About 2 hours later, my phone rang again. Different number. This is Daniel Whitmore, president of Cedar Ridge Estates HOA. Of course it is, I thought. Mr. Whitmore, I said. He sounded smooth, confident. The kind of guy who wears loafers without socks and thinks it is a personality trait. It has come to my attention there was some confusion regarding the tree removal this morning.
He said we believe those trees were situated on community land. They were not. Yes. Well, we are reviewing the survey now. If a mistake was made, the association is prepared to reimburse you for the removal costs. I let that sit there for a second. You mean the cost of cutting down 40-year-old trees? He cleared his throat.
We can discuss reasonable compensation. Reasonable? I looked at the stumps again, my dad’s hands covered in dirt, telling me to hold the sapling straight, my mom bringing lemonade out to the yard. Summer evenings when the leaves would rattle like soft applause. Reasonable, Mr. Whitmore, I said slowly. There is something else you should know, but I think I need to confirm a few details first.
Of course, I did not tell him that the only road leading into Cedar Ridge cuts across the southern corner of my property. I did not tell him that when the developer built that road 20 years ago, he shook hands with the previous owner, a retired mechanic named Walter Jennings, and agreed on a verbal easement that was never recorded.
Walter passed away 3 years before I bought the land from his estate. And verbal agreements, as it turns out, do not survive probate unless someone puts them in writing. Instead, I just said, “Thank you for your time, Mr. Whitmore,” and hung up. That night, I sat at my kitchen table with a stack of closing documents and an old survey map, tracing property lines with my finger while Marlo watched me like I was about to do something either brilliant or deeply stupid.
