Oh, Cheerio! You’re 70!

Originally called “Cerrioats,” Cheerios debuted 70 years ago in June, 1941.  A technological marvel during that time, creative minds dreamed up Cheerios from whole grain oats and months of trial-and-error figuring out how to puff the oats.  Through heating balls of dough, then shooting them out of a puffing gun at 100 mph, the puffed Os we know today were born.

I love Cheerios, but my appreciation for them has grown stronger having a 9-month-old daughter!  They’re my daughter’s favorite snack.  At home or on the go, these round little wonders make her happy and keep her entertained {oftentimes sticking to her cheek as she misses her mouth}.  Actually, in our household, we’ve renamed Cheerios to “QPs” or “Quiet Puffs.”  So, I suppose we love Cheerios for more than their flavor! 

 

Fun Facts:

General Mills sold 21.6 million boxes in the first year, 1941. {How many do you suppose they will sell in 2011?}

Honey Nut Cheerios, introduced in 1979, have outsold the originals since 2009.

Cheerios timeline:

1941: Cheerioats debuts as the first ready-to-eat oat cereal

1945: Cheerioats changes name to Cheerios

1954: Cheerios becomes the number one cold cereal at General Mills

1974: Cheerios begins advertising its cereal as a food for toddlers

1979: General Mills Introduces Honey Nut Cheerios®

1988: General Mills introduces Apple Cinnamon Cheerios ®

1992: General Mills introduces MultiGrain Cheerios®

1995: General Mills introduces Frosted Cheerios®

1997: The Food and Drug Administration issues a claim that Cheerios® and other oat products can lower the risk of heart disease.

2003: General Mills introduces Berry Burst Cheerios®

2006: General Mills introduces Fruity Cheerios®

2009: General Mills introduces Banana Nut Cheerios®

2010: General Mills introduces Chocolate Cheerios®

 

by Jennifer Bucholtz at Navigating the Journey

Fifty Thousand Miles of Adventures Bring Growth, Commitment, and New Life

They lasted for more than 50,000 miles, but with the tread worn and fear of hydroplaning, I decided it was time to replace the tires on my car last week.  Busy removing old tires off my car, the mechanics at Discount Tire laughed when my husband jokingly asked them if we got our money’s worth.  Did we?  At 20,000 miles beyond their rating, mathematically, yes we got our money’s worth.  But in life, how do we measure if we’ve derived the appropriate amount of value out of each day, week, month, or year? 

Fifty thousand miles takes me back to fall 2007.  From then to now, I recall travel markers in time that have brought immense value to my life.  First, my current marketing & communications company budded from an idea to a thriving business, as the rubber wore along Middle Georgia’s roads.  Around Town – North Macon in 2007, then the addition of Around Town – Warner Robins in 2008, and today MyTown Monthly magazine.  What started as a small community publication grew to a five-county-wide community magazine, and today I also work with businesses to fulfill their marketing and communications needs.

Founding my company came first chronologically, but two dates forever changed my life and will be fondly remembered for my lifetime:  June 22, 2008 and September 10, 2010.  From The Grand Opera House, to The Armory Ballroom, and resting at the 1842 Inn, we rolled smoothly along the streets of Macon as Kevin and I became husband and wife on June 22, 2008.  Then, on September 10, 2010, after the night before anxiously peering out the window and taking in passing scenery on our way to the Medical Center of Central Georgia, I gave birth to our daughter.  Along the roads from Georgia over to Texas and up to Pennsylvania, unforgettable memories were created between 2007 – 2011 as the days reliably passed and the wheels beneath us unfailingly revolved. 

Value in tires is most often measured by mileage, with gradual wear observed by depth of tread.  Whereas tires lose their depth with increased wear, I think the process works the opposite in humans.  With increased wear, depth is gained.  In approximately 50,000 miles, I budded professionally, made a life-time commitment in love and dedication to my college sweetheart, and grew a family with bringing new life into this world.

