By Peggy Sturdivant

Especially during the summer months they are everywhere, foraging for goods, leaving trails for one another, building cooperative colonies. I’m not just talking pavement ants. I’m referring to the burgeoning number of members, and groups, in the Buy Nothing Project. Like the sidewalk ants they are sharing leads on free treats and bustling from porch to porch. They share the Buy Nothing credo of giving freely and building community. And like the ant colonies the Buy Nothing groups are all around us if we stop to look.

Founded in 2013 on Bainbridge Island by Liesl Clark and Rebecca Rockefeller there are now more Buy Nothing Project Facebook groups than I care to count. “Give where you live” is a core tenet therefore each group is only open to a certain geographic area to keep the sharing hyper-local. The Buy Nothing Ballard group is currently at 2579 members; it will be higher by the time you read this.

A requirement to join the online group is a personal Facebook account and commitment to rules which include no selling, no marketing, and giving as well as receiving. The description at BuyNothingProject.org speaks to “a hands-on chance to become part of a social movement.” There’s definitely a lot of movement that seems very social as the summer months features many water toys and outgrown bathing suits in the constant scroll of posts. Members offer their extra plums and no longer worn high heels. They seek to borrow a folding table or collect gifts for a new mother who doesn’t have support.

What starts as an online conversation often becomes face-to-face as people meet on porches over ‘gifted’ items. I’m currently waiting for a stranger to come and pick up gravel that we no longer need, but their family does. Unlike putting an item on the curb, or posting on Freecycle or Craigslist, a connection usually gets made between those who give and those who receive. Which changes at any given moment. As do the offerings, which does lead some people to a slight addiction.

One Buy Nothing Ballard member confessed to me before a pick-up, “Sometimes I feel like it’s sucking my life away.” Like many users she mostly uses the site to give away baby-related goods as her daughter’s needs change. Which also keeps her looking for what her daughter will need next. She learned about the site because her mother-in-law showed off something she acquired through Buy Nothing Edmonds.

The Buy Nothing Project site says that 1000 members is about the right number, so it’s possible the Buy Nothing Ballard (BNB) could soon be split by administrators into smaller groups. People have to ask to join so that local admins can determine they are a real live person in Ballard before approving them.

I still remember the first thing that I posted: men’s bicycle riding gear. My husband had decided he wasn’t that person anymore but true to form had purchased the highest quality. The woman who responded first (often there’s a drawing for popular items) picked up the gear exactly when promised. She told me the BNB community helped her feel at home after moving here for a job. “We even got a bunny through the group.”

Exactly as the founders intended, meeting her in person made me want to always give more personally, especially when I know there’s real value in what we no longer need.

The flow of messages on the site is a contemporary ticker tape, 30-40 posts some hours. I only look at the site when I’m posting otherwise I might be sucked into it as well. Almost every object has a story attached, or prompts one. Then there are “gratitude posts” that speak to generosity such as giving away a double stroller instead of trying to seel or consign it.

From nail polish to baby formula, books and tutoring to stocking party boxes the group is a huge communal gift-economy in which unused items find grateful homes, sparing the need to buy new. All over Ballard, and communities rippling all over Seattle, the State, the nation, and 15 countries the Buy Nothing Project is spreading. It’s why there’s a bag of nursing pads outside of one door and a friendly man handing me my Sunday newspaper. It’s the colony that you didn’t even know was underfoot.