Crystal clear water began flowing out through a hose that snaked across David’s yard and into the storm drain. Karen watched in horror as the water level dropped inch by inch. David, please can we just talk about this like adults? We tried talking. You made it clear that my property boundaries mean nothing to you. I never said that.
David pulled out his phone and scrolled to a text message from 3 weeks ago. Quote, “Property lines are just arbitrary government constructs designed to keep people from building community.” Your words, Karen, from your neighborhood Facebook group post about shared resources. her face flushed. That was a philosophical discussion about urban planning, and this is a practical application of property rights.
By 9:00 a.m., a crowd had gathered. Marcus Webb had been joined by elderly Mrs. Patterson from two houses down, the Johnson’s with their twin toddlers, and several other neighbors who’d never seen a pull removal in person. Some were filming with their phones. Karen had retreated to her yard, but kept pacing along the fence line, her voice carrying over the machinery noise as she conducted what appeared to be a running commentary for anyone who would listen.
This is what happens when you try to be neighborly, she shouted toward the growing audience. I tried to teach my children about community, about sharing, and this is how I’m repaid. Mrs. Patterson, who’d lived on the street for 37 years, shook her head. Sharing is one thing, dear, but those children have been treating that pool like their personal playground for months.
They are children. They need exercise. They need they need supervision and permission. Marcus called out. My kids ask before they use my neighbor’s basketball hoop. Karen whled on him. Your neighbor’s basketball hoop isn’t blocking access to healthy recreation. Neither is David’s pool, Mrs. Patterson replied dryly. It’s on his property.
