Cobblestone Muffins

New snow fell this morning. We live in a region where we don't typically get very much, so the kids were constantly happily distracted during “family cleaning" with the activity going on outside
A week into this snow coverage, I'm feeling a little trapped in my home. So I try to distract myself with a new idea in the kitchen. Much of what I bake is inspired by something I've seen or tasted before.
A trip to Seattle means a stop at Panera Bread. I always want one of everything, but am content with a french toast bagel. Last time, my husband ordered a cobblestone muffin. Today I attempted to copy the idea for a sledding snack.

Cobblestone Muffins

Make your favorite biscuit recipe, or use refrigerated, or defrost frozen ones. My favorites are Schwann’s Country Biscuits.
Roll out 1/2 inch thick. Using a pizza cutter, cut into 1/2 inch squares. Give each piece a light squeeze to form it into an irregular rounded shape. Dip in melted butter then roll into a mixture of:
1 cup brown sugar
4 tsp. Cinnamon
Fill each muffin cup heaping full and bake at 350 degrees. Time depends on size. Let cool somewhat before drizzling with glaze.

Winters in the town I grew up in Iowa were very harsh. When it snowed, it was often measured in feet, not inches. Oft times, I was the daughter selected to go out and help my Dad shovel the walks. As winter skies darken in late afternoon, by the time dad returned from work, the light from the street lamp reflected on the snow to give a strange luminating light to the task. The sounds of the shovel scraping the sidewalk and Dad’s breath as he worked hard and quick became sounds of comfort to me. I remember a particular evening that Dad had assigned me to help shovel the walks. I was eight years old, short and scrawny. There had been at least a foot and a half of new snow that day. As I tried to walk down the front steps to the sidewalk, trying to catch up to Dad, I could barely move. Every time I put my foot down, it sank up past my knee in the fresh snow. My Dad kept turning around and calling for me to catch up. I was trying to be tough (certainly a trait I was known for) and move quickly towards Dad; but I was truly having a tough time moving at all. I began to get frustrated and tears fell down my cheeks. Dad turned around again to call to me, and saw me crying. He came back to where I was struggling in the snow and pointed to his footsteps. He told me that if I walked in his footsteps, I wouldn’t get stuck. He had paved the way with his larger boot. We were both headed to the same place and all I needed to do was follow him. And I did. Not just in the snow that night, but throughout my life, I’ve recognized that when I follow in the wisdom that has gone before me, I have found peace, safety joy, and even a few smiles from the contents of the oven.