Drawing The Line: The Oddities Of This Country's State Borders

Ever notice the borders on a map of the United States? State lines in this country are drawn in the oddest places, and they lead to all sorts of weirdness. The Mason-Dixon Line is a good example. How did the line surveyed by Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, intended to settle a territorial dispute between Pennsylvania and Maryland, become the dividing line between North and South, freedom and slavery, and all that rot? Slavery existed in New York well into the late eighteenth century, while Maryland was far more sophisticated and urbane than the states of the Deep South. After the Civil War, Baltimore grew into an industrial city that resembled a Northeastern metropolis more than a quaint Southern town.

Meanwhile, an arc line was drawn between Pennsylvania and Delaware to give Delaware all of the land and water within a 12-mile radius of the town of New Castle. The arc didn't line up precisely with the Mason-Dixon Line, however, and it left a thin, triangular wedge of land between Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Maryland before the Supreme Court extended the Mason-Dixon Line to meet the arc, thereby giving the wedge to Delaware. But since the deed granted by the Duke of York in 1682 also gave Delaware all of the water within the circle around New Castle as well, all of the Delaware River within the circle belongs to Delaware; the river isn't divided down the midpoint with New Jersey. (The land within the circle on the New Jersey side had already been deeded to New Jersey in 1664.)

Hence, when you drive westbound on the Delaware Memorial Bridge, you've left New Jersey the moment you're above water. The Supreme Court upheld this colonial deed in 1935. New Jersey has wanted to build a liquefied natural gas terminal on its shoreline within the circle; Delaware, claiming sovereignty over the water, has tried to stop it.

But have you noticed how most of America's borders are drawn? With straight lines. This is a practice going back to the parceling of the Great Lakes region, when a grid system was used to sell land to farmers and real estate speculators in square plots ranging from an acre to a square mile. It was believed to be a rational, fair way of dividing land. President Thomas Jefferson extended the grid system into the Great Plains, and as America extended westward, it would run all the way to the Pacific. As the nation grew, the states were organized around the grid, in many cases failing to take topography into account.

And look at the results. The Appalachian Mountains are a perfect western limit for Pennsylvania, but the state keeps extending west until it hits the straight line separating it from Ohio. That straight line crosses the Ohio River, Ohio's southern boundary, and the sliver of land between the Ohio River and the Pennsylvania state line is in West Virginia. The area, which includes Wheeling, is known as the Panhandle because of its shape. But wait! West Virginia has a panhandle on its other end! Even a pan doesn't have two panhandles!

Similarly, the Rocky Mountains are a perfect natural state line, but except for the boundary between Idaho and Montana, they don't serve as one. Colorado should end at the Rockies, but its straight lines continue over them toward the fringes of the Great Basin. How else could a landlocked town like Denver end up in the center of everything, thus becoming Colorado's most important city and its capital? The national grid may have worked in the Great Plains, but the straight lines in the Intermountain West ended up centering state populations in the oddest of places. In Nevada, which is mostly desert, the population centers ended up on the fringes of the state because of their proximity to water; the Truckee River near Reno, the Colorado near Las Vegas.

Whenever natural boundaries — mainly rivers, especially those difficult to cross — were accommodated in drawing state lines, it has led to interesting configurations. Consider the toe heels of southeastern Iowa, where the Des Moines River empties into the Mississippi, and northwestern Missouri, where the Missouri River interrupts the straight line separating it from Kansas. The boot heel of southeastern Missouri was the result of political chicanery. In 1818, Missouri applied for statehood and the southern boundary was set at the 36'30" parallel line. Then John H. Walker, a wealthy cattle rancher and landowner from near the present-day boot heel town of Carruthersville, realized that the proposed boundary would transfer his landholdings between the St. Francis River and the Mississippi River from Missouri to the territory of . . . Arkansas! Apparently, Arkansas had a bad reputation even in 1818. Walker lobbied for Missouri's southern boundary to be set at the 36th parallel. The line was kept at 36'30" to the north, but the stub of land between the two parallel lines and the two rivers was included. That was close! Coincidentally, this put Missouri, a slave state, technically below the 36'30" line, above which slavery would hence be forbidden under the Missouri Compromise.

Missouri thus became one of eight slave states comprising the gray area between North and South. These states became known as . . . border states! But the ultimate collision of boundaries would be the junction of the boundaries of Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico — the Four Corners, the only point where you can stand on all fours and be in four U.S. states at once.

With amusing borders come amusing shapes. Oklahoma, with its own panhandle, is shaped like a frying pan. Louisiana is shaped like a shoe; Indiana, a stocking; Ohio, a chevron; Michigan, a mitten (Lower Peninsula) and a crab's leg (Upper Peninsula); Illinois, an ear of corn; California, a boomerang. It makes sense that Wyoming is rectangular —those people are real squares!

As for America's international borders . . . many people in Congress want to liberalize policy over the border with Mexico. But at that, many Americans draw the line.