My Neighbor Reported Me to the HOA for a Garden Gnome – She Regretted It Soon

I was given a pretty garden gnome by my sweet granddaughter to add some cheer to the yard. However, my inquisitive neighbor, who can’t resist a little humor, accused me of “ruining” the neighborhood’s appearance and reported me to the HOA. She felt she had prevailed. How incorrect she was, oh!

Hi there, then! Take a seat and come on in. This elderly woman has a tale that will make you laugh out loud and possibly even teach you a few things. You may be thinking, “Oh Lord, not another story about lost love or cheating husbands,” at this point. Remain calm! It’s not about you, sweet Arnold. Bless his soul, for he’s most likely flirting with his deceased fantasy gals up there in the great beyond!

No, the story’s subject is something that any of us could experience.

Grandma Peggy is going to spill the tea on how a small garden gnome caused a lot of problems in our sleepy neighborhood, so pay attention.

But allow me to give you a tour of my house before we get right into it. Envision a small suburban paradise with streets bordered by maple trees and a lawn as verdant as a leprechaun’s waistcoat.

Everyone knows your name in this kind of business, and the biggest buzz is generally about the newest rumors circulating around Mabel’s Bakery.

Mabel’s Bakery, oh! The real action takes place there.

A group of us old-timers, who are approaching our eighty years old, may be seen drinking coffee and eating croissants and Mabel’s renowned cinnamon pastries every morning. People are drawn in like moths to a flame by the aroma of freshly baked bread and the sound of laughter that wafts onto the pavement.

“Did you hear about Mr. Bill’s new toupee?” Gladys would mutter, her mischievous eyes sparkling.

“Land sakes, it looks like a squirrel took up residence on his head!” We would all chuckle like a bunch of hens when Mildred responded.

It’s a quiet life with the small pleasures of cooking together, taking care of my garden, and, yes, the odd harmless talk. Subsequently, one day, my adorable granddaughter Jessie gave me the most adorable garden gnome I had ever seen.

This small guy held a tiny watering can in his plump ceramic hands and had a wicked smile that could light up a room.

“Gran,” Jessie uttered, her eyes glimmering, “I believed he would be ideal for your garden.” When you’re up to no good, he looks exactly like you!”

That defies argumentation. I thus located him a great location directly near to my beloved birdbath.

Unbeknownst to me, I had just set the stage for the most disruptive event our neighborhood has seen since Mr. Bill’s toupee blew off during the Fourth of July celebration.

As I took a step back to examine my creation, I said to myself, “Oh, Peggy, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

I had no idea how accurate I was.

Now, let me introduce you to the pain in my side, my neighbor Carol, who is also in her late 70s, before we get into the thick of things. Imagine a lady who has never encountered a rule or an emotion she couldn’t overcome. Carol is that for you.

She moved in two years ago, but the way she lives her life, you’d think she’d been crowned Queen of the cul-de-sac. Always looking over fences, using a ruler to measure the height of the grass, and shooing children away without cause.

That woman has more opinions at a debate than a politician, I swear.

While I was outside taking care of my petunias one afternoon, I heard Carol’s shoes clip-clop on the pavement. Another lesson on the “proper way” to cut hedges was what I readied myself for.

“Hey Carol, how are you?” I said, putting on my cutest smile. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Carol studied my garden, her eyes narrowing. “Peggy,” she remarked in a falsely charming voice, “what on earth is that thing by your birdbath?”

I looked at my new gnome after she did. Yes, that is merely a small present from my granddaughter. Is he not adorable?”

Carol’s nose crinkled as if she had detected an unpleasant odor.

It’s undoubtedly different. But are you certain that’s okay? You are aware of our HOA’s meticulous standards for upholding the neighborhood’s beauty.”

My lips twisted into a grin. “I’ve been here for almost 40 years now, Carol. I believe I understand what is and isn’t acceptable.

Her eyebrow went up. Peggy, if you say so. All I would want is for you to stay out of trouble.”

I couldn’t get rid of the idea that Trouble was exactly what she had in mind as she clip-clopped away.

After a week, I discovered how accurate my assessment was. There was a letter from the HOA placed in my mailbox like a dark secret.

I tore it open with shaking hands, and my blood was boiling hotter than Arnold Palmer’s infamous five-alarm chili after reading what I had read.

“Violation notice?” Sputtering, I read out loud. “Garden ornamentation not in keeping with the aesthetic standards of the neighborhood? Why should I?

My detective skills were more than adequate to determine who was responsible for this. I thought about Carol’s smug smile and could almost hear her nasally voice saying, “I told you so, Peggy!”

