The other day I felt like reading some family stories in the “memories” tab of FamilySearch and for some reason had the idea to look up Dee Burton. Wayne gave me a priesthood blessing just before each of our children were born, but he usually just did it himself. Before Brad’s birth, Brother Burton assisted him in that blessing (which took place when we dropped the two older boys off at their home on the way to the hospital), and even though Brad was one of my largest babies, his birth was also the easiest. I attribute it to the double amount of priesthood power.



While there, I popped on over to his wife’s memories and found this story. I’m pretty positive Sister Burton sent some of those delicious cinnamon rolls home with us when we picked up Weston and  David. And I’m also positive we were the recipient of her labor of love more than once.

Ruth’s Rolls

Grandma made the world’s best rolls–cinnamon and dinner. And she was making them constantly. She prepared them for family dinners, for church functions, and for any other event where they were needed.

It was for the latter category that the majority of the rolls were prepared. If Ruth heard anyone was ill, upset, depressed, or otherwise in need, Ruth would make rolls. And she always knew, so she was always making them.

I lived with my grandparents for a year while attending my senior year of high school when my parents had moved temporarily to Ohio. There were few times when I would get home from school or work that Ruth wasn’t in the kitchen. Once she had finished baking, Dee would be told where they were to be delivered. If Dee and I had behaved ourselves, we’d occasionally get one of the rolls that hadn’t turned out well enough to rise to her expectations of quality. Those rolls were few, and still better than anyone else’s.

Years later, after Ruth had passed away, I was at a neighborhood potluck in another state and had prepared some rolls using Ruth’s recipe. I set them out for everyone and was immediately approached by a woman who had once lived a few miles from Ruth. Though she would have been a child at the time she lived near to and knew Ruth, she excitedly exclaimed “these are Ruth’s rolls! I’d recognize these anywhere!” She then proceeded to fill her plate with rolls and disappeared again to sit with her family. I saw her later disappointed as she came back to get more and saw only an empty plate.

Those rolls were delicious and had an uncanny ability to salve the soul. But more importantly they were a symbol of the love Ruth had for others and the desire she had to help those in need the way she thought best.

My wife makes those rolls now. Our family loves them for the taste, smell, and culinary perfection they embody. While I love the woman who currently makes them for us, I’ll always love those rolls for the memories they give me of the woman who originally made them, who quietly bettered the lives of so many who knew her by doing so.

Maybe I should ask Ruth’s grandson for the recipe, but until then, here’s a Grandma Ruth’s Cinnamon Roll recipe that just might be the same; at least it received rave reviews.