Every piece is someone's place.
I started making these for my own table. The first one was Kansas, where I grew up: my wife and I finished it late on a Friday and spent the next hour working out why so many of the county lines have notches in them. (The old survey grid. It's on the card in the box.) Then the United States, which my daughter and I built on the floor. She asked why some borders are squiggly, and the answer is rivers. Then Colorado, where we live now, which she can point at: this is our house, this is Summit County, this is why it feels like somewhere else up there.
Every piece is a county, a state or a neighborhood, cut from one relief model of the whole. The heights are real, so the Front Range stands off the plains exactly where it does out the window, and a river runs straight across a county line and tells you where the next piece goes.
The name is the survey grid. Township and range are the two coordinates laid over the plains in 1785, the grid every section of Kansas still sits on. Flip the pair and you get the ranges out the window in Fort Collins. Flat land and high land, measured and put back together.
I design and print every set here, one at a time. If your state isn't in the shop yet, ask.
— Ryan, Fort Collins

Colorado, halfway. Start at the four corners; the rivers do the rest.



