Such a strange name… I always want to say it to rhyme with hatchets, but… (pronounced YAH-hots)!
Where the Yachats river runs into the Pacific
The day driving down from the north was perfect. Lots of perfect clouds and mist, the wind was reasonably mild and it was relatively warm for summertime.
See if you can find the woman down on the rocks for scale. (Hint: she’s wearing turquoise colored clothes.)
Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.
― Gladys Taber