, whether audible or visual, could be approached and a solution could be crafted within the time it took to drink a beer. But now, neighbors don’t talk. Hell, they hardly know each other as the garage door opener is pressed to open and then immediately close as the resident rushes into the house. Quick! Someone, god forbid, might want to chat.

Worse than the framework that has created this monstrosity is the cast of characters willing to carry out the mandates. In other words, those that serve on the Board of Directors for the homeowners. These are normal, mild-mannered folks who turn into brown shirted, quasi-nazis when it comes to patrolling their streets in search of scofflaws. I can only imagine a hapless soul, lacking any authority in the workplace, who can finally be someone. Picture Barney Fife, if you will.

And I know of what I speak: my last venue in the civilized world was Orange County, California. I lived in a subdivision of some 80 town-homes and, yes, we had a homeowners’ association. In my time, the Board was led by Barbara. Her husband, Nick, was also on the Board and they formed a formidable duo. What with only five members, their voting bloc generally held sway.

Our community had two entrances. Nick and Barbara lived just a few homes inside the one entrance, but Nick would customarily come in through the farther one so as to drive through the neighborhood for a look-see. Lawns? Check. Front doors? Check. Parking? Check. Why wait for someone to call and report a problem. Nip it in the bud! Nip it, nip it, nip it! I can almost hear Barney...

To sacrifice artistic expression for a bland, uniform façade that offers little to the casual observer is, indeed, allowing others to weave the very fabric of the community in which we reside. Where’s the property value in that? There is another way to go, you know: CC&R’s without the administration. In other words, law, but no Barney Fife. And, believe it or not, I live in just such a place.

My present abode lies within twelve parcels of approximately 40 acres each. The land gives everyone a buffer, visually and audibly, but does not necessarily guarantee a problem-free existence. We have CC&R’s, but no association to enforce them. So, if I’ve got a gripe with my neighbor, have a chat with him, and he tells me to pound sand I can walk into a court room and prevail under the guidelines of the CC&R’s. Neat, huh? No self-appointed deputies trying to make trouble out of nothing yet a recourse available to all.

It might be difficult to dismantle an existing Homeowners’ Association, but it sure seems to be worth the effort, doesn’t it? Especially for those seeking some more of that elusive “control”.