Gathering Around the Fire: New Year Traditions in Bar Harbor

Jan 01, 2026

A group of people gathered around a bonfire at sunset, with one person holding a log, as they participate in a New Year’s burning ritual.

The Bar Harbor Story is generously sponsored by Choco-Latté Café.

Exterior view of Choco-Latté Café in Bar Harbor, ME, featuring outdoor seating, a blue building with large windows, and signage indicating fresh food and locally roasted coffee.

BAR HARBOR—The neighbors and strangers head to the Hadley Point Beach solo, as couples, as family units, yet they eventually all stand together around a bonfire.

“Hello. Hello! Welcome,” Joy O’Shaughnessy tells them in between catching up with friends and meeting new ones.

There are a lot of different burning rituals in different countries and cultures for New Year’s. Russians might write a wish, burn it, drink the ashes mixed with their champagne. In multiple places in Latin America, bonfires tower over neighborhoods. The effigy is the old year and burnt away. Misfortune is burnt with it. Sometimes firecrackers are involved.

In Bar Harbor, each year O’Shaughnessy and others do it a bit more quietly as they banish the bad and make space for the good.

O’Shaughnessy and others build a small bonfire on the Hadley Point Beach. She builds a papier-mâché ball usually. This year it’s a papier-mâché log that reads on one side. “Goodbye 2025.” The other side reads, “Hello 2026.”

There’s a slot for people to write their intentions. Some write things they are hoping for. Some write things that they are done with. One by one, the pen and note pad is passed around. Conversations continue. Stories are told. Neighbors meet neighbor as people put their words into the log, which will be burned on the bonfire.

“Thank you all for coming,” O’Shaughnessy says. “This is delightful to have you for another year.”

A group of people gathered on a beach during sunset, engaging in conversation. One person is handing a small item to another, while others watch nearby wearing winter clothing.

Group of people gathered around a bonfire on a beach, wearing winter clothing and sharing drinks, with a calm ocean in the background.

A group of people gathered around a bonfire on a beach at dusk, with a moonlit sky in the background.

A woman with a festive hat stands in the foreground, gazing upward, while a man in the background appears to be writing on a clipboard. The setting is dimly lit by a bonfire, with a soft sunset in the sky.

A bonfire on a beach with logs burning brightly and a sign reading 'Goodbye 2025' in the foreground, along with a notebook and pens placed nearby.

Some friends discuss how their kids are trying to catch up on Stranger Things. Others talk of their kids graduating high school, heading to other countries. Life will be different, an adjustment, but that’s not bad. It’s just different.

There is a family who has recently moved to the island. Their baby is bundled up on the mother’s chest, facing out, transfixed by the fire.

They’ve been here four years.

“We’re committed to this place,” the mom says. “We’re staying.”

The mom and dad have jobs. They have each other. What they didn’t have was a permanent home, but their very own house is now being built in the new Ripples Hill subdivision.

“This is an important moment for MDI,” said Natalie Osborne, Island Housing Trust’s programs director said at the groundbreaking for part of the project in August. “Ripples Hill Phase 3 is about more than building homes. By expanding opportunities for homeownership, we’re ensuring that families can put down roots and sustain island life for generations to come.”

“We’re so excited,” the mom explains as the fire crackles and whisks embers toward the sea ice and algae that rise and lay in strips across the ground, a liminal edge between land and sea.

“So excited,” the husband says.

A person in a red jacket adjusts a log on a bonfire at the beach as sparks fly into the air.

A group of people gathered around a bonfire on a beach at twilight, with one person writing on a notepad and a log labeled 'Hello 2026' nearby.

A group of people gathered around a bonfire on a winter evening, surrounded by trees and a gravel area. They are dressed warmly in coats and hats, with some people holding drinks and engaging in conversation.

A person wearing a green puffer jacket and black gloves holds a notepad and pen, preparing to write at a beach gathering.

A person kneels on a beach, writing 'HELLO 2026' on a large piece of paper or cardboard, while holding a green pen. A notepad is visible in front of them.

A group of people gathered around a bonfire on a beach during twilight, with logs and icy ground visible in the background.

A bonfire at night, with glowing embers and logs burning, featuring a piece of wood that reads 'Goodbye 2025' being added to the flames.

A close-up view of a bonfire with flames and sparks flying into the air against a dark background.

As darkness falls and the wind picks up despite the thoughtfully made wind break by positioning cars just so, everyone steps a tiny bit closer to the fire. This, too, is one of those spaces between years. But the gap is closing, just like the distance between the people standing by the fire.

Another person takes their turn with the notebook, writing things they are done with— “so done with”—in 2025, ready for 2026.

“Ah, 2025 was just so great,” one man jokes, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I can’t imagine getting rid of anything.”

They tell stories.

“This is all very symbolic: the fire, the words, the burning. For me it’s just a way to think about how I want the next year to go and to feel like I’m making positive steps toward that,” O’Shaughnessy says. “It’s not about destroying the past. It’s about making positive steps toward the future, maybe stepping toward that a little lighter, with a little less baggage.”

Together. They move into the space between one year and another. They watch the fire burn, the embers scatter to wind and ocean and ice.

When the fire finally burns low, people begin to drift away in small knots—toward parked cars, warm kitchens, late-night gatherings, or simply home. The words they offered to the flames are gone now, carried off in smoke and sparks, scattered somewhere between ice and tide. What remains is quieter and harder to name: the feeling of having stood, briefly, with others at the edge of one year and the start of another, warmed by the same fire before stepping back into the dark.