A private family archive

Leave more
than memories.

Write your life down in your own words, for the children and grandchildren who will one day want to know who you were.

A page from the book

Reflection · Thought

Garnet Street, 4am

Four in the morning

22 July 2023 · Preston, Victoria

Two months in. I am walking the hall with her at four because the hall is the only place she settles, and I have started to know the floorboards by sound. The third one from the kitchen is the loud one. I step over it the way you step over a sleeping dog. Nobody tells you how much of this is just walking. I am not tired in the way I was tired before; I am tired in a way that has her in it, which is different and I think better.

Every day

Any Tuesday is worth keeping.

A little moment

Mae has decided the hose is a person and talks to it. Twenty minutes at the tap, in the heat.

Saturday 24 January 2026 · Preston

Travel · Tasmania in autumn

Wineglass Bay

Stop 4 of 5 · 11 to 13 April 2024 · Coles Bay

The Wineglass Bay walk with Mae on my back and Clara carrying everything else. Blue like a postcard, and then the wind came in.

Hobart · Cygnet · Mount Field · Coles Bay · Launceston

Chapter · The renovation

Kitchen in

Entry 4 of 6 · 13 September 2025

Benchtop on, the tap works, the oven does not yet. Clara made the first cup of tea at the new bench and stood there drinking it looking out the window above the sink.

March 2025 to March 2026

Memories, moments, trips stop by stop, albums, a map of everywhere you’ve been, chapters that keep going. The ordinary days are the ones you’ll want back.

Your people

A social network with no public.

You share a memory with your partner, your family or your closest friends, ring by ring, and nobody outside that ring can see in. They can love it and leave a note under it in their own words, and the note becomes part of the record. There are no followers, no feed of strangers, no counts and no ads. The same few people, for life.

Shared with family

Sourdough, finally

8 June 2024 · Preston, Victoria

Clara and Rosa loved this

Loved Note

Added to this memory

You left out the part where the dog ate the toast.

Clara · 9 June 2024

Why it exists

For the day you’re not there to tell it.

Letters

A letter written today, opened on the day you choose.

A letter to Mae, sealed until her wedding day.

When you die

The archive is built to pass on, not to go dark. Someone you name takes it over, and what you set aside for after is read.

Clara, named as executor, opens the letters Owen left for the children.

From birth

Write your children’s early years down for them, and one day hand the whole archive over.

Mae’s first steps, towards the dog, logged by her parents the same evening.

Letter · Sealed

To Mae, at eighteen

Written at the kitchen table · Opens on Mae’s eighteenth birthday, 14 May 2041

Mae,

If this has opened, you are eighteen, and I am either very old or somewhere else, and either way you have made it. I am writing this at the kitchen table in the house on Garnet Street while you sleep down the hall. You are three. You told the moon to wait outside last week.

Sealed until the day. Only the writer can read it before then.

Pricing

Free to start. One plan when you need more room.

Free

$0forever

Room for 25 memories. No card, no time limit.

Yodil

$9.99a month

Unlimited memories, 25 GB of photos and video. $89 a year, or $299 once and never again.

Yodil+

$17.99a month

Everything in Yodil with 100 GB. For the family with the film archive.

Australian dollars. No ads on any plan, ever. See the full comparison

Start with one page.

An ordinary Tuesday is enough. Write it down the way you would tell it.

Start your archive

Leave morethan memories.