“They’re surveying your side of the lake,” he replied. “There are survey stakes every twenty feet, running along your shoreline. They’ve got clipboards and measuring tools. I think they’re planning something big.”
I set my coffee mug down with a snap and grabbed my jacket. A sick feeling settled in my stomach as I made my way to the truck. It wasn’t just the fact that someone had come onto my property—it was what they were planning to do once they had their measurements.
As I arrived at the lake, I saw the surveyors working in the soft morning light. They were placing orange stakes every twenty feet, marking the center of my lake bed rights with eerie precision. I took a deep breath and pulled out my phone, snapping a series of photos of the stakes, the workers, and the truck without any company logos.
There was no mistaking it. They had marked exactly where my property started and where my rights to the lake bed ended.
By the time I left that morning, I had gathered enough evidence to take the next step. This wasn’t just about protecting my cabin or my dock. It was about protecting something much more significant: my grandfather’s legacy.
I hired an attorney the very next day. Connie Miles wasn’t just a lawyer—she was a bulldog when it came to property rights. I had known about her reputation in town for years. She had a no-nonsense approach and a way of making people rethink their decisions before they even realized they’d made a mistake.
Connie didn’t waste any time reviewing my deed and the relevant documents. She understood the gravity of the situation immediately.
“You’ve got a solid case, Prescott,” she said after a quick review. “This land is yours. The HOA has no business surveying it or claiming rights to it.”
But the battle wasn’t going to be as simple as filing a lawsuit. Beverly Drummond and the HOA were going to come at me with everything they had, and they weren’t going to back down without a fight. I knew that.
Chapter 4: The First Response
The first thing Beverly did was file a complaint with the county zoning office. It wasn’t unusual for someone to file a complaint about a dock or an encroachment on a waterway, but I knew this was personal. Beverly had the resources to push through bureaucracy, and she was using it as a weapon. The county sent me a certified letter stating that my dock had been flagged for an alleged encroachment on the community’s waterway access. This was the beginning of the next phase of harassment, but it wasn’t unexpected.
I took the letter to Connie immediately. She wasn’t surprised at all.
“This is what they do,” she said. “They will try to drag this out as long as possible. We’ll deal with it in court, and we’ll win.”
The process wasn’t difficult, but it was time-consuming. I had to take time off from work and make a trip to the county seat to meet with a zoning officer named Gary. Gary was about as excited to be there as a man who had been waiting for retirement since 2009. He barely looked at the documents before dismissing the complaint and clearing my dock.
“Complaint dismissed,” he said, his tone devoid of any enthusiasm. “You’re free to go.”
I drove back home feeling a sense of relief, but the feeling was short-lived. I knew Beverly wasn’t going to stop there. She would escalate things further. The real fight had just begun.
The next move came through the creation of the Lake Prescott Waterway Beautification Initiative. The HOA voted to establish this initiative under the guise of improving the navigational quality and aesthetics of the lake for the community. In truth, it was a thinly veiled attack on me and my dock. The HOA sent me a letter stating that my dock was no longer compliant with the beautification standards and that I would have to either upgrade my facilities to HOA specifications or remove them entirely.
The specifications they sent were ridiculous: all docks had to be made of composite decking in one of three approved colors, and all boats had to be registered with the Marina Committee. They also required an annual stewardship fee of $450. The irony was that none of this applied to me. I wasn’t part of the HOA. My land was non-member. But Beverly wasn’t interested in legality. She was interested in wearing me down.
It was clear she had no intention of complying with the law. This was a game for her—a game where she controlled the board and everyone else was supposed to play by her rules. But I wasn’t going to let her win.
I sent a letter back to the HOA, stating clearly that I was not subject to their rules. I attached a copy of my deed, highlighting the section that granted me riparian rights and protected me from encroachment by the HOA. I made it clear that I would not be bullied into complying with their arbitrary rules.
To my surprise, Beverly responded with a second formal violation notice. This time, the fine was $200. She was testing me. She thought that if she made the fine large enough, I would cave in.
I didn’t.
Instead, I went a step further. I sent a letter to her, copied to the HOA, stating that I had no legal obligation to pay the fine because my property was outside their jurisdiction. I sent them a copy of my deed again, with the relevant sections highlighted in bright yellow.
That was when things started to get really tense.
