The Ground
Where the story happened — and how well the record knows it.
“Seldom do men so flatly contradict each other as upon points of fact.” — H. S. Knapp, History of the Maumee Valley, Toledo, 1872
On the pins why some of them refuse to be precise
A latitude and longitude is the most certain-looking claim a document can make, and most of this country is not known to six decimal places. So every place here carries a second value beside its coordinates, saying how far the record can actually be trusted — and that value decides how far the map will let you zoom in. Fallen Timbers appears twice, because for a hundred and thirty years everyone stood in the wrong field: the 1929 monument, whose own position is perfectly certain, was raised on the floodplain, and in 1995 a metal-detector survey put the real engagement a quarter-mile north. The monument is exact; the battlefield is disputed; the honest record is the pair.
One marker will not sharpen at all. The store holds a burial of the village people who kept this valley before the refugee nations came, and it is placed no nearer than the town of Waterville. Published archaeology gives such sites to the arcsecond because it is written for archaeologists. This is a public website, and precise locations of graves are how graves get dug.
The same places as a list: The Ground in the Research Store · the raw record: every location