By that May, Willamette Week, a local alt-weekly, had written an explosive exposé documenting a rampant drug culture.
They were the flower of the Willamette youth, every one of royal birth, handsome in shape and limb, fleet-footed as the deer.
I am unaware why the accent is on the penult, and not on the ultimate of Willamette.
Though the Willamette Valley has practically four rainless months of sunshine, irrigation is unnecessary.
“Willamette,” said the young runner, pointing to this new river.
The Willamette iron meteorite, weighing 16½ tons, lay in a forest when found and was not deeply buried.
But they were the stronger, and when did the heart of a Willamette feel pity?
And among them all, conscious of his supremacy, moved the keen and imperious Willamette.
For the first recorded time a white man gazed on the river Willamette.
For seven years he preached throughout the Willamette valley, exerting a strong moral influence wherever he went.