Lubec, Maine – The Easternmost Town in the U.S.
Posted on October 15, 2014
We couldn’t wait to get to the little town of Lubec. It is named after Eva’s hometown of Lübeck, Germany and we wanted to know why. We walked the short main street and ended up at the public library.
The town seems to have to keep reminding you of where your are. Maybe some tourists get here by taking the wrong turn on US 1 and would like to know where in tarnation they are.
We arrived in the evening just in time to see a fine sunset from the deck of our hotel. We’re staying in a modern place, converted from once being a sardine factory, perched right at water’s edge. The wharf is still active for lobster and fishing boats. the catch is taken right in to some mystery quarters right below our rooms.
Now we find the “welcoming center” of Lubec, a bit modest and “do it yourself”, the kind of place that reflects the character of self reliant Mainers.
Actually, there are some quite nice buildings here from the past, including several churches.
There’s a wine industry here, of sorts. Local fruit in any case,just not grapes.
We did our best to get to the bottom of the name Lubec. Our source was the local library. The librarian did her best and found a couple of books that might shed some light on the matter.
A few years ago the town, formerly spelled Lubeck, celebrated it’s 200th anniversary. A contingent came over from Lübeck to help celebrate.
In our sleuthing we determined that a lady from Lübeck had opened a B&B nearby. We knocked on the door but no one seemed to be at home. A lost opportunity.
As we wandered along the short main street, we came across the type os scene that stops most all amateur photographers – a red boat. We took a good look and a few photos.
A car drove up. An old geezer rolled down his window and gave us a good history lesson. The boat was his son’s, being painted before they were to go fishing in a few days. He had lived across the water, just over there, in Canada, on Campobello Island. That’s where Franklin Delano Roosevelt spent his childhood summers. He knew them. Lived down the road.
Canada isn’t far away, just across the bridge. But you need a passport to get across. We had ours.