I asked to see the rule as it existed when the fine was assessed. The representative supplied a paragraph concerning permanent installations, not a removable feeder hanging from a shepherd's hook. I asked whether the association had adopted a later amendment that extended the restriction. He said he believed it had, but could not produce evidence of that amendment or proof that the woman had received notice. I asked about the forty-dollar amount, and he pointed to a schedule of fines that applied only after a written warning and an opportunity to correct a violation.
The record showed that no valid warning had been given.
When I ruled on the claim, I explained the narrow reasons. It was not a declaration that associations could never regulate feeders. It was a finding that this particular association had failed to establish a violation under the rules and procedure it relied upon. The woman lowered her head while I spoke. Later, as I was leaving the courtroom, I heard her tell Ellen that she was relieved she had not paid simply to end the argument.
I had asked her during the hearing why she had gone to the trouble of contesting such a small amount. She answered without hesitation. "Because if I pay it, Your Honor, then it becomes a rule."
Those words stayed with me.
I returned to my chambers and thought about the two cream-colored notices in my kitchen drawer, the motor home occupying my driveway, and a whole street that had begun behaving as though I were a threat to its peace. That woman had not needed special influence. She had needed the right to challenge an unsupported demand before an impartial person. I had given her the process the law provided, and it had taken only minutes to understand the defect in her association's claim.
My problem did not present itself so neatly. I could not adjudicate my own dispute. I could file a civil action through ordinary channels and ask for assignment outside my judicial responsibilities, but that would take time and might place my profession at the center of the neighborhood's attention. I could hire counsel, pursue an injunction, and pay legal fees that might exceed the inconvenience in a year.
Or I could use the tools available to every property owner to protect a driveway, preserve evidence, and respond to a false claim when it appeared. None of those routes was pleasant. The important point was that they were legitimate.
I decided to begin with a real conversation.
That Saturday morning I was replacing a gutter bracket near the side of the house when Patricia appeared at the fence. She wore gardening gloves and a white visor, although the garden behind her was so neat that it offered no visible task. She watched me descend the ladder and waited until both of my feet were on the ground before speaking. I noticed the courtesy. Patricia rarely wasted a gesture when she thought it might make an argument easier to win.