Once upon a time, I ate my weight in Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies. Y'all, I'm not even exaggerating (much). If you'd opened me up sometime during my childhood, there is a reasonable chance you would have found oatmeal cookies and that mysterious white filling where my internal organs were supposed to be.
The funniest part is I have never really been much of a sweets person. Give me chips, popcorn, pickles, really anything salty and crunchy, and I'm a happy girl. I've traveled all over the world on the company dime, eaten in some incredible restaurants, and passed on desserts that probably required years of culinary training and a pair of tweezers to assemble. Most of the time, sweets simply do not interest me.
But...put an oatmeal cream pie in front of me and you'd think I had a mouth full of sweet-teeth. Those Little Debbie pies were the absolute best! They were affordable, delicious, and when I was a kid, they were pretty much the greatest invention of all time. I hadn't thought much about them in years until a friend recently came to visit and brought me some homemade oatmeal cream pies. I know, I know. I've got some awesome friends!!
Anyway...She thought she was bringing me a sweet little comfort snack. When, in fact, what she brought was a freaking tornado of memories!
One bite and I was right back on the farm, sitting in the yard after a morning of chores, taking a break with an oatmeal cream pie in one hand and the garden hose in the other. Not a fancy water bottle or some ridiculous fruit-infused concoction served over ice to get me to drink more water. It was just some good old-fashioned hose water, probably warm for the first few seconds, and the most glorious processed snack a kid could ask for.
When we'd been working, we were hot, dirty, and there was absolutely nothing glamours about any of it. We often smelled like barnyard. The grass was a perfectly acceptable place to sit, the hose was a perfectly acceptable source of hydration, and that little cream pie was a luxury we, at the time, felt meant we were rich.
There were also days at Grandma and Grandpa's house when we would spend HOURS on the Slip 'N Slide, running, flopping onto our stomachs, and launching ourselves down that long strip of wet plastic with absolutely no concern for our skin or whatever bruises we'd discover later. Eventually, we would make our way to the patio, exhausted and happy, where an oatmeal cream pie (sometimes even homemade) would often be waiting for us.
This was a BIG deal because Grandma and Grandpa weren't exactly known for encouraging processed snacks. They took good care of us, fed us well, and always preferred to feed us homemade sweets, rather than those made by our friend, Little Debbie. Somehow, though, those little individually wrapped pies occasionally made it past the usual standards, and I think it's because they knew how much I loved them.
The next flood of memories brought on by these little cookies of the past were straight out of the county fair days. Those long, fun, exhausting fair days. If you grew up showing livestock, you know exactly what I'm talking about. The early mornings, endless hours in the barns, smell of cattle and fresh bedding (and I don't mean sheets), and a strange combination of exhaustion and excitement that somehow made you want to do it all over again the next day and the next and the next. I can picture myself sitting on my showbox in the beef barn, or escaping into someone's camper for a few minutes, and unwrapping an oatmeal cream pie like it was the best thing I'd ever eaten.
There were animals to feed, stalls to clean, friends to find, classes to prepare for, and adults reminding us of whatever responsibility we had conveniently forgotten. Those little breaks were lovely. You'd sit down for a few minutes, eat something you loved, laugh with whomever happened to be nearby, and head right back into the chaos.
Funny how clearly I remember those oatmeal cream pies, considering how many other details from those years have gotten a little fuzzy. We've spent the past several years at the county fair with Aracel, but nothing brought back the intensity of those memories like the first bite of that cream pie.
I can practically hear the water running across Grandma and Grandpa's patio. I can smell the beef barn and picture my showbox sitting exactly where I left it. I remember the people, the laughter, the sunburns, and the wonderful feeling of having absolutely nowhere else I needed to be. All of these beautiful memories because a friend was thoughtful enough to bring me cookies.
Life has a way of piling new experiences on top of old ones. Careers, moves, relationships, adventures, responsibilities, losses, celebrations, and about a million other things compete for space in our heads. We remember the big moments, of course, but some of the smaller ones get tucked away until something unexpectedly brings them back.
Apparently, my brain has an entire filing cabinet labeled "Little Debbie" and my stomach is the gateway to my memory archives.
Remember those days, before technology, before responsibility, before life got weird? Remember those days when something so basic as a cookie could elicit happiness strong enough to serve as a long-term link to an entire treasure trove of memories?
We didn't have a lot of money growing up, and there were certainly things other kids had that we didn't. I also knew how lucky I was to have a huge family that loved me, a farm full of things to explore, loved ones who made ordinary days feel special, and friends who could turn a long stressful day in the livestock barn into an adventure.
I wasn't wondering whether we should be doing something more exciting or whether there was a better snack available somewhere. I wasn't worrying about what things I was missing while I was there. I was plum happy to be sitting there, eating my oatmeal cream pie, drinking hose water, and enjoying a few minutes before somebody hollered that it was time to get back to work.
I miss that kind of uncomplicated happiness more than I can put into words. That's not to say I don't LOVE the life Brad and I have built. We've traveled to beautiful places, met sooooo many amazing people, and enjoyed opportunities I never could have imagined as a little girl sitting on the gras with a snack cake. I am grateful for all of it, and I absolutely have no intention of giving up the adventures still ahead of us.
All that being said, I do wonder if I've perhaps gotten a little too good at looking forward to the next big thing. There is always another project, another trip, another goal, another event on our calendar. I genuinely enjoy having a full life, but sometimes I move from one wonderful experience to the next without giving myself much time to simply appreciate the one I'm in at the moment.
Nobody was taking pictures of me drinking hose water in the yard. Nobody was documenting our days spent on the Slip 'N Slide in Grandma and Grandpa's yard. Nobody thought a little girl sitting on her showbox in the beef barn, eating a Little Debbie oatmeal cream pie was experiencing something she'd still be thinking about decades later. However, here we are. 🤷♀️
We spend so much money trying to create memorable experiences, planning vacations and celebrations, and making sure we are enjoying life to the fullest...documenting every single thing along the way. There is nothing wrong with any of that, but it's humbling to realize some of my most treasured memories cost about twenty-five cents and came wrapped in cellophane.
I am certain these homemade pies are a million times better than the ones I ate as a kid. They were made with love, real ingredients, and probably far less chemicals than Debbie's version. Of course, I loved them. They were delicious. What I loved even more was the flood of memories they brought back.
The farm, the fair, and easy days hanging out with Grandma and Grandpa. The people and places that made me who I am. The feeling of being a kid with dirty feet, and absolutely no idea how wonderful those ordinary days would look from the other side of several decades.
Perhaps I will buy myself a box of Little Debbies sometime soon, find a sunny spot in the yard, and sit there for a while doing absolutely nothing productive. I might even turn on the garden hose for old times' sake. It's possible some things are better left in the past, but I'm a sucker for a little nostalgia.
I'm extremely grateful to Kacie for brining those cookies. Girl, you gave me something I didn't realize I needed - a chance to spend a little time with some of the happiest versions of my younger self. ❤️
