Some history of the beach

Singing Sands Beach and last third (or so) of Andrew’s Beach

By Elizabeth M. Burke, May 11, 2010

My parents bought the Long Island property in 1954. Prior to that, it was owned by the Jones Real Estate Co from 1895 until 1954. Below is a more extensive history of ownership.

My memories of the beach are inextricably bound to my memories of going to the cabin my father built at the island. I was born in 1961, not long after my father started expanding on what he first built, a lobster shack, into a two-room split level cottage (with most of the cabin built of things he hauled from the sea—and the cabin’s construction is really rather remarkable—huge beams resting on each other and hardly a nail to be seen), and so I grew up from my earliest years going every summer to the beach.

The cabin was for many years vandalized over the winter, and we’d arrive in the spring with windows busted out, furniture axed, the like. It was frightening for me to see that. During my youth my father would sometimes get up at night and take his gun with him and walk around the cabin—I presumed because he was afraid someone would try to vandalize the place while we were there.

There were big flocks of sand pipers that scurried up and down the beach at the tide’s edge for most of my youth. Those have sadly disappeared.

Because the mooring in that sandy-bottomed cove wouldn’t necessarily hold tight in a very high storm (why, I think, it has never been a working cove, as Wes Johnson has suggested), my father would wake us up in the middle of the night if one of those storms was hitting and bundle us into his small metal boat for a very rough ride back to Falmouth.

When I was ten, the summer my parents divorced, Andrew and I lived with my father at the cabin for most of the summer while my father built the current “out house.” Dad had found timbers floating in the ocean where they’d broken from a dam over a winter, and we pee-veed them up the beach to the site. It was your usual shitter for many years. We have had a composting toilet there for about eight years.

Andrew got in a leaky dory he’d outfitted with an outboard and putt over to work for Ted Rand or Stanley McVane. Leaky is a nice word for that dory. We’d get up in the morning and the only thing you could see were the gunnels.

I cooked meals that summer on an old wood cook stove. We got a gas stove a few years later, or maybe the same time we got a new gas refrigerator… I don’t recall. I even made bread in that wood cook stove. We washed our dishes on the beach by scrubbing them with beach sand and then rinsing them in the ocean. I hauled laundry to Portland, or washed it on the front porch using an old washer board using the rain water we collected in the old whiskey barrels. I also cut the lawn with a old scythe.

My mother kept the beach property after my parents got divorced and was more welcoming to visitors. Since her death in 1986, John, Andrew and I have maintained the policy she established around 1982—no fires, no alcohol, no radios, no dogs, and visitors between the hours of 9-5 only, plus we reserve the section close to the cabin for cabin users only. There have been times that beach has filled up so much, the sand was covered with people as it is in the summer at Higgins Beach, or worse, at Old Orchard. The cove has gotten twenty boats tied up together and all the adults in their boats getting drunk, while they let loose the kids and dogs—half of them running up to the Shulman’s and peering into her house.

We’ve had to keep pretty close tabs on the beach, because non-islanders (boaters or summer renters) usually don’t bother to check to see if property is private when they set out for a picnic, and they’ll camp right up to our front porch and ask for the toilet. I had a troupe of thirteen teenage girls and their camp leader arrive on a big sail boat last summer and they were planning on camping out on our lawn. I find strangers wandering all over our property, picking my blueberries, peering through my windows at times. It’s unnerving to come out of the cabin or my yurt bare naked because I’ve come off from the beach from a swim and am showering up outside, only to be confronted by total strangers.

I suppose they confuse the state property section of Andrew’s Beach with Singing Sands. Regular visitors get the drill and generally support us, because they recognize that the beach is so lovely—for quiet family outings, swimming, meditation. We have worked hard to preserve those qualities—to protect that natural resource and the dunes, and it can be a lot of work.

