When my Mum passed away at the age of ninety, she had been known for her delicious cinnamon rolls and deservedly so. I still remember the warmth of the farm kitchen as we kids arrived home from school on a cold winter’s day, fresh-baked goods to warm the heart and soul of those Mum cared for.

At her celebration for life, I vowed to honour her skills by cooking or baking with cinnamon on Mother’s Day. Well last year passed with a minimal attempt by making cinnamon french toast that worked well enough. But I knew I had to step up and try the ultimate (for me) for a skills test with the rolls.

I didn’t have her recipe but one that looked quite interesting and possibly close to her style. But I knew quickly using whole wheat flour had to be wrong when I started wrestling with a product more akin to mortar than dough. Of course the stubborn Englishman in my family tree prodded me to continue so the finished product wasn’t what I hoped for. I found the process interesting and consider it my biggest baking attempt to date. And turning the rolls over revealed a pretty decent roll, edible and enjoyable. How can one fail with a brown sugar glaze?

In my mind’s eye (or where ever it is we see those moments), I see Mum laughing at my first attempt and wish I’d have learned to do it proper when I could have. We’ve lost so much by living apart from our aging parents and always found ways and reasons to justify the decision. I consider myself lucky to have learned what I have from my parents and grandparents and hope others will cherish their moments while they can.

Today I’m also remembering my sister who passed away from cancer many years ago. Today she would have celebrated Mother’s Day and a birthday but am comforted to know she watches over us.

I’m also thinking of the forest and thinking about the next I’ll be there. It’s been too long….