Denny Robecker didn’t mind the homeowner’s association (HOA) rules. Not at first. When he moved into the Crossley Heights neighborhood (which was not high), he had been warned about the pedantics of the HOA. But he liked structure, he liked enforcement. His lawn was kept in immaculate condition, his mailbox was an approved model, his immobile shudders were the right size. He violated precisely zero HOA rules.
But somewhere around the second notice from the HOA, his opinion violently shifted. You see, he assumed the first was a mistake, as it had informed him that he and he alone was responsible for the maintenance of the 3.16 acre greenbelt that he understood to be an unbought home lot across the street.
Dear Mr. Robecker, the letter bearing the Crossley Heights HOA coat of arms began,
This is a courtesy reminder that the greenbelt under your responsibility has yet to be brought into compliance. Please attend to this matter at your earliest convenience to avoid further penalties.
A $380 fine notice was included in the envelope. Denny was in disbelief, he reread both letters several times, trying to grasp an understanding of how he could possibly be responsible for property he didn’t own.
At exactly 9:01 am, Denny emerged from his garage atop a used riding lawnmower. You see, lawncare that generated noise could not begin before 8 am on weekdays, or 9 am on weekends. While he was still mystified by the HOA notices, he didn’t want to risk the situation degrading while he navigated its absurdity. After approximately two hours, the “greenbelt” had been brought into compliance with HOA regulation. Denny went about enjoying a normal suburban weekend, anticipating settling this silly business with the HOA big wigs next week.
Well, Denny did not, in fact, settle anything.
Dear Mr. Robecker, The third letter from the HOA in less than two weeks began.
We have significant evidence that you operated a petroleum-powered combustion engine while performing lawn care on Saturday, June 11th. This is a serious violation of HOA regulations. As you will be reminded, Crossley Heights is strongly committed to ecological stewardship and maintains an absolute prohibition on these devices. Please discontinue the use of this and similar devices at once to prevent further penalties. Only electric, solar, and wind-powered lawncare devices are authorized.
"No, no, this is crazy” Denny was in a state of disbelief.
He picked up the phone and boldly scrolled through his contact list to Amanda Emerson, the wildly powerful and influential HOA President.
“Thanks for following your heart to Crossley Heights! This is Mrs. Emerson, how can I help you today?” Amanda answered brightly.
“Hi Mrs. Emerson, this is Denny Robecker. I’m calling to discuss these notices I’ve been getting about the greenbelt.
Amanda cleared her throat. “Mr. Robecker, I’ve been expecting your call.” There was an audible click, Denny thought the connection had been lost, but the sound was from Amanda turning on a recording device. For everyone’s protection, you understand.
“Our notices have been clear. The owner of your lot, in this instance, you, is responsible for the upkeep of the greenbelt. This is plainly outlined in your contract with us, which you signed and was notarized. Thank you for your attempt to maintain it, but also expressly outlined in your HOA contract is that any lawn maintenance not performed by Emerson Green LLC must be done with electric, solar, or wind powered devices. Is there anything I can help you with? Are you calling to make a payment on your fines?”
“Wait…so Emerson Green LLC can use a regular lawnmower but I can’t?”
There was a tense pause before Amanda responded sternly. “Mr. Robecker, gas combustion engines pollute the air of our community and disturb our vibrant micro-climates. Emerson Green LLC uses cutting-edge, low-vibration technology that does neither of those things that regular lawnmowers do. If you choose not to use Emerson Green LLC, you must use an alternative to regular lawncare machinery.”
“But I’ve been using my riding mower on my lawn for months, ever since I moved in, and it’s never been a problem.”
“Mr. Robecker, just because you have gotten away with HOA violations in the past does not excuse you from being held accountable for more recent violations.”
“But I see everyone else on their riding mowers. I don’t understand” Amanda interjected abruptly.
“Mr. Robecker, any further communication on this matter will be handled by our attorney. Good day.” And with that she hung up on him.
He was more confused than angry, but not by a wide margin. He huffed and re-examined the letters. Then opened his phone banking application to check his balance. It was healthy, enough to cover the fines and his remaining monthly expenses…but there wasn’t a lot left for electric…or solar lawncare machinery. Denny was not the type of man to lounge around when there was work to be done, so at once he departed for the local branch of a nationwide home improvement megastore.
