If you’ve ever spent eight hours driving across the American Midwest, you know the feeling. The cornfields start to blur. Your coffee is cold. Then, suddenly, a wooden sign on a two-lane highway promises something spectacular: the biggest ball of string. Or is it twine? Does the material even matter? Honestly, for the thousands of people who detour into small towns every year, the semantics are secondary to the sheer, baffling scale of these things.
It's weird. We are obsessed with the "biggest" of anything, but the battle for the title of the world’s biggest ball of twine is surprisingly cutthroat. There isn't just one. Depending on who you ask—and how you define "ball"—the winner changes. You have the one a single man built, the one an entire town keeps adding to, and the one sitting in a museum that was once the undisputed king. It’s a messy, fibrous rabbit hole.
Darwin, Minnesota: The Solo Champion
Let's talk about Francis A. Johnson. In 1950, this guy started rolling a ball of sisal twine in his basement. He did it for 29 years. Every single day. Can you imagine the dedication? Or the boredom? By the time he stopped in 1979, the ball weighed 17,400 pounds. It’s 12 feet wide. It currently sits in a literal gazebo in Darwin, Minnesota, because where else do you put a nine-ton sphere of hairy rope?
The Darwin ball is the purist's favorite. Why? Because Francis did it alone. In the world of roadside attractions, "solo effort" carries a lot of weight. It’s a monument to one man's eccentric persistence. If you visit today, you’ll find it protected by glass. You can't touch it. You can't add to it. It is a finished piece of Americana, a frozen moment of 20th-century obsession.
Minnesota takes this very seriously. They celebrate "Twine Ball Day" on the second Saturday in August. It’s a whole thing. Weirdly enough, the ball is so heavy it actually started to sink into the floor of its display case years ago, requiring a reinforced concrete slab. It’s literally too heavy for the ground it stands on.
Cawker City, Kansas: The Living Monster
If Darwin is the "finished" record-holder, Cawker City is the "living" one. This is where things get controversial. Frank Stoeber started this ball in 1953. He was basically trying to outdo Francis Johnson. When Frank died in 1974, the ball was massive, but the town didn’t let it die with him.
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They kept going.
Every year, the town holds a "Twine-A-Thon." Locals and tourists alike grab a length of twine and wrap it around the mass. Because of this community effort, the Cawker City ball is technically the largest because it never stops growing. As of the last official check, it weighs over 20,000 pounds. It’s a beast.
Some people think this is cheating. If you’re a Darwin fan, you’ll argue that a "community" ball shouldn't count against a "solo" ball. It’s like comparing a solo marathon runner to a relay team of 5,000 people. But if you’re standing in front of the Cawker City ball, its sheer gravity is hard to argue with. You can even buy your own twine at the local shop and add your six feet of glory to the record. You become part of the biggest ball of string history. Sorta cool, right?
The Contenders You Didn't Know About
Wait, there’s more. We can't forget Lake Nebagamon, Wisconsin. James Frank Kotera—affectionately known as "JFK"—started his ball in 1979. He claimed his was the heaviest. He didn't care as much about the diameter; he cared about the density. He spent decades weighing every scrap of twine he added on a scale.
- Darwin, MN: Best solo-built ball.
- Cawker City, KS: Largest overall (still growing).
- Lake Nebagamon, WI: Claims to be the heaviest.
- Branson, MO: The Ripley’s ball (the heaviest "certified" by some).
Then there’s the Branson ball. This one is owned by Ripley's Believe It or Not! It was built by a guy named J.C. Payne in Texas. In 1993, Guinness certified it as the world’s largest. It’s made of nylon, which is a point of contention for twine enthusiasts. Nylon isn't sisal. It’s slicker, heavier, and—some say—easier to wrap. When Ripley's bought it and moved it to Missouri, the "purists" lost their minds. Is it a "real" ball of twine if it’s sitting in a commercial museum instead of a dusty town square?
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Why Does This Even Matter?
You might think, it’s just string, who cares? But these landmarks represent something deep in the American psyche. They are products of the "Golden Age" of the road trip. Before everyone had an iPhone to distract them, you had to find entertainment in the weird. These balls are symbols of a time when "making something big" was a valid life goal.
They also provide a massive economic boost to tiny towns that would otherwise be bypassed by the interstate. Darwin and Cawker City survive on the curiosity of strangers. They sell t-shirts, postcards, and miniature twine balls. It’s small-town survivalism disguised as a hobby.
There’s also the physics of it. A ball of twine this large isn't just a pile of rope. It’s a pressurized object. The internal tension of miles of string pulling toward the center is immense. If you were to cut into the center of the Cawker City ball, it wouldn't just unravel; the tension might actually cause it to explode or "boil" outward. It’s a dormant volcano of fiber.
The Guinness World Record Headache
If you look up the current Guinness World Record, you'll find it's a bit of a moving target. They have different categories because the "biggest ball of string" debate got so heated. They had to distinguish between "largest ball of twine" and "largest ball of twine (widest)."
Currently, Cawker City generally holds the title for the largest, but Darwin is often cited as the largest rolled by one person. It’s a distinction that keeps both towns happy and the tourist dollars flowing. Honestly, the competition is what keeps the story alive. If there was only one, undisputed ball, we probably would have stopped talking about it in the 70s.
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How to Visit the Great Balls of Twine
If you’re planning a pilgrimage, don't just wing it. These locations are remote. You aren't going to find a five-star hotel next to the Darwin ball.
- Darwin, Minnesota: It’s about an hour and a half west of Minneapolis. It’s a park setting. Totally free. You can see it through the glass 24/7, but the museum next door has limited hours.
- Cawker City, Kansas: Located on Highway 24. This is the "interactive" one. If you want to add twine, contact the local "twine lady" (yes, that’s a real title) or check the local businesses. They usually have twine ready for visitors.
- Branson, Missouri: This is the most "touristy." You’ll have to pay admission to the Ripley’s Believe It or Not! museum. It’s a very different vibe than the Kansas or Minnesota versions.
Myths and Misconceptions
People think these balls are solid twine all the way through. Usually, they start with a core. Sometimes it’s a small wooden block, or a wad of newspaper, or a different kind of scrap. Francis Johnson’s ball started as a small knot he made in his basement.
Another myth: They smell. You’d think 70-year-old sisal sitting in the humidity would stink like a wet basement. Surprisingly, they don't—at least not from the outside. The Darwin ball is kept in a climate-controlled-ish environment, and the Cawker City ball is under a canopy. They mostly just smell like dry hay or an old barn.
What to Do Next
If this weird slice of Americana fascinates you, your next move is to check out the Association of Collectors of Roadside Americana. They track the status of these "world's largest" items, including the often-overlooked "World's Largest Ball of Barbwire" (which is exactly as painful as it sounds).
Before you head out on a road trip to see the biggest ball of string, call the local town halls. Small towns change. Sometimes the museum is closed for renovations, or the "twine lady" is on vacation. A quick phone call ensures you don't drive 400 miles to look at a locked gazebo.
Finally, bring your own camera, but don't expect a drone to help you much—most of these are under shelters. The best shots are the ones where you stand next to the ball for scale. Without a human for comparison, it just looks like a close-up of a sweater.
Whether it's the solo effort in Minnesota or the community project in Kansas, these landmarks prove that humans will always find a way to make something ordinary absolutely legendary through sheer, stubborn repetition.