We’ve got crabs. We’ve got cannabis. And we’ve got some town names that’ll make you do a double-take on the highway sign. From accidental land grabs to (alleged) 1800s brothels, Maryland’s full of weird, wonderful little places that sound made up—but aren’t. So, spark one up and let’s take a trip (geographically speaking) through five of the most delightfully strange town names in the Old Line State.

1. Parole

A name that says, “I swear I’ve got an alibi"

Parole sits right outside Annapolis and is essentially where Annapolitans go to shop, visit Target, and grab tacos after a doctor's appointment. But the name? That comes from its time as a Civil War parole camp, where Union and Confederate prisoners waited to be exchanged and sent home. These days, you’re more likely to get stuck in traffic than stuck in custody, but the name still raises eyebrows. 

2. Accident

The population is 338, and Residents are called Accidentals (not kidding)

The name goes back to the 1700s, when two surveyors from Prince George’s County accidentally claimed the same piece of land. Rather than argue, they just shrugged and named it Accident. Problem solved. It's one of the oldest settlements in Western Maryland, and home to some Revolutionary War history, scenic Appalachian views, and probably the best town motto that doesn’t exist yet: “Welcome to Accident—On Purpose.”

3. Ladiesburg

Where the women outnumbered the men 7 to 1

According to local lore—and one particularly enlightening metal-detecting session—the town got its name in the early 1800s thanks to a census count that revealed just one man and seven women living there. Word on the tracks is that it may have been a brothel stop for train travelers. That theory got a little boost when someone dug up a “Three Merry Widows” condom tin dated from the era. Today, it’s a quiet little village with trains hauling building materials instead of businessmen looking for a good time. 

4. Blue Ball Village

We didn’t name it, we’re just here to giggle at it.

Back in the 1700s, a Quaker named Andrew Job opened the Blue Ball Inn at a rural crossroads in Cecil County. The inn was a tavern, hotel, voting spot, dance hall, and general “get into trouble here” zone. The town that grew around it borrowed the name, and the legend grew from there. Add in a runaway British bride who sold herself into servitude, inspired Robinson Crusoe, and married the innkeeper’s son—and you’ve got enough history, romance, and scandal to fill an HBO miniseries. These days, you’ll find farmland, gas stations, and people pretending they don’t laugh every time they give directions.

5. Scientist's Cliffs

Where the nerds go to unplug

In the 1930s, a scientist named Flippo and his wife Annie turned this cliffside stretch of Calvert County into a summer retreat for their academic friends. The area had American chestnut trees showing resistance to blight, so they built cabins from the fallen wood and kept things rustic.

The neighborhood is still quirky in the best way: houses must have wooden exteriors, streets are grouped by “gates” and named after plants (Gate B has Birch, Beech, and Bluebell), and there's a community pool, beach, and even a horseshoe pit. When developers came sniffing around in the ‘80s, residents pooled their money and bought 436 acres to protect it, creating the American Chestnut Land Trust, which now spans over 4,000 acres.

Oh, and the cliffs? Packed with prehistoric shark teeth. It's like a nature preserve, summer camp, and fossil dig rolled into one.