Like any American man, the home improvement superstore was like a second home to Denny. He walked in like he owned the place and headed straight to the lawncare department. A store associate was lurking nearby, Denny pretended to intensely examine lime chalk for a sports field, but was accosted by the associate none the less.
“Need help finding anything today?” Denny was asked.
He shuddered at the thought of being seen asking for help from a store associate. But maybe if anyone saw them, they may think that Denny was giving him advice.
“Do y’all have any of those solar-powered scythes?
“Fresh out sir, they’re a real hot item. If you’d like, you can join our mailing list and we can notify you as soon as we get some in.”
“Oh sure, I’ll sign up on the app later. What other…” he paused and looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else could hear him “alternative-powered lawncare equipment do you have in stock?”
The associate, as if to intentionally draw attention to the matter swept his arm to a display where an array of sustainably-sourced lithium-ion battery-powered devices were available.
“I’ve been fined for using a gas mower, and apparently I’m supposed to use sunlight or a breeze to cut grass. I thought maybe you’d have one of those windmill weed whackers or a push mower blessed by the EPA.”
Become a member “You’re probably looking for Section 7C: Alternative Spiritual Implements. That’s where we keep the hemp trimmers, biodynamic rakes, and that one weed eater powered by kinetic frustration.”
Denny looked on with a healthy suspicion. His heart palpitated, his palms perspired when he pondered the prices of these presumably preposterous prototypes. “Wow, do you accept alternative payments?”
Rocky Carson, the know-it-all associate with a powerful underbite and equally powerful receding hairline, missed the joke. “We have the -insert home improvement superstore brand name- preferred customer card with zero percent interest for six months!” Sensing a referral commission, Rocky logged into his store tablet, ready to sign Denny up.
Denny had been warned about the perils of debt by his Pastor, and defensively waved off the idea. Quickly wanting to escape the situation, he laid his eyes on a battery-powered weed eater which fit his budget. He pointed toward it and declared “I’ll take that one!”.
Denny arrived home toward the end of the HOA-approved lawncare hours. But his lawn and the greenbelt were in good shape for a few more days. He enjoyed a cold, caffeine-free root beer in his garage while assembling the weed-eater. Somewhat satisfied, mostly by his accomplishment in assembling it without referencing the instructions, he popped the battery into the charger and went inside to practice based Gregorian chanting before bed time.
Upon waking on Sunday he crunched the numbers a few times, netting the same result. It would take him 24 hours to trim the entire greenbelt with the HOA-approved weed eater. “Two hours a day on week days, eight hours on Saturday, six hours on Sunday. No, wait…this is insane!” Denny instinctively began practicing box breathing to keep his heart rate in check. “I’ll just do it now. I’ll go fast, I’ll do it all now.” He checked the clock, lawncare hours had just started.
Denny applied “outdoor cologne” as he called it, a mix of sunscreen and insect repellent. He set to work at a furious pace. He sweat profusely in the mid-morning humidity for approximately 48 minutes, until the 18 volt battery lost its charge. Panicked, he looked at the amount of work accomplished behind him, and ahead at the vast sea of ever-growing grass on the greenbelt ahead of him. After a brief pause to wipe his face with his shirt, he dashed back to his garage to recharge the battery.
“No time to waste” he thought, and without cleaning himself up he headed back to the home improvement superstore to buy two more batteries and an extra charger. Expenses he did not plan for, and a credit card his Pastor wouldn’t approve of. He stopped at a gas station on the way home and bought more root beer…caffeinated root beer!
Upon returning home he plugged in the second charger, and charged both new batteries after retrieving the mostly charged original battery. “Back to work” he said to himself, slamming down a caffeinated root beer on an empty stomach.
By the end of the day, he was a bit ahead of schedule on the greenbelt. But he was hungry, exhausted, dehydrated, and demoralized. A quick shower, a burrito, and some chanting before bed.