Asking people to leave is never a pleasant experience, and yet it happens every summer. People will literally sit smack down in front of the Private Property sign and the rules, pop open their beers, unpack their grill, and go right about doing what they want, as if it were their own back yard. You ask them to follow the rules nicely the first time, they don’t; you ask them a second time, they ignore you or tell you to go away (or worse); you tell them to leave, they don’t. They become belligerent. I’ve had people in my face threatening me. Then we have to call the police.

Back when the Marchons sold their portion of Andrew’s Beach to the State, the State erected a sign indicating where the State beach ended and private property began. That was promptly torn down over the following winter. Our Private Property signs continue to get torn down and disposed of every winter. To me, that’s like someone going up to your house and ripping your house number off, or throwing your porch furniture into the ocean.

The name “Singing Sands” is not on any map. I think it should go on a map. (Well, I think a decent map of the island is overdue.) It is a common name given by the islanders, though some called it “Little Beach,” and called Andrew’s Beach (aka South Beach, also aka Sandy Beach) “Big Beach.” The only long-standing map demarcation is that the beach lies in Shark Cove. I’ve consulted a number of map sources. The only officially mapped name for a beach on the south side is “Andrew’s Beach”… what is now 2/3 State park and one-third (thereabouts) Burke property.

Recently, people have started calling Andrew’s Beach (aka South Beach) “Singing Sands,” and advertising it as such—on the web. The glossy high-end Travel and Leisure has gotten on the band-wagon. Andrew’s Beach (South Beach) is nice, but the sand that collects there isn’t of fine white crystals and doesn’t “sing”, as does the sand on Singing Sands Beach. Stanley MacVane says every Long Islander knows that with the tone of voice that says you were born knowing that if you were a native islander. One person has posted pictures of Singing Sands Beach (commonly, historically called) on the web almost as if it were a public beach and with some suggestions the site was created by a public entity because of the url: www.longislandmaine.us/photos/tag/singing-sands-beach. I finally tracked him down and he argued that the beach was public based on the tax maps created by the island—despite the very clear posting by the island that the tax map was not meant for determining property boundaries. He was vehement the beach was public. That will create more problems for us—more people arriving who believe the beach is public and argue with us. More calling the police. I suppose if our signs keep mysteriously disappearing in the winter, someone must want to raise the overall island financial needs and tax base. I can’t get my head around it. Maybe the solution is to close the beach to all but island residents—for their exclusive visiting use, as Dr. Rockefeller does with his property in Falmouth. Just put up a sign saying “Private Property, for walks and bathing by residents only”… so I don’t find five dogs yapping, radios blaring, and drunks trying to play Frisbee in those summer moments I finally get to enjoy my property and when I want to hear the sea against the sand and watch the flight of the least tern in the cove.


History of Ownership / Sales of the Beach Property

Singing Sands Beach and last about third of Andrew’s Beach (now commonly called South Beach), plus property behind the beaches.—or Lot 7 of the Estate of Jeremiah Cushing.

History of when Griffith bought property from estate not yet found.

May 31, 1830: David Griffin sold it to Benjamin Cushing on May 31, 1830.

April 14, 1846: Benjamin Cushing (mariner) sold the property to David Griffith, of Portland, Maine, for $200.

History from Griffith to Marston not yet found.

March 19, 1889: Mary E. Marston and 4 others each sold their 1/5 interest of the property and also the Nubble to Charles P. Ingraham, Horatio N. Jose, and John E Tewksbury.

January 9, 1895: Charles P. Ingraham, John C. Tukesbury and H. N. Jose sold to Jones Real Estate Co.

1954: Jones Real Estate Company to Elizabeth C. Burke and Lawrence M. Burke, Jr.
On the deed for the lot with the beach, reference is made to “Lot No. 7 on plan of Division of the Estate of Jeremiah Cushing” which was bounded sea-ward “by the waters of the Atlantic Ocean and the division line between this land hereby conveyed and the “Nubble”.

