Over the past few years, I've been the owner of a piece of land in a semi-rural community, which is governed by a Homeowners Association (HOA). This HOA consists of barely a dozen homes spread across an expansive 1000 acres, allowing us quite a bit of privacy from one another. Alongside my property lies a shared space that's home to what we've informally termed a "pond," although it's much more of a headache than anything picturesque.

The pond is replenished by a creek that ventures through my land via an irrigation headgate and a small channel. After the neighbor who previously tended to the pond passed away, managing this inconvenient body of water became my responsibility—most notably because it directly impacts my property. This has turned into a full-time nuisance, handling everything from unauthorized visitors fishing or letting their dogs swim, to outsiders trying to ice-skate on its unstable surfaces.

More troubles piled on when a beaver set up camp, frequently blocking the pond’s drainage and flooding adjacent farmland. Needless to say, the affected farmer was not pleased, and I ended up facing the backlash. Even though the HOA includes several other members, none stepped forward to assist with these relentless issues. After some digging of my own into legal documents and rights, I discovered that not only did the water rights for the headgate belong solely to me, but the pond and the irrigation channel weren't part of the common area at all—they were on my land.

To add to this revelation, I found out that the pond wasn’t naturally occurring but was instead a dug-out pit created for road fill by the initial developer, who then rerouted the irrigation to fashion what only resembled a pond. This backstory explained the constant maintenance headaches.

Recently, a landowner living a mile off mentioned he was constructing an actual pond and the excess soil from the excavation would cost him a hefty fee to dispose of. Seeing an opportunity, I proposed he dump his clean fill in my ersatz pond. With this arrangement benefitting us both, I proceeded to close the headgate and began draining the troubling pond. Despite the fact that I finally had a solution at hand, some in the HOA protested, claiming they enjoyed the aesthetic value of the water body. In response, I presented them with a simple choice: contribute $10,000 annually for its upkeep or allow me to fill it in and restore the area with native grasses, funded by the incoming fill payments.

Their refusal accompanied by a volley of insults left me bewildered—how can one deem me selfish when actively opting not to shoulder any of the burdens or costs I've been handling alone?

If this ongoing dispute were part of a reality show, imagine the drama and twists! Viewers would likely be hooked, seeing both the daily challenges of managing the property and the intense confrontations at HOA meetings. It would stir up debates on property rights, community responsibility, and the lengths one might go to protect their peace. Would the audience side with me, or see me as the villain in the story?

Would this pond saga make good reality TV?

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