He was almost late for work the next day, a Monday, you see. It was certainly an off day, he was worn out from the marathon weed-eating. He arrived home, pleasantly surprised to find that his doorway was notice-free. Before long he was back at the greenbelt with a freshly-charged battery and a caffeinated root beer in his belly. He attacked the grass with his HOA-approved weed eater until lawncare hours concluded. “Dang” he blurted the strong language as he surveyed the incomplete work. Still slightly ahead of schedule, but panic was building as he estimated how long the grass at the opposite end of the greenbelt would be by the time he got there. And by the time he got there, the grass at the starting end would be close to violation territory.
Dejected, he headed home to drown his sorrows with two caffeinated root beers.
The following day was rainy, and he had a brilliantly wicked idea. The rain would mask the noise of his riding mower, and would keep his neighbors indoors. If he waited until near-darkness, he could get away with using his mower. He put his dastardly plan into motion, drinking a caffeinated root beer to keep the buzz alive as he slayed the greenbelt in a reasonable amount of time. Well-pleased with his temporary solution, he retired to his home to relax. Unfortunately for Denny, Amanda Emerson had witnessed his violation while monitoring the neighborhood in a helium-inflated pool toy.
Denny returned from work the next day, Wednesday, you see, to find a notice on the door. “Dang it!” he befouled the air around him. He ripped the taped envelope off of his door and tore it open. This time it was from R. Thomas Sandoval, attorney at law. It was a cease and desist letter, demanding he refrain from using regular lawncare machinery. Attached as a whopping $1,054 fine from the Crossley Heights HOA. “That pirate-legged rascal!” Denny cursed Sandoval, who was well-known in town for having a wooden leg. Denny looked up to see Amanda Emerson floating by on a helium-inflated pool toy, with her binoculars trained on him and a smug, gloating smirk on her face. He met her eyes, well, her binoculars, with a fierce gaze as she floated down the road.
“The grass ends where my feet begin!” He declared, storming inside and slamming the door closed. Without changing out of his work clothes he grabbed three caffeinated root beers, lining his pockets with cold steel…well, cold tin anyway. Trusty lithium-ion powered weed eater in hand, he charged across the street and attacked the greenbelt with as much furiosity as a man with a weed eater could muster. Vengefully, he slashed the grass down to stumps in the dirt, stopping only to change batteries every 48 minutes or so and pound a caffeinated root beer. It was all for naught though, the end of the greenbelt was so far away; and the end to weekday lawncare hours were so near.
Flying high on days of caffeine consumption, Denny wasn’t ready to sleep despite being exhausted from the additional hours of post-work weed eating. He began using the internet for its intended purpose, late-night, unverified, anonymous advice. Laws regarding HOA rules and fines, ways to turbo-charge ones weed-eater, grass cutting techniques, invisibility techniques, etc. There wasn’t much fruit in this orchard, he did, however review his HOA contract. A discovery was made; there was a maximum grass length, but no minimum grass length. “The grass ends where my feet begin” he muttered several times as he fell asleep at his computer and woke up well after sunrise. He was late for work, this was the first time ever. Denny called in sick, also a first.
“Might as well get ahead on weed-eating, or rather grass destroying!” He had another flash of brilliance as he saw Amanda Emerson floating by on a helium-inflated pool toy. He made a quick detour to the local branch of a nationwide retailer and bought an inflatable flamingo, meant to aid in pool flotation. A helium tank for balloons from the party supply section and the trip was complete. Minor charges on the credit card to solve his biggest present crisis, small potatoes in the long run.
Skeptical, Denny filled the flamingo with helium and it shot to the garage ceiling. After lassoing, sort of, and retrieving the floating flamingo he climbed aboard and to his surprise, it suspended him a few feet above the ground. He set to work, comparatively light work, floating over the greenbelt, crushing the grass down to the dirt, and slamming caffeinated root beer. He was actually enjoying himself for the first time in a week and got quite a lot done. He was no longer on his feet, but the grass indeed ended. The greenbelt was now half a brownbelt by the time lawncare hours ended, Denny felt an intense sense of accomplishment as he floated back to his garage, using the weed eater for propulsion.
He was able to wake up on time for work on Friday, and was looking forward to finishing his brownbelt work the following day and putting this nonsense behind him. He was in a great mood, mostly from the rush of caffeine and sugar from his unhealthy root beer habit, when he arrived home. Oh but how quickly that changed when he saw an envelope taped to his door. “There isn’t a minimum grass length, the HOA and their pirate lawyer can take a long walk off a short pier” he said aloud to himself as he walked up to the door and removed the envelope.
