For Labor Day weekend (that's the first weekend in September, for those of who living outside the U.S.),
Wifey and I went camping with a bunch of
Fair family. The area, just southeast of Bend, OR, is full of the most prosaic place names I've ever encountered: Green Mountain, Brown Mountain, Silver Lake, Crack in the Ground, Hole in the Ground, and -- my favorite -- Big Hole.
It's as though they were naming the area at the end of long, hot summer, and they really wanted to finish early for the day and have a beer, so they just went with their hastily jotted notes and didn't bother working on the names to add poetry and heart. It's the geographical equivalent of Lou Reed's songwriting.