Welcome to Chronicles of an HOA, a completely fictional and emotionally accurate look at life in a Southern Wake neighborhood where the grass is always measured, the bylaws are sacred, and someone always knows the exact location of your trash can.
To catch up on past installments, check them out here.
For those of you who didn’t catch the first installment of Chronicles of an HOA: The Enclave at Sunset Lake in the last issue of Main & Broad, we left things on a very HOA-specific cliffhanger (as in something dumb happened and neighbors reacted in the most unreasonable way possible).
If you’re a fake friend who doesn’t read every issue, I strongly recommend circling back to Part 1 so you’re not completely lost. That said, I’ll extend you a rare act of mercy and provide a brief recap.
At the Enclave at Sunset Lake, a Southern Wake neighborhood so convincingly named my editor questioned whether I made it up, a self-constructed backyard fire pit owned by Abbie and Jack Weber managed to trigger a full-scale escalation involving the HOA, the neighborhood Facebook group, and a completely unjustified visit from the fire department.
And that’s where we pick things back up …
“We got a report of a possible outdoor burn concern,” said the attractive unnamed firefighter, clearly a married man in his 30s who was 100% absolutely very married with a ring on his finger that typically indicates marriage.
Abbie and Jack stood in their driveway, feeling the full weight of their decision to move into an HOA-led community settle onto their shoulders.
“Who called you guys?” asked Jack, fully believing it was Todd and Ashley Bennett, the couple who had, minutes before, publicly complained about smoke on the neighborhood Facebook page.
“Anonymous call,” said the firefighter, and that was the end of that. “Where’s the fire?”
Jack and Abbie led him to the backyard, where their Duraflame fire logs crackled in their cinderblock pit.
“I think you were called because of the smoke,” said Abbie. “We threw some leaves on the fire to get it going a while back.”
Meanwhile, the firefighter’s face:
“Just put it out,” he said, heading back to the truck (the “I ain’t got time for this” was silent).
The fire truck had been parked in the neighborhood for roughly 3–5 minutes, which was just long enough to summon every nosy resident within a five-house radius. Craig, the salty neighborhood hermit who rarely left the confines of his garage, stood on the curb with a beer, enjoying the show. Todd and Ashley Bennett, who everyone assumed had the fire department on speed dial, peeked through their plantation shutters.
Sharon Whitaker, HOA president, walked toward them with a pep in her step that could only mean one thing: a violation was on its way. At least that’s what everyone suspected. Jack and Abbie braced themselves for a fine and an emergency HOA resolution outlawing homemade firepits non-compliant semi-permanent combustion-adjacent installations.
All this to say … nobody was prepared for what Sharon did next. Except for Craig, whose beef with Sharon goes well beyond her garbage can regulations.
No one ever asked how old Sharon was, but she’s retired and her name is Sharon, so you do the math. That day, she had clearly put in some effort — her Lilly Pulitzer dress was glowing in the twilight like it was trying to signal aircraft. Her Simply Southern lanyard was gone, replaced by a smile that suggested she was in what neighbors privately referred to as her “off-duty social phase.” Mike Whitaker, her husband, was nowhere to be seen.
Now listen, this next bit is important.
Sharon enjoys hosting lasagna nights at her house roughly once a month. Rumors ran rampant about the flamingo in her front yard and the pineapple garden flag up year-round. Nobody agreed on what it signaled, but it had developed a reputation nonetheless.
Sharon stopped a few feet from the fire truck, just close enough to be conversational, but far enough to still pretend this was about safety and not whatever the hell was about to go down.
“Evening,” she said, in a tone that had absolutely nothing to do with bylaws.
At that moment, everyone knew. Todd and Ashley hadn’t called. Abbie and Jack hadn’t called. Craig definitely hadn’t called, if he even had a phone.
Sharon called. And if you don’t know why … you haven’t lived here long enough.
To be continued …
- Recipes from Readers: Chicken Pot Pie with Veggies
- Bold Beginnings
- Everyday Goodness
- Small Business Spotlight: Track Record Vinyl Shop and Listening Lounge
- Chronicles of an HOA: The Enclave at Sunset Lake, Part Deux
- Dig In & Drink Up: Crimson Verde
- Meet & Greet: Tina Barnard
- See & Do: July to August 2026
- From Tail to Tale
