They had complained about my tractors starting before sunrise.
They had complained about cattle smell.
They had complained about dust.
They had complained that my grain bins ruined their homeowners’ “viewshed.”
Once, their architectural committee mailed me a notice demanding approval before I repainted my barn.
I mailed it back with a photograph of my deed.
For three years, things stayed relatively quiet.
Then six months earlier, Cedar Ridge elected a new HOA president.
Her name was Patricia Kessler.
Everyone called her Trish.
She had moved from St. Louis after selling some kind of marketing consultancy.
She drove a pearl-white Range Rover.
She wore oversized sunglasses even on cloudy days.
And she seemed to believe legal authority worked like perfume.
Apply enough of it and everyone nearby was required to smell it.
Two months after becoming president, she sent me a letter offering $150,000 for thirty acres along my eastern boundary.
