Web swap program turns trash into treasure

MORGANTOWN, W.Va. -- When Laura Gernell heard about a place where people gave away perfectly good things to strangers — no money changing hands, no questions asked — she figured it was too good to be true.

But husband Ronald had lost his job as a truck driver and she was temporarily unemployed, at home in a rented, unfurnished apartment with her infant son. With nothing to lose, she joined The Freecycle Network, a Web-based community swap program, and asked if anyone had a sofa to spare.

"I wasn't looking to furnish my whole apartment," says the 32-year-old mom from Marmet, just south of Charleston. "I was just looking for the basics, just something to sit on."

Three people e-mailed with offers, and Gernell used the sofa from that day in 2004 until last summer, when the springs broke. Today she runs West Virginia's largest Freecycle group, 2,100 members strong and part of a far-flung forum where people can find homes for things they no longer want.

"It just has completely floored me, the generosity of people," says Gernell. "Especially in West Virginia because West Virginia is considered one of the poorest states in the nation. But people are very generous. It's amazing."

Freecycle is a global recycling phenomenon. Since it started in Arizona in May 2003, it has grown to more than 4 million members in more than 4,100 cities, from Istanbul to Inwood. It boasts of keeping more than 300 million tons of trash out of landfills every day and has inspired imitators.

There are, says founder and executive director Deron Beal, as many heartwarming stories as there are groups: the American Indian tribe that collected used prom dresses for girls in need; the Hurricane Katrina evacuee who furnished a new home; the 98-year-old man who collects and assembles bicycle parts, then gives what he's built to children; and the woman in Austin, Texas, who collected items for an orphanage in Haiti, then got FedEx to deliver the shipping container for free.

"It's just all sorts of countless acts of random kindness," says Beal, 40, of Tucson "Whatever they want to make out of it, they really can."