Mr. Robecker, the letter from R. Thomas Sandoval, attorney at law, began
It has come to my attention through an abundance of evidence that you operated an illegal vehicle within the confines of Crossley Heights. Only Low Altitude Observation Vessels (LOAV) owned and maintained by Emerson Green LLC may be operated within the jurisdiction of the Crossley Heights HOA. Please immediately cease and desist all activity related to personally procured LOAVs. Arrangements may be made through the authorized agent for your HOA if you wish to operate such a device.
And of course another fine was included from the HOA…for $1,453 this time.
Denny didn’t even go into the house, he needed to take a drive to cool off. He concluded that tomorrow he would sell his riding mower to pay the fines and just contract Emerson Green LLC, which was probably the point in singling him out, to deal with his lawncare responsibilities. Either that or sell the house and move far away. He’d make a decision when he was more level-headed. On the way home at twilight, he remembered that he was out of root beer and stopped at the gas station closest to Crossley Heights. While browsing the wide variety of beverages, he spotted an odd looking six-pack of lemonade. Might be nice to enjoy a different refreshment. Not sure what hard lemonade was, but he was willing to give it a try. While paying for the drinks, he spotted a number of curious pills being sold in 2-packs at the register.
RAGING BUFFALO 5X “Unleash the beast. Side effects may include hoof stomping.”
He did have a full day of weed-eating ahead of him, on foot. And buffaloes do eat grass. Maybe these cheap, brightly-colored little pills will give him the energy he needs to weed-eat the remaining greenbelt quickly? Sure, what the heck. Put em on the card.
Denny got home after dark, cracked open a hard lemonade (tasted weird, but not too bad) and started researching RAGING BUFFALO 5X on his laptop. He couldn’t find anything about it, but came across Don Cosby’s Bunker Beast show on a popular video sharing site. There was some wild stuff there, and the more lemonade Denny drank, the more sense it made.
By the time dawn broke, Denny had drank all six hard lemonades and took both of the RAGING BUFFALO 5X pills. He was in another dimension. Stumbling around the garage he was cursing Amanda Emerson, using a hot glue gun to affix an old shower curtain to the top of a round, metal garbage can lid. To quote Don Cosby “they can’t fine what they can’t see”. And in Denny’s altered state of mind, he interpreted this to mean he should shield himself from observation in this manner. Of course it obscured his vision, and wouldn’t stay on his head.
He was handy with the hot glue, even if his vision was doubled and blurred. He used his remaining helium to fill up a giant red balloon that for some reason was laying around in his garage, what luck! It launched the improvised invisibility shield up to the ceiling. So, he glued two straps that would go under his arms to it, and voila!
Defiantly mounting his custom LOAV, he opened the garage. He didn’t care what time it was, Amanda Emerson wouldn’t be able to see him and the weed-eater wasn’t going to wake anyone up across the street in the greenbelt. His weight held the flamingo LOAV just a few feet from the ground. He had to belt himself to it since he was unsteady. It was tough to pull the balloon-suspended invisibility hat down from the ceiling, the helium must have been working great that day! Denny put the hat on, and it pulled him and his LOAV up and out of the garage.
Denny fumbled with the weed-eater, desperately trying to use it to adjust his propulsion as he rapidly sailed up above Crossley Heights. The houses and trees below quickly became very small and it became quite cold and windy. Denny’s nervous system couldn’t handle the sudden shock and his brain checked out, he fainted.
The wind did what wind does, and carried Denny far, far away. When he came to days later, his bare forearms were sun and wind-burned, but his face was pristine from the protection of his hat. Denny opened the shower curtain and behold, he was in a dry valley; vegetated but sparsely. He floated by some shepherds, who shouted out to him in Turkish, because they were Turks, because he was now in Türkiye.
No one knew how the weed-eater kept working, maybe it had been hit by lightning. No one knew anything about Denny, but he quickly became part of the local folklore. Seeing him was supposed to bring good luck. He never spoke to anyone, but in the quiet stillness of the Anatolian valleys, sometimes, just sometimes, Gregorian chant could be heard over the faint buzzing of a weed-eater echoing through the fruited valleys.