Toothpaste war has casualties

Place names are fascinating. They define our surroundings in ways we seldom think about and shape the way we perceive our world.

I have long been intrigued by them, and I am nerdy enough to admit to reading “Oregon Geographic Names,” by the late Lewis A. McArthur and the venerable Lewis L. McArthur, purely for pleasure.

“Place-names are integral to our knowledge and understanding of our history,” the McArthurs write in their excellent history of Oregon geographical names. “Human activities, excepting those relying solely on intellect, involve spacial relationships and these, in turn, are defined by place-names.”

Take Pilot Butte. Though older maps refer to Bend’s prominent cinder cone as “Red Butte,” owing to its color, the name Pilot Butte took hold because of the hill’s role in leading emigrant wagon trains to the region. The Bend area was a logical stopping place for emigrants because it was a good place to cross the Deschutes River and camp on the way to greener pastures, according to the McArthurs. The name Pilot Butte caught on because the butte was a signal to travelers that water, rest and refuge were near.

And so it is even today. For many locals, the first sight of Pilot Butte is a signal that they are nearing home. As with those travelers from past centuries, Pilot Butte guides them to their refuge.

Pilot Butte’s name reflects its history and its current relationship to the humans who live near it.

According to the McArthurs, about 56 percent of Oregon’s geographic names are biographical. Another 14 percent are physical, describing geographical or geological characteristics of a place. About 15 percent represent some biological characteristic, or human or animal activity.

Central Oregon has a penchant for place names that are honest and grounded, rather than lovely or fanciful. Our geographical features are often named for form and function, rather than poeticism or imagery, or even people, though there are plenty of those. So we have Black Butte, Juniper Butte, Grey Butte and Cinder Butte, names that reflect the basic appearance of the features they identify. Sure, there’s the odd Awbrey or Horse thrown into a butte name, but by and large, these isolated hills are named with all the poetic license of a rock.

Several other local features follow this straightforward naming convention. Oregon’s largest ponderosa pine, located at La Pine State Park, is Big Tree. By contrast, California’s three largest redwood trees are Hyperion, the Stratosphere Giant and the Iluvatar, names more suggestive of their inspiring majesty than Big Tree’s is of anything except its size.

There are more examples of these call-it-as-you-see-it names in Central and Eastern Oregon.

Lake’s County’s Hole in the Ground and Crack in the Ground could not be more honestly named — they are exactly what their names indicate.

The Crooked River is, well, crooked.

The town of Antelope refers to the pronghorn creatures of that name that were a common sight when the area was settled. Fossil is located near fossils.

Crater Lake. Broken Top. Cold Springs. Fort Rock.

Even Bend. Though eminently more poetic in its original form — Farewell Bend — the moniker is still just a description of the big double bend in the river as it runs through town.

Why this apparent tendency to use such unpretentious names for local places? The McArthurs don’t address it.

But it’s not hard to imagine those who first encountered the stark beauty of the High Desert letting the landscape speak for itself. And the settlers who thought to scrape a life out of the desert with grit and courage were likely to see their surroundings in the most unassuming terms.

Central Oregon’s beauty is not polished. It is as candid and unprepossessing as the dirt. Our place names reflect that simplicity.