Hello. My name is Stephanie. I’m a seed hoarder.

I’ve been a hoarder since I was a child. I’ve tried to stop, but fail every year. I’m obsessed. I’m passionate. I have a crazy compulsion for seeds. I’m an addict. Cold winter nights are spent under a blanket and several cats perusing seed catalogs, dreaming of warm dirt between my toes. When stores put out the first seed displays, I have to buy at least one packet every visit. Hope. A promise. Inspiration. A reason to live.

There’s a couple hundred dollars’ worth of seeds in that box pictured above. That’s just a small box — the ones I’m going to plant this year. There’s a giant plastic storage tote filled with seeds in my living room. I used to have two but downsized to organic and heirloom when GMOs were introduced to the market. (In my younger days, seeds were seeds. We didn’t have to worry about DNA from another species in them.)

Beginning Seed Collecting

I’m not sure when exactly the obsession began, but I was very little. I grew up spending much time with my grandparents and aunt. They provided for themselves with a giant garden, raising animals, harvesting and preserving their own food. Many a summer day was spent in their company in the garden pulling weeds, planting onions, watering and feeding all the plants and creatures; then in the kitchen with my grandmother and aunt as they processed, preserved and cooked the delicious beauty that was the product of their labors.

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In kindergarten, I recall starting flower seeds in a Dixie cup to give as a Mothers’ Day gift and growing vegetables from discarded kitchen waste like carrot tops, potato peels and sprouting avocado pits. I couldn’t have been more proud with my projects. I was so excited to plant them.