More Spring News: Woodchips and Thoughts about Collecting

Saturday, March 27th, I had big plans to burn several large piles of wood (fallen tree limbs, branches, twigs,cut bittersweet, plus odds and ends of building materials that always end up at the cabin). Renters always haul lobster buoys, rocks, shells, and other detritus that ends up on the beach to the cabin, and there's no stopping this URGE to collect, so beach driftwood and building stuff ends up there too.

Collecting is what some of the curious do with time on their hands. I believe it to be a harmless variant of the urge toward war: Get the most goodies, and you win. I know one woman whose house is so full of stuff (every closet is full of empty boxes she might need, or perhaps they're a form of insulation), and when I say, "Edie, you have so much stuff," she turns to me and smiles, "I do have a lot of things," and she's obviously secretly so pleased. Truly, every broken dish is glued back together and put back on the shelf. She has a drawer where there are pencil stubs dating from the 1940s. Dare touch or move something, perhaps throw out a yogurt container that no longer has a top, and she'll haul it out of the recycyling bin.

Our cabin is not immune to the pleasures of collecting. Some of the things I find in the cabin at the end of the season are priceless: paintings on rocks hauled up are a particular pleasure.

At any rate, because of the earlier near-hurricane and a lot of blow-down, the island Fire Marshall, Dickie Clark, said "No fires," though the mainland fire code was favorable. Change of plans: I hired a fellow to chip wood I hauled out to a favorable spot. Hauling wood through the woods isn't easy, but as there was a large maple that had fallen over the road that lead to where I wanted to bring the chipper, there wasn't much choice. The good news is that I have a huge pile of chips to lay on the path that goes from the middle of my father's land at a gap in the rock wall down past my yurt to the cabin. Also, I'll have good hard-wood chips for the garden paths and to lay around the new apple tree I planted last fall and the Japanese Maple that I am nurturing at my home in town. The landscaping continues.

I'm less of a collector, more of an esthete: I like space--lots of empty space. In the space, I have places to go. If there's too much stuff, I can't see the larger geometry, the curves, lines, and more importantly the things humans didn't make. I can't get past the human noise to hear the rain, watch the birds, wander easily in my wonders about plans, ideas--I need space to think. The collectors perplex me. There's still a rock a former boyfriend left by the path, some 5 years ago--it probably weighs about 30 lbs. He had piled a lot of things in a frail shopping cart, and he wanted to put that rock in there too, except the weight of it caused the metal rod between the wheels to buckle, so it was left behind. Every time I see that rock, I wonder, "What in god's name was he going to do with that flat rock, the sort of which you can find anywhere, and why in god's name did he think I would be delighted to haul it from Maine all the way to Massachusetts?" But, another friend had hauled huge rocks all the way from Australia to Maine, so clearly, he isn't alone in the desire.

Spring News: Bittersweet and Landscaping

Every Fall for the past three years, I've battled it out with the bittersweet plants. Rumored to have been introduced to the island by the Navy during WWII, since it grows quickly and thus obscures telephone lines, roads, the like, it has come to take over anything in its path. It snakes up trees and over bushes (including our lovely high bush blueberries that grow throughout our property), and strangles them. It crawls into cracks in a house and plies apart the boards.

I've cut down huge patches of it in the Fall, only to see it just as vibrant in the Spring. Then I used the poison "Round Up" on the leaves. That would kill a certain amount of the bush, but not enough to be economical. And the lobstermen worry the poison leaches into the ocean. Therefore, I now cut the bittersweet to the ground and conservatively paint the cut plant as close to the ground as possible, so the poison goes quickly to the roots. This seems to be working and involves a lot less of the poison.

I also strip the leaves off any shoot I find, since if the plant can't get sunlight, it can't continue to expand. This also works, at least on the young new shoots.

Having cut down a huge swath at the edge of our lawn, there is a lot of burning to do, and then carefully painting just the cut end close to the ground with the "Round Up." My hope is to again have a small bunch of apple trees at the edge of the lawn. There are some old ones that were planted probably in the late 1800s or early 1900s, but they still produce apples that make the best apple pies and apple sauce I've ever had.

