By ten that morning, Sycamore Drive had become the busiest dead-end road in the county.
County engineer.
Zoning inspector.
Environmental compliance officer.
A survey technician.
David Hayes.
Greg.
Brenda.
Me.
And several Oak Creek residents who had come outside because nothing attracts suburban attention like official vehicles near an HOA president.
Inspector Daniel Miller reviewed the gate first.
He measured the footing locations.
Compared them with the survey.
Then frowned.
“Who installed this?”
Brenda said:
“An approved contractor.”
“Permit number?”
“It’s an HOA security improvement.”
“That is not a permit number.”
Greg said:
“It’s entirely on association property.”
The survey technician looked up.
“No.”
Greg stopped.
“What?”
“The western footing crosses the Collins boundary.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
Miller walked toward the creek bank.
He examined disturbed soil around the concrete.
“Was riparian review performed?”
Brenda stared.
“Excuse me?”
“You excavated and poured a footing within the county creek buffer.”
“This is a neighborhood gate.”
“The creek doesn’t care.”
David coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.
Miller continued.
“No permit. No bank-stability review. No barrier approval. And the gate now opens toward an unusable crossing.”
Brenda pointed at me.
“Because he removed it!”
Miller looked at her.
“Did you own the bridge?”
“No, but—”
“Did you have an easement?”
“We have longstanding access interests.”
“That’s a legal answer for your attorney. I’m asking whether you own the structure.”
“No.”
“Then why did you design your safety system assuming a private structure would always remain?”
Brenda had no answer.
The county issued an emergency safety order.
The gate had to remain disabled.
Temporary barricades had to be installed immediately.
The unauthorized footing within the buffer had to be reviewed and likely removed.
Oak Creek also faced administrative penalties for unpermitted construction and restoration costs if the county had to intervene.
The final amounts were not determined that morning.
The humiliation was.
Homeowners gathered at the end of Sycamore Drive.
One man asked:
“Brenda, why is there a gate here at all?”
She said:
“Because Mr. Collins refused to comply with security standards.”
Another homeowner pointed across the ravine.
“He doesn’t live in the HOA.”
Brenda said:
“That’s complicated.”
I called from across the creek:
“It really isn’t.”
David gave me a look.
I stopped helping.
The gate came down four days later.
Not because I touched it.
Oak Creek hired a contractor.
The iron panels were removed first.
Then the motor.
Then the pillars.
The footing inside the creek buffer required careful excavation and stabilization.
The road now ended at a county-required guardrail.
Industrial steel.
Reflective yellow panels.
Hazard markers.
No Tuscan masonry.
No decorative scrollwork.
The view from Brenda’s balcony was spectacular.
If you liked traffic barriers.
Meanwhile I focused on the rear access.
The old logging road turned out to have a better base than I expected.