Last week, the tread was reset and my opportunity for growth renewed.  I said good-bye to my old tires and hello to a new set of adventures ahead.  Let’s see where the next 50,000 miles takes me.

by Jennifer Bucholtz at Navigating the Journey

Tragedy to Recovery: A Man’s Journey Becomes My Inspiration

Hurdles.  I have experience running with them on the track.  Jumping over these waist high obstacles is especially difficult in the rain, with puddles collecting under my feet.   I begin to realize the fatigue in my legs, and before I know it, I’m picking myself up off the ground only to meet the next hurdle in hopes of crossing the finish line.  Crying.  Quitting.  Embarrassment.  Escaping these defeating notions, I envision clearing hurdles, both physically and mentally, with one foot missing.  Why?

Bernard is his name.  I typically see him three days a week, although I could see him six if I made it a point.  We first met in a class that my friend LeAnn and I affectionately call “torture” class.  If losing two inches off my waist and shedding five pounds in a month is the result of my perceived agony, I’ll take it – and I do, willingly for one hour every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Sometimes, in this group class, I want to give up on an exercise, waiting for the time to run out until we move on to a new, easier challenge.  Then, I hear Bernard calling my name.  Pointing at me and eyes engaging my inner strength, he tells me to keep going; not to give up.  I listen, and keep pushing on. 

When you meet Bernard, you will notice that seemingly everyone who walks the floors of The Wellness Center knows him.  Saying hi as they pass by, or stopping to talk with him, Bernard is a beloved member of the gym.  Over the past ten years, Bernard has transformed his body by losing 150 pounds.  This, alone, is reason enough to pin him as my gym hero.  What makes Bernard a true source of inspiration is something you won’t see.

A towering muscular presence squatting, lifting, and pressing his way through the torture class, it’s hard to believe Bernard when he tells me he first entered The Wellness Center in a wheel chair.  More than ten years ago, Bernard experienced one of the most severe forms of torture I can imagine.  His foot was cut off by a machine in a tragic work-related accident.  While we squat around the room, he points, “I was here, and my foot was there.  It was completely cut off.”  Looking at his pant-covered legs, I ask, “You have a prosthetic?”  “My foot was surgically reconnected to my leg,” he explains.  Bernard gained 95 pounds following his accident and battled with emotions of defeat.  His recovery started in a wheel chair, transitioned to a cane, and now he walks.  Bernard’s story is hidden behind a bright cheerful face, lean muscular build, and determination.

I look down at my shoes, and think if Bernard could cross his hurdles with one working foot, I certainly can do it with two.

My Game of “Simon says”

Friends are keepers of a number of my best-told life stories.  They hold keys to my past, and some of those keys I wouldn’t mind taking back {for safe keeping, of course}!  Friendships are life’s treasures.  These treasures are not inherited.  And when earned, they require regular care to stave off tarnish.

I have many friends – some in mint condition, others whose surfaces have dulled with time, and few beyond restoration.  Recently, several people I know have commented on the difficulty it is to make new friends as adults.  Having trouble maintaining the relationships that I do have, I started to question the complexity of adult friend-making.

Cutting out the psychological research, I reduced the workings of my adult life down to one game: “Simon says.”  Do you remember playing that game as a kid?  “Simon says put your hand on your head.” Or, “Simon says jump on one foot.”  I play the game every day.  All day, in fact.  I suppose most things in my adult life could be named Simon.  What about you?

Take a moment to list your Simons:

Simon 1:

Simon 2:

Simon 3:

Simon 4:

Simon 5:

Additional space for more Simons:

Now that you’ve listed your Simons, review the list.  How many of them are your friends?  If your Simon list is lacking in friends, then your adult life might be lacking in friends, too.  Some orders we take as adults are not chosen.  Others, however, we can choose.

I value a clean house, bills that are paid, a well-stocked fridge, and clothes that fit – all products of my “Simons.”  I also value laughter that warms my heart, and commands to share my dreams and insecurities – products of my dearest Simons. 

Making and maintaining friends as an adult is hard.  This might be because I can only manage so many Simons, and the Simons that are commanding my life are the wrong Simons.  As a child, my life was structured for me:  Wake up, eat breakfast, learn school lessons, play with friends at recess . . .  Wait!  Recess?  Time to develop and maintain friendships was a structured daily activity? 

