Kevin is the Napa Valley Register's city editor. His personal column about the adventures of everyday life in Napa runs every Sunday. 

While some Napa County residents debate the future of our oak woodlands before voting on Measure C this June, another tree debate has been going on in the Courtney house.

Having survived a rare April “atmospheric river,” all kinds of people were strolling on my street last Sunday, enjoying the sunshine.

I won’t lie to you. I was feeling punchy after working two long days covering the unbelievably sad events at the Vets Home a week ago.

I entered the Army as a second lieutenant in October 1968, the year that America’s involvement in the Vietnam War reached almost a half-million troops. I rejoiced when I was assigned to train on Nike Hercules missiles, even then an obsolete air defense system. There were no Nikes in Vietnam.…

One of the best things about the Register’s newish Soscol location is our redwood grove. It’s small — just three trees and a picnic table bordered by sidewalk— but surprisingly lovely.

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What a nightmare! The local radio station invited me to sit down with a talk show host and blather for a solid hour about myself and 2018’s likely big stories.

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We are city residents. We live on a city lot, not in a forest, yet our tree issues are endless. The last few years they’ve kept Cheryl awake at night.

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You would think that the Courtneys would have had their fill of home improvement projects after living above their garage for more than a year while the back of their house was rebuilt.

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Runners are always breaking down. Last winter was my worst malfunction ever. I lost three months of jogging because of a sore knee that refused to heal.

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After our October trial by fire, I’d say Napa’s return to normalcy is still very much a work in progress, never mind this weekend’s rain.

Last spring Cheryl announced that several girlfriends from her childhood in Southern California — people I had virtually no knowledge of — were planning a three-day reunion, possibly on a houseboat on Lake Shasta.

I’m a bi-coastal guy. Whatever exists between the East Coast and the Bay Area, I’ve been content to fly over.

After several years of being a California homebody, I took to the air two weeks ago for a family visit to southern Indiana and my first exploration of Chicago, a great city that’s also America’s murder capital.

There we were, my doctor and I, chatting all friendly about my diet and the amount of exercise in my life and I was thinking, Good job, Kevin. You’ve aced another annual physical.

In my columns, I probably come across as a cultural sophisticate. All those mentions of nights at the opera and such.

As last weekend’s Big Heat was building, I scurried home to water the fuchsia that hangs outside our kitchen window.

In my spare minutes I’ve been putting together an upcoming attraction for that we hope everyone will find irresistible.

Bob is my oldest friend. We met as college freshmen in New Jersey more than a half century ago. Though we have lived a continent apart since, we have managed to meet up a time or two each decade.