the small stuff, said big.
is the moon following us, or are we following the moon?
i don’t like the crust. i like the inside of the crust.
when i’m a grown-up i’m going to have a dog and a pencil.
grandma’s house smells like grandma’s house.
can we do today again tomorrow?
not a journal.not a feed.not a book you order later.
a journal is one person talking to themselves on one phone.
a feed is everyone talking at once, ranked by a machine.
a memoir service mails your mother a question a week and binds the answers a year later.
this is the whole bunch, writing it down the day it happens — and the kids are in it before they can hold a pen.
how it works.
what happened?
text, a photo, a video, a voice note, a link. one box, one button. the button says keep.
who can see this?
decided in the database, not in a settings page. four words, once, where it matters.
Jamie · kept on Tuesday, May 5 · for Everyone
she asked whether the moon was following us or the car was following the moon. i said i didn’t know. she said “that’s okay, we can find out tomorrow.”
who can see this? — tap one.
who sees it: Jamie, Megan, Nana, Sam, Priya and Theo.
a family. a found one. three friends from 2009. “family” means something different in every house, and a bunch is built to hold all of them.
for our daughter, Lila
kids are in the record before they have a login. a photo of a four-year-old is about her, even though she can’t sign in yet. when her parents say so, she gets a login. at eighteen, the whole thing is hers.
Lila
born 2024 · 212 memories about her
for Lila on her 18th (2042)
nobody can see these until 2042. not even you.
everyone in the bunch gets a berry.
five authors, five colours. you know who wrote it before you read the name.
Jamie · the kitchen on a tuesday.
Megan · first lost tooth. she kept it in a sock.
Nana · the recipe, finally written down.
Sam · lake house, year nine.
Theo · i made this. it is a boat.
ten years of photos, a month at a time.
in Photos, tap share, choose MemberBerries, write a line.
your photos
a month at a time. choose the ones worth keeping. only those leave your phone.
2014
812 photos · 7 of 12 months done
- jan
- feb
- mar
- apr
- may
- jun
- jul
- aug
- sep
- oct
- nov
- dec
you cleared 2013.
812 photos left in 2014 — no rush.
third day in a row.
yours. actually yours.
we’ll keep it all for you.
or you keep it. with us, in your own cloudflare, on a computer in your kitchen. the app works the same on all three, and your bunch can move between them without asking anyone.
where your photos live
- with us.
- in your own cloudflare account.
- on a computer at home.
chosen by Jamie, October 11, 2026.
your bunch can move, or leave, any time. nothing is deleted from the old place.
nothing here is a sandbox.
leave any afternoon with a zip: your words in plain JSON, your photos as the files they were. no export fee, no 30-day hold, no “are you sure” four times.
your life is not a training set.
nobody reads your record but the people you named. not us, not a model, not an ad.
built for the kid who opens it in 2051.
if we vanished tomorrow, your bunch wouldn’t. the storage carries a plain index a person can read without us, and the whole thing can run in your house. nothing cancels this. not even us.
where your photos live
- with us.
- in your own cloudflare account.
- on a computer at home.
chosen by Jamie, October 11, 2026.
your bunch can move, or leave, any time. nothing is deleted from the old place.
one question a week.
Saturday morning, in your email. “not today.” is a verb.
and for the years before phones, a different question, with a date that can be just a year. “1994.” is a fine answer.
this week
what’s a song you had on repeat the summer you turned sixteen?
locked, not lectured.
- no feed.
- no ranking.
- no public anything.
- no “we miss you” email.
- no streaks on your memories.
- no lock-in.
privacy isn’t a page on this site. it’s one function in the database, and every photo asks it before it opens.
and the rest of the house.
the vault.
passwords, the letter for later, where the key is. a check-in now and then so nothing is lost, and the record always has someone minding it.
the book.
a printed year, per kid. the shoebox of photographs, with the words still attached.
memberberry(n.)
one memory. worth almost nothing alone and quite a lot in a bowl.
nine berries, no two alike. much like your family.
memberberries.
want in?
invite-only while we build it. leave your email and we’ll write when there’s room.
already have an invite? it’s in your email. sign in