Our Cabin and Beaches for rent

Our absolutely stunning summer place on Long Island, in Casco Bay is available for weekly family or special event rental. It is a pleasant 45 minute boat ride from Portland, Maine. The 9 private acres have two white sand beaches—Singing Sands Beach and a large porion of Andrew's Beach. Andrew's Beach is commonly called South Beach, and commonly mistakenly called "singing sands beach." However, Singing Sands Beach is our private beach, and it is in Shark Cove.


The Burkes have owned the property since 1954. The cabin's original structure, seen in the picture of the living room area, was built by our father around 1960. The huge ceiling timbers were hauled from the ocean, and carefully fitted with the equally huge support timbers with nary a nail. Most all of the flooring and walls came from either former Navy barracks or ship wrecks. Later, a new kitchen area was added. The kitchen uses rain water for washing. Plenty of fresh drinking water is provided.

The bath house is as green as you can get with a composting toilet and solar-heated rain water for showers.

The sound of the waves lulls you to sleep. During the day, the Least Terns perform their fishing acrobatics--spiraling from high up straight down into the ocean. Sailboats and lobster boats move out beyond the cove. Waking to a sunrise, having coffee on the front porch, a walk on the beach in your pajamas (or less), begins the day. The sand on Singing Sands is so fine and white it squeaks as you walk. We call sunsets "the magic hour", and you'll learn why. At night, you'll see stars you forgot, or perhaps have never seen. You can build a beach fire, roast some marshmallows, tell stories. Or just curl up with a good book inside on the couch.



Kids will play on the beach--all day--catching hermit crabs, climbing on the rocks, exploring tidal pools, and swimming. Of course, this is Maine, so the water can be quite, um, refreshing. Believe me, the kids won't even notice. Watching them from the cabin's front porch is delightful.

We have a kayak and rowboat for use. For rainy days, the cabin is well stocked with books and games. There are no televisions or computers. When we say vacation, we mean it. (Your cell phone will work, depending on your carrier.)







We'll pick you up at the ferry, provide fresh sheets and towels, and of course restock your fresh drinking supply if you're running low. The cabin's garden provides fresh herbs.

Rental weeks run from Sunday (after 12 noon) through Saturday (before 12 noon). We have hosted weddings at the beach, as well as other special events. There's a rather elegant yurt (with a Persian carpet and antiques) behind the cabin, for rent as well.


The island has two general stores, a nice public library with special art shows throughout the summer, art programs for kids through the community center, a wonderful historical society where you can learn more about the island, and tennis and basketball courts at the library.



Learn more about the island at: http://www.townoflongisland.us/

The island is reached by Casco Bay Island Transit: http://www.cascobaylines.com/



Owners: Andrew, John, and Elizabeth Burke--in order of appearance.

More Photos

To the left is a view from the living room toward the kitchen (which you can't see). Above is pictured the rocks just below the cabin-at sunrise. Scrambling around the rocks brings you to the boundary of the Burke property, and just there is Bob's Cove, which belongs to a neighbor. Bob's Cove is seaweedy, but tends to have slightly warmer swimming water, since the cove has a slow shallow incline: As the tide returns, the water is warmed by the heated sands. About half-way between Singing Sands Beach and Bob's Cove, on Burke property, there's a fine patch of high-bush blueberries growing beyond a nice ledge--ie with a fantastic view.

Bob's Cove is pictured below. The edge of the tall pines marks the beginning of the border between our property and the neighbor's. That border line is a tad odd... as many of the border lines on the island are.

This is Stanley MacVane, a lobster man who lives on the island. Both Andrew and Elizabeth have worked on his boat as sternmen. John hasn't--couldn't stand the hard work, we suspect! When we want lobsters for dinner, this is who we call. His father and Stanley's son are also lobstermen on the island. In fact, the whole MacVane tribe lobsters.

Where Is Long Island?

View Larger Map

Then search for "Shark Cove" on the map. That is where Singing Sands Beach is.

www.visitmaine.net