09/28/2026
I honestly don’t even know how to write this. So I’ll just rip it off like a bandaid…..
After 32 years, Hemingway’s is closing its doors. Today is our final farewell.
Due to unforeseen circumstances, this chapter is coming to an end, and saying that out loud still doesn’t feel real.
Hemingway’s was never just a bar.
It was a place people came to celebrate, to forget, to laugh, to cry, to meet someone new, to see an old friend, to have one drink that somehow turned into an entire night.
These walls have held 32 years of stories.
First dates.
Breakups.
Birthdays.
Reunions.
Holidays.
Bad decisions.
Great decisions.
Heartbreaks.
Friendships.
Late nights.
Inside jokes.
Arguments.
Hugs.
Music.
Laughter.
And probably more “just one more” drinks than any of us could ever count.
For some people, Hemingway’s was just a stop downtown. For a lot of us, it was home.
That’s the part that hurts.
I’ve spent so much of my life inside these walls. I’ve poured drinks, cleaned up messes, laughed until I cried, cried when no one was looking, listened to people’s stories, watched strangers become regulars, and watched regulars become family. There were nights I was exhausted and ready to go home, and nights I never wanted to end. There were hard days, stressful days, beautiful days, and completely ridiculous days. There were Thanksgiving and Christmas days!
To every single person who ever walked through our doors, thank you.
To everyone who sat at the bar, tipped a bartender, played a song, told us a story, celebrated a birthday, brought in a friend, stopped in every time you came to Beaufort, or simply made Hemingway’s part of your life — thank you.
To every employee who ever worked here and left a little piece of themselves behind, thank you. Especially Moe, our late night bartender who has probably served everyone in Beaufort County three times over, and put up with more shenanigans than one person should endure.
….My favorite bartender in Beaufort long before I worked here. To Lea and Andina, who carried Hemis on for 20 years, we raise our glass to you.
And to our regulars — the people whose faces I knew before you even made it through the door, whose drinks we knew, whose stories we knew, whose lives we got to be a tiny part of — I don’t know how to properly say goodbye to you.
You made this place what it was.
A bar is really just four walls, some stools, some bottles and a sign outside.
The people are what make it matter.
And because of all of you, Hemingway’s mattered.
Thirty-two years is a long time.
Long enough for people to meet here, fall in love, build lives, and come back years later with completely different stories.
Long enough for generations of people to have their own version of Hemingway’s.
Long enough for a little bar to become part of the fabric of a town.
I’m heartbroken.
I’m angry that it has to end this way.
I’m sad for the memories we won’t get to make.
I’m sad for the nights that won’t happen, the familiar faces I won’t see walk through the door, and the little everyday moments I probably never realized I would miss this much.
But more than anything, I’m grateful.
Grateful that I got to be part of it.
Grateful that so many people loved this place.
Grateful for every laugh, every friendship, every story, every chaotic night, every quiet afternoon, every holiday, every celebration, and every memory I’ll carry with me long after the lights go out.
Thirty-two years of memories don’t disappear just because the doors close.
Hemingway’s will still exist every time someone says, “Remember that night at Hemingway’s?”
It will exist in the friendships that started here.
In the relationships that began here.
In the pictures on our phones.
In the stories that probably get a little more exaggerated every time we tell them.
And in all of us who were lucky enough to call this place ours, even if only for a little while.
Thank you, Beaufort.
Thank you for your loyalty.
Thank you for supporting our staff.
Thank you for supporting me.
Thank you for filling this little bar with more life than I ever could have imagined.
It has been an honor to stand behind that bar.
It has been an honor to be part of your celebrations, your bad days, your best nights, and your memories.
And it has been an honor to call Hemingway’s home.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to say goodbye to it.
Because how do you say goodbye to a place that became part of who you are?
How do you close the door on 32 years of its life and simply walk away?
I don’t think you do.
You carry it with you.
So when the last light goes out, the last glass is put away, and that door closes for the final time, a piece of my heart will stay behind.
Hemingway’s gave me 18 years I will never forget, and no matter what happens next, nothing can take those years, those people, or those memories away from me.
To everyone who ever called Hemingway’s home, this isn’t just my goodbye.
It’s ours.
So here’s to the nights we’ll always remember, the friends we’ll never forget, and a little bar that somehow became so much bigger than itself.
One last time…
Raise a glass to Hemingway’s.
To 32 years.
To all of you.
To every memory we made together.
Thank you for everything.
I’ll carry you with me always.
Goodnight, Hemingway’s.
You were loved more than you’ll ever know. ❤️
~Kanani
