The popular Pittston brewery has announced its 2026 Oktoberfest celebration…
Beer is almost beside the point.
Nobody says that out loud, of course. They tell you they’re coming for the Oktoberfest lager, the food trucks, or the Schützengiggles Oompah Band. Maybe they’re here to watch a parade of determined dachshunds sprint toward glory in the annual wiener dog races. Maybe they think they still have enough grip strength to survive the growler hold competition.
Sure. The beer gets you through the gate. Everything else is why people stay.
On Saturday, Sept. 6, Susquehanna Brewing Co. will once again turn its brewery on South Main Street in Pittston into something that looks a little like Bavaria and feels entirely like Northeastern Pennsylvania. The annual Oktoberfest runs from noon to 9 p.m., with $10 admission that includes the first draft beer, plus live music, games, food vendors and enough amber lager to remind everyone that summer is officially running out of excuses.
For a city whose identity has long been shaped by its Italian-American roots—and whose Tomato Festival remains one of the region’s defining celebrations—that first weekend of September has become the brewery’s turn to bring everyone together.
It didn’t happen overnight.
Long before brewery festivals became a marketing requirement, Susquehanna Brewing was already throwing an Oktoberfest that felt refreshingly unconcerned with trends. Earlier editions stretched across two days. Admission included commemorative steins. The Scranton Brewers Guild organized beer garden games that ranged from keg bowling and growler hoisting to alpine horn blowing and stein-carrying contests. The Schützengiggles were already there, filling the brewery with brass, polkas and just enough self-awareness to keep the whole affair from slipping into costume-party territory.
The details have changed over the years. The personality hasn’t. That’s harder than it sounds.
Craft beer has never been shy about chasing the next shiny thing. Every autumn seems to bring another pumpkin ale that tastes like a scented candle, another imperial stout masquerading as dessert, or another IPA daring your palate to survive it. There’s a market for all of that. Good luck to them.
Susquehanna’s Oktoberfest goes the other direction. Its Märzen isn’t trying to surprise anybody. It isn’t supposed to.
Brewed with imported German Pilsner and Munich malts, rounded out with a touch of Crystal malt and balanced by Hallertau Tradition, Perle and Czech Saaz hops, it’s the kind of beer that understands restraint. Toasted bread crust. A little caramel. Clean bitterness. At 5.7% ABV, it asks for another pint instead of demanding your attention. More than 7,000 Untappd check-ins later, it’s become one of those seasonal beers people look for because they already know exactly what they’re getting—and that’s the compliment.
Consistency rarely gets celebrated. It probably should.
The same could be said for the brewery itself.
Long before “craft beer” became something people debated on podcasts or chased across state lines, families like the Maiers were brewing beer in Northeastern Pennsylvania. Fred Maier’s roots stretch back six generations through the Stegmaier brewing legacy, when breweries weren’t destinations so much as fixtures of everyday life. Susquehanna Brewing isn’t trying to recreate that world. It simply remembers where it came from.
That’s part of what separates this Oktoberfest from the bigger, flashier celebrations you’ll find elsewhere. Nobody is pretending Pittston is Munich. Nobody needs to.
The food trucks aren’t trying to transport you across the Atlantic. The games are gloriously ridiculous. Someone will almost certainly spill beer during keg bowling. A dachshund will receive louder applause than any musician on stage. The Schützengiggles will play songs half the crowd couldn’t name but somehow already knows. Friends who haven’t crossed paths since the holidays will inevitably find each other somewhere between the taps and the picnic tables.
That’s what breweries have quietly become over the last decade. Not just places that make beer. Places where communities happen.
Susquehanna hosts trivia nights, concerts, bingo, craft fairs and fundraisers throughout the year, but Oktoberfest feels like the clearest expression of everything the brewery has grown into. It’s where brewing heritage, neighborhood familiarity and a healthy willingness to laugh at yourself all end up in the same place for an afternoon.
Nobody leaves talking about Hallertau hops or malt profiles.
They remember the old friend they unexpectedly ran into. The couple dancing in front of the band like nobody was watching. The dog that had absolutely no business winning the race but somehow did. The second beer that turned into staying until sunset.
Beer was never really the whole story. It was simply the reason everyone ended up in the same place.
