On Saturday night my favorite weatherman, Rod Hill, talked about how an incoming winter storm was whacking the crap out of a seaside town called Yachats, pronounced "yah-Hawts".
I have since been obsessed with it. Yachats means "dark water at the foot of the mountain". It has an unfortunate but familiar history regarding the Native Americans who lived there for 1,500 years before the white man showed up and moved them.
The median age is over sixty-two, which must be close to a record. There's only around six hundred-fifty or so people in town. I now want to visit the place.