A private beach turned over to the Trustees of Massachusetts, this was a lovely place to spend an 80-degree, sunny day. An hour north of Boston, my only regret is that we didn't have the time to stay there longer to watch the sunset and eventual stars.
Though I saw no cranes, there's something that is legitimizing, if not romanticizing, to your experience when you can sympathize with literary descriptions of the seaside: glistening blue waters, white sands, blue skies, adventurous kids, flappy-hatted moms, and dads that are red, white, and blue all over (burnt, white, and blue board shorts). The beauty of it all definitely elicited feelings of awe and demanded road trip beach vibes by way of the Jonas Brothers.
Having gone with fun company makes up a substantial part of the good time. And it seems to be one of the advantages I have as a born soccer mom. That I can gather enough food and supplies to hold over a group of rambunctious adult-kids relatively well on a beach day, especially when I happen to carry a first-aid kit that is actually (and unfortunately) put to use. Though slightly burnt probably as a karmic result of having called some others (jokingly) "pasty ass white people," this was a fulfilling Sunday.