The Secret We Found in the Cookie Tin
How tech can save voices.
For the "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks" challenge - Topic 9: Family Secrets
My mother's 105th birthday was last Sunday, and I realize I’ve lived without her voice for longer than I lived with it.
The human voice is peculiar in how it imprints on our memory. I remember my mother's face from photographs, her handwriting from letters, but her voice? Over time the sound faded.
The Secret in the Cookie Tin
Family secrets usually bring to mind images of illicit lovers, unknown siblings, or mysterious inheritances. But sometimes the most profound secrets are mundane treasures, hidden in plain sight and forgotten. Like voices captured on magnetic tape, tucked away in a Danish butter cookie tin.
These tins were common in many American households back in the 1950’s. After the cookies were eaten, the tins were perfect for storing small items - especially sewing supplies, buttons, photos, or in this case, reel-to-reel tapes.
My cousin Jo found this while cleaning out her parents' home. Inside were three reel-to-reel tapes from the 1950s—recordings my mother and aunt mailed back and forth when Mom was teaching in another town.
This was their version of FaceTime—a way to bridge the distance between sisters.
If you've watched the video above, you've already heard part of this story. But there's more to it than what I could fit into a short video. (Note to family: if you didn’t watch the very end, you missed a longer clip of her voice ; )
The Time Capsule
When my aunt and mother purchased those reel-to-reel recorders in the early 1950s, they were going all in on the latest gear. These weren’t cheap gadgets—they represented significant investments.
Can you imagine my mother explaining why she needed this expensive new device? When her friends said, “Why not just write a letter,” maybe she used the same justifications we use today when we upgrade our phones.
"It helps me stay connected."
"It's an investment in relationships."
The Lost Box
During my married years, things tended to disappear. We had kids. We moved. Life happened in that messy way it always does. And somewhere between Atlanta and Seattle, a box of tapes vanished—including the only recording I had of Mom and me singing "Silent Night" together, her soprano blending with my alto.
And so, for decades, her voice was gone.
Until Jo's discovery.
The Resurrection Process
That's my mother in 1954, talking to my little cousins about what song to sing next. Her voice is younger than I remember—she would have been in her early 30s. The tape quality is primitive by today's standards, but it's unmistakably her.
What struck me most about hearing her voice again was how it activated memories I didn't know I still had. The cadence of her speech, the way she emphasized certain words—these weren't things I could have described before hearing the tape, but they were instantly familiar once I did.
She sounds exactly like a 2nd grade teacher, doesn't she? That was her favorite grade to teach. 2nd. Because the kids were old enough to wipe their own noses but still young enough to be sweet.
I found myself wanting more, so I did what any slightly tech-obsessed family historian would do: I extracted every snippet of her voice from those tapes, cleaned them up using audio processing tools, and then fed them into an AI voice cloning program.
The AI version isn't perfect, but when I hear it, I hear her.
Here’s another example:
From the tape:
From the voice clone:
The Ethics of Digital Resurrection
What do people think of the idea of cloning her voice? Some find it comforting; others are unsettled. I understand their discomfort. In a world increasingly concerned about deepfakes and digital manipulation, resurrecting voices raises legitimate ethical questions.
But I see a distinction between recreation and preservation. I'm not creating new content or putting words in my mother's mouth that she never said. I'm extending the too-few recordings I have, allowing the software to fill in what time and circumstance erased.
Is this fundamentally different from restoring an old photograph? Or a letter? Or telling stories about someone who's gone? I'm not sure. The technology is new, but the human impulse is ancient. We want to remember.
What fascinates me most about this experience is the progression across time, from reel-to-reel to AI. I wonder what my grandchildren will use to pass down their voices for future generations. Will today’s voice cloning tools seem as primitive to them as those reel-to-reel tapes seem to us now?
The Unexpected Gift
Family secrets aren't always dark or scandalous. Sometimes they're unexpected gifts, waiting to be discovered in cookie tins and cardboard boxes. Like Mom’s voice, caught through one innovation and resurrected through another.
I've already used her AI voice to read an autograph she wrote in a classmate's yearbook. And I have a stack of her old letters. I wonder how they would sound.
The experiment continues.
And while some might find this all just a little bit weird, to me it's another way of saying: I remember you. I miss you. Your voice still matters.
What voices from your past would you want to hear again? How are you preserving your own voice for future generations? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.
Technical note for those interested: I used Auphonic.com for audio cleanup and ElevenLabs for voice cloning. Both offer free options for limited use.
What a fabulous find! Years ago (1966) when we emigrated to New Zealand, my father sent a series of tape recorded messages back to friends and family in England. We all had to speak on them. I was about 13 at the time. I wish I had them now. I expect they have long since been destroyed.
Love this story! I remember when I was 12yo, our family moved from Kansas to Minnesota and I desperately missed my friends. I recorded my letters on cassette tape. I wonder if she still has them? What a fascinating find that would be!
And, my grandma has a tin similar to the one you shared. Full of buttons. I wish it had a little bit of her recorded voice too.