In July 1991, we moved into our lovely new home, perched on a spacious cul-de-sac lot in Section 1 (of 8) of our budding neighborhood. At that time, four builders—Ryan, Ryland, Dura, and Jonathan—were active at our end, though a recession was looming. Ryan and Ryland had recently pulled out, and Jonathan was on its way out too. The south end of the neighborhood was slated for all custom homes, but we opted to build with Dura in the north section—mainly because we wanted to skip the hassle of having to paint an entire house.
This brand-new neighborhood was a sight to behold, with exquisitely landscaped grounds, a heated pool complete with lifeguards, a two-court tennis facility, a playground, basketball hoops, and a picnic area. We chose this place for its shared amenities, stunning landscaping, and—yes—because it had an HOA. Now, fair warning: at that point, the developer was still running the HOA, only allowing homeowners to serve on the Architectural Control Committee. As a neighborhood, we had no clue what things would look like once the developer handed over the reins.
Living here was a blast while the developers were in charge. They kept everything pristine and running smoothly. All we had to do was show up, mow our lawns, and enjoy the pool—complete with lifeguards—for the steal of a $150 annual fee.
All that fun came to an end in 1993. That’s when five homeowners, including me, were elected to serve on the first Board of Directors.