As I embark on my adult-life adventures, I want to create and share memories with people who add meaning to my life.  This means structuring time for friends – to make and maintain.  I also understand that not all commands from my friendly Simons will be met with open arms, nor convenient and easy.  I might have to make personal sacrifices.  Laundry will pile up on occasions, and dust bunnies will roam about the hardwood floors.  Someday, I’ll donate those clothes to Goodwill, and the dust bunnies will be thrown in the trash.  My friends, however, are my treasures.  They will travel wherever life’s journeys take me.  They will warm my heart, fill my memories, and give me hugs.  They are my very best Simons.  If only all my Simons could be friends.

Who Picked My Peach?

Georgia is known as the “The Peach State” because of its birthplace of the commercial peach industry after the Civil War in the late 1800s. Recently, I travelled 30 minutes south along I-75 to Peach County, the last county to be formed in the state of Georgia. I stopped at Lane Southern Orchards to complete work for a feature that will be published in the upcoming edition of MyTown Monthly. While there, I ate my share of peach ice cream and watched peaches move down the line from harvest to packed for shipment. Workers lined the floor, and above them hung American and Mexican flags, side-by-side. I wondered about these workers. Where are they from? How much are they paid? Where do they live?

Lane Southern Orchards is a fourth generation family-owned farm that was established in 1908. The orchards consist of more than 5,000 acres, with mature peach trees living on more than 2,300 acres. While counting the acreage, I was left speechless at the thought of harvesting this peach crop in the span of a few months. To accomplish such a tremendous seasonal task, Lane hires up to 250 guest workers during the peak of summer.

Guest workers live in housing at the farm, are paid above minimum wage, and help with both picking and packing peaches. Lane participates in a federal work program, called the H2A program. This work program is a cooperative agreement between the American and Mexican governments. In addition to the H2A workers, Lane hires 25 – 50 resident alien domestic workers. The H2A workers are required to return to Mexico at the end of the season, while domestic workers may remain in the United States to work on other crops.

You might ask, “Why does Lane hire workers through a federal work program?”  From what I can gather, it offers Lane and other large growers like Lane a guaranteed work force. Can you imagine searching for and selectively hiring 250 workers for only a few months work each season? Workers experienced with harvesting farms, and legal to work in the United States? The H2A program guarantees workers, and workers with a legal work permit. Some of the H2A workers come to the Lane farm in January to prune peach trees and remain until August when the peach harvest is complete. The majority, however, only are present during the peak summer harvest.

Lane also employs crew leaders who are full-time bi-lingual employees of the company. It is their responsibility to make sure the migrant workers understand how to do their job correctly, but also to assist with their personal needs such as trips to the laundry mat and grocery store. A small restaurant and store that caters to the needs of the Hispanic workers also is located on the farm. A local Hispanic lady runs this business during the summer months only.

Peach production in Georgia averages 20 million pounds. You might think that Georgia ranks first in the nation for production, but it doesn’t. That honor belongs to California. Georgia and South Carolina rank second and third, respectively. Regardless of rank, Georgia peaches taste the best to me. As I bite into sweet nectar harvested from the land I call home, I think about the hands that picked my peach, and all the hands that came before them.

Balanced Weekend Breakfasts. Yum!

I love weekend mornings.  Why, you might ask.  I’ll give you a hint: it’s not because I get to sleep in.  Late-morning wake-ups are hard to come by these days.  My daughter doesn’t appreciate the difference between a Monday, Friday, and Saturday, for example.  Regardless of the day, I’m typically up and moving about the house by 7 a.m.  And, I’m actually happy when it’s 7 a.m., because earlier is an option too {according to my daughter}.

So, what makes weekend mornings any different than others?  On Saturday, I almost always can count on my husband making me coffee before I get out of bed, and if I’m lucky, he will bring it to me.  This past Saturday, I woke up to coffee coffee woke me up in bed while I enjoyed a breakfast sandwich made with Texas toast, egg, ham, and cheese.  Lucky girl?  Yes.

The weekdays are packed full of adventures and seemingly non-stop motion.  Weekend mornings offer my husband and I the chance to re-connect: to talk, replay the previous week, and be still.  I’ve heard {and read} more than once the difficulty new parents have in balancing their relationship with the new {intense} relationship with their new {demanding} baby.  We’re still learning that balance.  Weekend mornings, however, provide us with the much-needed opportunity to balance out our action-packed weekdays.  Instead of waking up and speeding out the house to meet our professional duties, we shift into low gear and peer out the window in slow motion.  We find balance over breakfast.  

