I did not call a lawyer first. I called Tessa’s husband, Derek, who ran a small fencing company, and asked him to bring two concrete barriers and a roll of orange tape. By five that evening, a clean row of barriers blocked my corner of the road, with a polite sign: “Private Property. Access Suspended Pending Boundary Review.” Then I sat on the porch with a cold drink and watched the first gleaming SUV arrive, slow, then stop.

The driver stepped out in a golf polo, red-faced, and demanded to know who authorized this. “I did,” I said. “I own the road.” More cars stacked up behind him, headlights glaring. Then a woman in white slacks marched forward, waving a folder. “I am the president of this HOA,” she snapped, “and I will have you arrested for obstructing a public thoroughfare.” I smiled, because I had been waiting for that sentence.