Back in 2013, a song came out called “Royals” written by Lorde. There is a line about tigers on a gold leash and something about a Maybach. At the time, I didn’t have any idea what a Maybach was — perhaps a bird or a German mountain pass. Either way, I couldn’t have cared less. It was irrelevant. That changed the day a past client called to tell me her next-door neighbor had officially declared war on her.

The war was initiated by a bit of tree sap. More specifically, my client’s tree had committed the grave offense of quietly, and covertly, oozing sap onto the neighbor’s car, which happened to be a Maybach. It was that strange word again. While still on the phone, I did what every person does when confronted with an unknown: I Googled it. And there it was. The Mercedes-Maybach S 680 Series is a vehicle so luxurious that it makes most high-end houses feel slightly insecure about their life choices.

According to her neighbor, the sap incident was nothing short of a historic act of aggression — the Pearl Harbor of neighborhood driveways, the Lusitania of the cul-de-sac (a perfectly innocent sedan going down in a sea of pine sap) and the Fort Sumter of suburban parking disputes. It was the opening volley in what historians will surely record as the Great Driveway War of the proverbial Maple Street.

“Encroachment?” I thought. Perhaps. If you spend enough time practicing real estate, as I have, you quickly discover that property lines have an uncanny ability to turn otherwise reasonable adults into amateur military generals. Battle lines get drawn in subtle ways. A lawn gets mowed precisely to survey pin. A fence is built up to a previously unnecessary 12 feet instead of the standard 6. Suddenly, conversations grow shorter and garbage cans are rolled to the curb at midnight to avoid an attack.

Right here in the northern part of our pretty great state, these quiet suburban standoffs sometimes unfold under a surprisingly dramatic soundtrack. With the thunder of F-35 jets ascending and descending out of Hill Air Force Base, two neighbors stand in their respective yards pretending not to notice one another. It could be the next backdrop for a new national anthem.

In neighborhoods with HOA’s (Homeowners Associations) the HOA board becomes the Switzerland of suburbia — a neutral territory to pound out sanctions, treaties and perhaps demilitarization. Pastries may act as peace offerings. Unfortunately, they rarely work because the central issue, whether the fence needs to be moved three inches or the tree branch crossed that invisible line, continues to hang in the air. Sometimes, the conflict even escalates beyond HOA diplomacy and enters the courtroom stage of warfare with boots on the ground.

Here’s the rub: Courts, much like wars, tend to resolve little. Money, time and emotional energy is poured out in hoards to no avail. While one neighbor may technically “win,” the other may sulk, and in the end, both still wake up every morning living 30 feet apart.

History offers some sobering parallels. Take the Battle of Verdun for instance. In 1916, during World War I, the French and the German forces fought over a very small stretch of land in northeastern France. The battle lasted nearly 10 months and more than 700,000 soldiers were killed or wounded, and the front line had only moved a few feet. A few feet of real estate cost 700,000 lives.

Wars, small or large, have a strange habit of producing very expensive stalemates. Real estate disputes can follow the same pattern. Most often, the cost of winning far exceeds the value of what is being fought over. This is why the best resolution is the simplest: agree to disagree agreeably. It is not dramatic. It doesn’t produce a victory parade down 25th Street. But it does allow two people to share a fence line without turning every neighborly encounter into a Cold War summit.

When we step back and look at the big picture, the stakes (or property stakes) usually aren’t as historic as they may feel in the moment. Two parties still share the same view of the beautiful Wasatch Mountains. And since the two generals will still be living side by side, they might as well politely wave and smile when taking the trash out to the street.

Jen Fischer is an associate broker and Realtor. She can be reached at 801-645-2134 or jen@jen-fischer.com.