while on my break

I read the email slowly, noting that I was being instructed to fly to Tempe, AZ. It was a bit of a surprise because I had expected to go to Phoenix. Being somewhat limited of my knowledge in Arizona geography I had to think that perhaps Tempe is a suburb and like the three dog night song intoned, ‘what does it matter?’. Probably not a lick.
Still it gave me time to think about names of places and why they get called what they do. Often it’s because of some meaning associated with the spot or even an event that took place there. The early Americans popularized the somewhat pompous and egotistical method of naming them after themselves but in truth they were only following an age old tradition of first there and Bob’s your uncle.

Still some incredibly interesting ones have persisted over time and some are just honest mistakes. The West Indies is a prime example. Columbus called the natives Indians as he was sure that he had discovered a new route to the Asian continent. In reality, he had stumbled his way to continent that had been colonized by other Europeans some 500 years previously. I can only imagine the Enquirer headlines on that one... ‘Chris Screws up Big Time and Liz Wants Her Jewels Back’

Back home we have a barren Tree Island that is covered in cacti and nearby is Cactus Island covered with…you guessed it ….trees. Seems as though some well meaning individual made a mistake in placing them on an official map. One of my favourites comes from Alberta, Smashed-in Buffalo Head Jump. It leaves very little for the imagination to try to sort out once you see the cliff that the natives drove the animals over.

Damn…now it’s time to get back to work or yep…you guessed it…my name will be Mud.