An envelope of acorns, maple samaras, or native seed — chosen for your zip code's climate and ecosystem, not randomly. Funded by spare change instead of grants. Built so that a kid with a school fundraiser, a property owner with a yard full of "waste" seed, and a person in a city apartment with one sunny windowsill can all be part of the same supply chain.
Three things this project is betting on, stated plainly.
Dry seed is light. A single first-class envelope can carry a real assortment of seed, and biodegradable paper tape means the whole thing can be treated as compost if it ends up on the ground instead of in a planter.
Species get matched to hardiness zone and native range before they're ever packed — the same acorn doesn't go to Phoenix and Duluth. That's the difference between a nice gesture and something that actually grows.
Property owners, landscapers, and gutter cleaners throw out tons of viable seed and yard waste every year. A marketplace that pays a little for what would've gone in a bag to the curb changes that math.
Not every apartment can have a dog. Almost every windowsill can have a plant. This is about putting a low-stakes, unkillable-feeling project into as many hands as possible — a paper cup of soil counts, an egg carton counts, a coffee can with drainage holes punched in the bottom counts. The grow guide is built around "start with what's already in your recycling," not "buy equipment."
This isn't trying to be a big operation — it's trying to be a cheap, steady one.
Positioned against the cost of one fast-food order: what one trip to a drive-thru costs can fund roughly a year of seed mailed to someone's door. A modest monthly subscription — cash or crypto — covers postage and packaging, nothing fancier.
The mailing and education side stays nonprofit. A marketplace where growers, property owners, and greenhouses trade seedlings and seed stock for real money can run alongside it without mixing the books — see the marketplace page.