Now, some people may have given in and taken the gnome out, but not this elderly bird. I have more fight than a cat in a bathtub, no sir.

I took out my reading glasses, marched inside, and found that HOA rulebook. By God, we would follow EVERY rule if Carol desired to follow them.

A strategy began to take shape as I turned page after mind-numbing page. A cunning, tasty scheme that would impart a lasting lesson on Carol.

“Oh, Carol,” I laughed, “you’ve really stepped in it this time!”

I was busier than a one-armed paper hanger for the next few hours. I read through that HOA handbook as if it were the last book ever written. And wow, did I hit the jackpot.

As it happened, our beloved Carol wasn’t as flawless as she believed. Her immaculate white fence? An inch too high. That elegant mailbox of which she was so proud? The wrong beige color. And let’s not even talk about her wind chimes; the noise ordinance considered those to be about as welcome as a skunk at a garden party.

But the really icing on the cake? She needed to resurface her driveway. Yes, the irony was much delicious than the apple pie I won.

I laughed to myself, thinking I was just your average Nancy Drew. “Okay, okay, okay. It appears that someone has been hurling stones while residing in a glass house.”

I wasn’t finished, though. No, something special was needed for this. Something that would effectively emphasize the argument.

I took up my phone and called Mildred, a buddy. “Mellie? It’s Meg. Do you recall the massive collection of gnomes your spouse left you? How would you like to use it effectively?”

A faint laugh escaped Mildred over the phone. “You old troublemaker, Peggy. How are you currently doing?”

I smiled until my cheeks ached. “Oh, just planning a little… migration.”

Under the cover of darkness, Operation Gnome Invasion got underway that night. Carol had a beautifully maintained yard, and on Christmas Eve, me and a few other “troublemakers” from the senior center worked like elves, planting gnomes around.

When we were through, it appeared as though an army of ceramics had seized control.

Gnomes lurked around every corner, lounged by the mailbox, and one especially sly one sat on her doorstep, looking like a small bearded sentinel, watching over the door.

My friend Gladys laughed as we looked at our creations. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall when she sees this in the morning!”

I gave her a back pat. “You’re OK, Gladys. I’m sitting in the front row.

“I was up with the birds the following morning, sitting by my window with a cup of coffee and some binoculars. Carol came downstairs to her front door at precisely 7:15 a.m.

I’d never seen a finer TV program than what transpired next. After taking a quick glance over her lawn, Carol froze. Her lips remained parted. She then screamed loud enough to wake the dead.

She screamed, “What in the name of all that’s holy?!” at a volume that could be heard three blocks away by dogs howling.

I laughed until I almost spilled my coffee. “Oh, Carol, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

As expected, the HOA wasted little time.

Carol’s door was knocked on by a very formal-looking man wearing a very boring suit by lunchtime. I may have reported a “excessive display of lawn ornaments” by calling in an anonymous tip. I apologize! 😈

Carol was making a lot of gestures that I could see from where I was standing, and her face was as red as an August tomato. With so many rocking chairs in the area, the HOA man appeared to be as at ease as a long-tailed cat.

The most shocking thing, though, was when he gave her two envelopes instead of just one. I knew of only one, the gnome story. The other one? Let’s just say that karma is hilarious in a sinister way.

I watched Carol’s face turn whiter than a traffic light as she tore open the second letter. Gazing at her excessively tall fence, her irregular mailbox, and lastly her wind chimes, which continued to tinkle blissfully unaware of their imminent demise, were the objects of her gaze.

I had to laugh out loud. Carol, how does that medication taste? A little sour, isn’t it?

Carol stayed outside for the remainder of the day, sighing heavily as she moved gnome after gnome off her land. She appeared to have completed a marathon in high heels by dusk.

It was getting dusk when I made the decision to go for my evening walk. Upon passing Carol’s house, which was devoid of gnomes but appeared very run-down, I couldn’t help but give a quick wave.

“Good evening, Carol! Your yard appears different, than mine. Decorating again?”

Carol’s scowl could have melted iron. “You,” with a hiss. “This was YOU, wasn’t it?”

I put on my prettiest granny expression. “Why, Carol, I doubt I understand what you’re saying. I’ve been too preoccupied with making sure my garden gnome complies with HOA rules. Regarding that, how is the construction of your fence going? That mailbox, too? Tsk, tsk.”

I couldn’t help feeling a bit pleased of myself as I strode out, leaving Carol trailing behind. While some individuals never learn, occasionally a garden gnome can impart some very important lessons.

And me, my tiny gnome? He is still standing by the birdbath, beaming. I swear his smile seems a tiny bit broader only now!