The HOA story

you weren't expecting

I always wanted a sister, and though I did finally acquire a couple of those via unconventional methods and they are wonderful, I think what I really sought was community: likeminded people with similar experiences and a common sense of place. A couple of decades living in a small town cemented that desire, though the 6-foot fortress fence surrounding the house where I lived,¹ complete with double-entry gates, did not offer open invitation to anyone who might wish to drop by to say hello, bring a pie, whatever it is that neighbors do.

Moving to my townhouse complex offered potential, though. And I was so ready for real neighbors. We share a grassy courtyard, after all! We say hello with no fenceline dividing us. I have shared cookie bounty with them and they’ve notified me when my door was left wide open one night.² Isn’t a homeowners’ association only the formalized version of this neighborliness?

I know of nightmare stories about HOAs, about neighbors fighting, squabbles over borders and covenant enforcement and the experience making people want to shut their doors, not open them. The behavioral equivalent of the fortress fence, if you will. I so hoped this wouldn’t be me…or us.

Gorgeous barn spider’s web not far from my patio chair alongside the courtyard.

However, our little community may have been subject to the worst trials of HOAdom, for before my arrival, the group had decided to contract out the HOA management due to infighting among homeowners. Residents were then supposed to contact the newly engaged company for anything from paperwork (a copy of the bylaws, for example) to information about paint to pest control and repair requests.

For the first 18 months of my residence here, I tried repeatedly, and mostly in vain, to obtain all of these things. The company was so absolutely inept that, often, emails would languish weeks with no response. I asked seven times in seven months, for example, for someone to come look at my carport roof which is slowly collapsing with each rainstorm. No results.³ I requested P&L statements repeatedly and finally, in July, received Jan/Feb/Mar. Some of the payments’ details were unclear. No invoices were provided. I wanted to paint my window frames and — because it’s a townhouse domicile — everything is supposed to match, so I needed to know what color. It turns out that nobody knew. Conversations with neighbors revealed similar experiences with the company, and it became apparent that we were all frustrated but did not know how to talk to each other about our experiences.

After I spent a year requesting an HOA board meeting, we finally scheduled one, at the beginning of August. The management company’s primary contact, NN, the one who routinely ghosts emails and may or may not pay the bills on time, allegedly dropped off notices, but I didn’t get one, and what about the owners who don’t live in their own units? How would they learn of this meeting? Just…awful planning.

And because the board had not met in more than a year, we were out of compliance and officially defunct. NN appeared at the meeting and vaguely apologized for the lack of communication. She also offered to leave early so we could speak freely to each other. Nope, we wanted her to stay. We wanted answers. She provided few.

This is The Chi. She cuddled in my lap as a neighbor and I worked on some HOA documents together. She’s quite delightful, wouldn’t you agree?

A meeting summary email included lists of tasks we agreed to perform in the ensuing month, only about half of which NN actually accomplished. We are still missing invoices, the method by which the company draws down their fee is completely unpredictable, and there are unexplained charges such as over 500 pounds of deicer used across 8 days in January. Our complex isn’t that big, y’all.

This week, we met again as a group of homeowners. An hour before the meeting, NN emailed to say she wouldn’t make it. And a blessing that turned out to be, because though we wanted answers from her, we found ourselves instead coming to agreements. We elected a board of directors. We discussed improvement ideas and got excited about gardens and beautification. We shared phone numbers. We laughed together about the nonsense of it all, and supported each other as we each expressed trepidation about the responsibilities incumbent on the group to make this thing work. We bonded, for real this time, as a community.

Incidentally, henceforth you may call me Madam President. My first action: firing NN.⁴

1. I’m need to say that this fence was not my idea and I always hated it.

2. My kid came over for some snacks while I was away and apparently forgot to shut the door? I don’t know. Kids can be dumb sometimes.

3. Aside from “oh I called for an estimate”…

4. Technically my first action was to get a PO box but you know.