Last night’s downpours have formed puddles on the sand parking lot of Crane Beach. I step carefully around them to the boardwalk stairs that lead over the dunes to the beach. On a perfect beach day, the lot is filled to capacity, and it is estimated that 350,000 people enjoy Crane each summer.

Purchased in 1910 by Chicago industrialist Richard Teller Crane Jr., the beachfront property at the end of Argilla Road was his summer estate. His widow, Florence Higinbotham Crane, donated the more than 1,000 acres to the Massachusetts Trustees of Reservations in 1945. The Trustees call the pristine white-sand beach, Crane Beach, though many of us who are of a certain age, still call it Crane’s.

As a child, a trip to Crane Beach was a special occasion. Along with the scratchy, plaid wool blanket, I remember a thermos of lemonade with a stack of waxed Dixie cups, deviled ham and pickle sandwiches and a tin of toll house cookies. All were packed in a large cooler that two of us would have to haul after a drive that seemed endless to Crane. My mother, who would rub Sea and Skin suntan lotion on us, never failed to tell us that Crane was the most beautiful beach in all of New England.

The Pawtucket Indians, who once inhabited the beach and its surrounding land, referred to it as Agawam Place, which meant “the other side of the marsh.” Massachusetts purchased the land from the tribe in 1637. After the Revolutionary War, the town of Ipswich, where Crane Beach is located, sold part of the property to help pay the town’s assessment for the costs of the war. The beach, however, was saved for the town. There is a section of Crane Beach that is accessed by the town’s residents and their parking lot is separated from the lot maintained by the Massachusetts Trustees of Reservations. In 1968, John Updike’s novel, Couples, described the resident’s beach and the town. Though Updike lived in Ipswich, he fictitiously placed the location of Couples south of Boston in a town he called Tarbox.

The sand of Crane Beach is light, inviting and it appears on the horizon as you move over the grass topped dunes on the boardwalk from the parking lot. The sand can scorch if the weather is hot. It is best to wear water shoes, or hiking sandals that do not slip off in the hot sand.

The water gleams; green/blue/turquoise and you can see Plum Island, a mound of green on the horizon. A boat might speed along the water, far from the beach and beyond the buoys that separate the boat from the swimming area. In June, the water will be cold. It may still seem chilly even a month later.

On my first visit of the summer, there is no one in the water. The wind is brisk and the sea air is inviting but not hot, steamy.

From my folding beach chair, I can see three fishermen seated, with poles, at the water’s edge. They are laughing and talking. But they are just far enough away from me that I cannot make out what they are saying.

The light blue sky is dotted with fluffy clouds and I rise to walk along the water. The fishermen wave to me. To my left, above the trees, the central copula and chimneys of Crane Castle are visible. If I stroll in that direction, I will eventually find Steep Hill Beach, which has a path up to the castle’s grand allée. To my right, Gloucester and Rockport are a hazy blue gray on the horizon.  

I walk east toward the Gloucester shoreline and step into the water. Thrilled at its coldness, I continue to wet my feet as I stroll on the damp sand. The grass topped dunes lie beyond the few people I notice who are dotting the beach. There are not many. The season hasn’t really begun yet, even though Memorial Day is past.

When I turn to head back to my spot, a lone seagull, white wings spread out, soars above me. I don’t see another anywhere and he lands near me. Folding his wings onto his back, he has ribbons of gray feathers down each of his sides. The seagull cocks his head and takes a few web footed steps toward me before he spreads his wings out again and flies off.

By the end of the summer, now approaching Labor Day, I will be diving into the ocean at Crane, with a t-shirt to protect my skin from the sun. Wet from my dip in the Atlantic, I will welcome the t-shirt’s coolness when I resume my seat on the beach. Another summer will have flown past.