To say thank you for Saturday, this past Sunday I made my husband breakfast.  Organic oatmeal with brown sugar and cinnamon, topped with fresh picked blackberries, strawberries, and peaches.  Warm toasted pecans {his favorite} completed the dish.  And, I even made a pot of coffee!        

I love weekend mornings because I get to enjoy breakfasts with my husband, while we remember the importance of maintaining balance both in our diets and our relationship.  Tomorrow {after our long holiday weekend}, our weekday adventures will resume as normal.  Thanks to our weekend breakfasts, we’re poised to navigate this week’s journeys.

Take a Trip to the 1950s with Montezuma’s Mennonite Community

I appreciate the art of discovery: taking an idea and running with it without knowing every step of the path.  In discovery is adventure: stories waiting to be told and places ready to be explored.  For me, this appreciation naturally translates into day trips, weekend adventures, and action-packed vacations.

Yesterday, alongside my husband and daughter, I explored one of Georgia’s Mennonite communities located in Montezuma, GA.  My husband and I woke up fully rested – a rarity these days thanks to our 8-month old daughter.  As we drank our morning coffee and contemplated our day, the desire for adventure hit.  My husband suggested, “Let’s drive to Montezuma and try Yoder’s, this restaurant I heard about.”  Since that day I already was planning on visiting Lane Packing in Fort Valley, GA for peaches and to learn about their “Farm to Family” program, I was up for the adventure.  With a quick “yes,” the car was packed and off down I-75 we went.

We rolled up to Montezuma, and were greeted by a quaint downtown settled along the railroad tracks.

Seeking out Yoder’s Deitsch Haus Restaurant and Bakery, we took a left turn and circled around the square, meeting up with Georgia Highway 26.  The country road revealed miles of open farm land with scenes of harvest.

Nestled among strawberry farms, a fabric shop, wood-working shop, and country market was Montezuma Mennonite Church.  To be clear, you might be visioning a huddling of identifiable buildings with parking lots and “yes, we’re open” neon signs.  Not the case.  We’re talking about roads (some dirt) with farms and small farm buildings.  Modest houses and personal driveways.  Driving up to the wood-working shop where you can order a custom-made gazebo, for example, is like driving down someone’s private driveway, and knocking on their front door.  We weren’t that adventurous… this time.  I have to admit, though, while we were exploring this Mennonite community, I was at ease.  Calm, relaxed, and open to the space set before me.  I couldn’t help but image how uncomplicated life would feel to me if I had grown up in this culture.  Then, I realized how restless I would be and tempted to test the barriers… question the traditions.  Regardless of my own upbringing, I was interested to learn and appreciate the way of life for the people I had the opportunity to experience that day.

Along our adventures, we stopped at the Montezuma Welcome Center, where I picked up a brochure about the Mennonite Community titled, “Faith, Family, and Farming.”  Here is an excerpt from the narrative:

All Mennonites pay property tax to support public schools they’ve never used, since their children go to the same school where local Mennonite children have been educated for   almost half a century – the same little flat-top, yellow-brick schoolhouse that many of their parents attended.  The discipline and study habits that children take to school are instilled at home before they reach school age.  The cornerstone of this seemingly perfect lifestyle is their upbringing, which is grounded firmly in strict religious beliefs.

I re-read this paragraph a few times during our ride around Montezuma’s farming community.  A few lessons tucked between those lines stood out to me, with one sentence in particular standing out: “The discipline and study habits that children take to school are instilled at home before they reach school age.”  I couldn’t help but imagine what our school system in Macon would look like if every parent believed that preparation started from home.  Would this make a difference in the classroom, and maybe even lead to a better public school experience for our community’s children?  My daughter isn’t old enough for school yet, but my husband and I already contemplate her future education.

Despite cultural differences, common threads bind us all.  And these commonalities oftentimes are what “makes” a community.  I enjoyed spending a day in Montezuma’s Mennonite community.

So, a couple hours after crossing over the railroad tracks in downtown Montezuma, I enjoyed my carrot soufflé, squash casserole, and creamed corn followed by blueberry AND pecan pie at Yoder’s.  We once again piled in the car and travelled north along I-75 back to our home with a new sense of appreciation for all the blessings in our life.