Moon Pies Take the Gazebo

Tennessee roots and working-class charm make it a natural fit for one of Frontier Days’ most lighthearted traditions

8:17 a.m. June 25, 2026

DUANE CROSS
MCO Publisher•Editor

There are desserts built for white tablecloths.

Then there is the Moon Pie.

Soft graham cookie. Marshmallow middle. A thin coat of chocolate, banana, vanilla, or whatever flavor happens to be calling your name from the shelf. It is not delicate. It is not fussy. It does not need a drizzle, a garnish, or a chef standing nearby explaining it.

A Moon Pie is a lunch-pail snack. A gas-station snack. A ballgame snack. A “your granddaddy probably had one with an RC Cola” snack.

And this weekend, it becomes a Frontier Days sport.

The Moon Pie Eating Contest is set for 1:30 p.m. at the gazebo on the Lynchburg Square during Frontier Days, giving festival-goers one more reason to gather around, cheer loudly, and watch their neighbors do something both questionable and deeply entertaining in public.

There is something on the line, too. Winners will receive Moon Pie gift cards, which feels exactly right in a town with its own Moon Pie Store just steps away at 187 Main St. Not a trophy that gathers dust. Not a plaque that ends up in a drawer. Just more Moon Pies waiting on the other side.

That is clean festival logic.

Born in Chattanooga, raised by the South

The Moon Pie’s story starts in Tennessee.

Chattanooga Bakery began making them in 1917, after a traveling salesman reportedly heard a Kentucky coal miner say he wanted a snack “as big as the moon.” The idea came back to Chattanooga, and the Moon Pie was born: two graham-style cookies, marshmallow filling, and a sweet coating that could survive a lunch pail.

That origin story matters because Moon Pies were never trying to be fancy. They were built to be affordable, portable, and filling. A lot of snack for a little money. Something you could carry to work, tuck into a lunch box, or grab from a country store counter.

Chocolate is the classic. Banana has its own loyal following. Vanilla has been holding steady for decades. Other flavors have come and gone, but the core appeal has not changed much.

It is still soft, sweet, and familiar.

The RC Cola connection

Of course, no real Moon Pie conversation gets far without RC Cola.

The two became one of the South’s great working-class pairings: cheap, filling, and easy to find. For generations, an RC and a Moon Pie could pass for lunch, a break-time treat, or the kind of thing you bought because you had a few coins in your pocket.

That pairing became so beloved that Bell Buckle built a whole festival around it.

The RC Cola–MoonPie Festival takes place each June in Bell Buckle, with races, vendors, music, contests, a parade, and the ceremonial cutting of a giant Moon Pie. This year’s event has already come and gone, so fans only have about 51 more weeks to wait for the next one.

Luckily, Lynchburg is not making folks wait that long.

A contest made for a crowd

There is something wonderfully low-stakes about a Moon Pie Eating Contest.

Nobody is pretending this is elegant. Nobody is trying to make it a wellness moment. This is pure festival fun – the kind where people gather shoulder to shoulder, pick a favorite, and cheer like the state championship is on the line.

Moon Pies come with crumbs of memory already baked in. They remind people of lunch boxes, road trips, grandmothers, hardware stores, concession stands, Mardi Gras throws, and that old Southern habit of turning simple food into something folks can share.

At Frontier Days, the contest becomes less about how many Moon Pies someone can put away and more about the scene around it: the laughter, the crowd noise, the sticky fingers, the good-natured hollering, and the kind of grin that only shows up at a small-town contest.

Eat the Moon Pies. Win more Moon Pies. Walk down Main Street if you still want another.

Small-town Tennessee, one bite at a time

Frontier Days has always been at its best when it feels like itself.

Not a manufactured festival. Not a slick attraction. Just Moore County showing up in its own voice – practical, neighborly, a little competitive, and willing to laugh at itself.

A Moon Pie Eating Contest fits right into that.

It was made in Tennessee, raised in lunch pails, and never once tried to be prettier than it was.

So when the clock gets close to 1:30 p.m., find a spot near the gazebo on the Square.

Bring a little shade if you can. Bring your best cheering voice. And maybe bring an RC Cola, just to keep the whole thing honest.

Some contests are serious. This one knows better.

And sometimes, that is exactly what Frontier Days needs: a grown person, a pile of Moon Pies, and a crowd ready to holler them home.