I’m sure most Maine residents have heard of the Desert of Maine, but how many of you have actually visited it? Most people, local and tourists, opt to shop the outlets and the LLBean store, not daring to fall off the beaten path and explore the history or quirkier landmarks.
There are so many false stories about this place that I have to chuckle at most of them. First of all, just because it’s a bit on the ‘different’ side doesn’t mean it’s haunted. The land isn’t cursed, there are no ghosts, and sorry all you faux ghost hunters out there, Thomas Grayson never had anything to do with this place. So stop it. Just stop it.
This isn’t a ghost story. This is a story about a hopeful family trying to earn an honest living but succumbed to an angry version of Mother Nature that we all should be a bit more vigilant of.
The story begins in 1821 when a hopeful couple, John and Abigail Tuttle bought the land to accompany the land they already owned in the neighboring town of Pownal. The new addition of 40+ acres gave them a grand total of 120+/- acres of land.
There is a rumor about John that I SO wish were true-it was said that he became fuming mad at a Pownal town meeting that he hired 24 yoke of oxen to move his home and barn to where the Desert of Maine is now. That is one extreme tantrum if you ask me. Kudos to whoever had the imagination to make that one up.
Once the family became settled on their new plot of land, they farmed vegetables and had all the typical barnyard animals. Things were going great for quite a few years. They had children, harvested their crops and kept on with business as usual.
Nearly forty years later, John and Abigail had since passed, leaving their sons to face the strain of a failing economy. The remaining Tuttles added logging and haying to their to-do list as well as taking on sheep in their menagerie of barnyard animals to sell wool in order to compensate.
These several new ventures, including the fact that sheep graze insanely close to the ground AND poor crop rotation, caused their farmland to expose spots of soil here and there making the area unusable. (Can anyone else hear Fred Gwynne saying “the ground….is sour”…if not then go watch the original Pet Semetery.)
1872 was the year the sand became so invasive that it all but took over their farming efforts. John and Abigail's sons had no choice but to mortgage the land, however, they continued to farm until the late 1890’s, forever remaining hopeful.
By 1915 the remaining Tuttle family members had completely abandoned the farm and moved on. Over 100 acres of their 120+/- was nothing but sand. Four years later the former homestead burned, leaving nothing but the old barn that still stands today.
Despite the hard times and obvious heartbreak that overshadowed the land, others would visit the so-called desert to participate in leisurely activities. People from all around would play in the sand, picnic, paint etc, making the most out of a sad situation.
Henry Goldrup was the man who turned this supposed cursed patch of land into the tourist attraction it is today. In 1925 he bought the desert for $400 and provided a place for people to visit for free, earning money from selling refreshments instead of an entrance fee. The second year he decided that 5 cents per person would be a fair, acceptable price. Today they charge $10 per person but free for local residents.
Nearly ten years go by and Goldrup is living the dream. He thoroughly enjoyed the Desert of Maine and sharing it with others. However, when he received an offer to lease the property he accepted and instead spent his days hunting and fishing with local business entrepreneur L.L. Bean. (See, even the owner of this place wants to be at Beans).
The land remained under lease until 1962 when Goldrup took back his property and went on with the Desert of Maine business as if thirty years didn’t just fly by. Goldrup passed away in 1976. During his last days he requested a photo of the desert be placed at the foot of his bed so he could see it one last time. He truly loved this place.
Right now, there is someone scowling at their computer screen insisting the place IS haunted and/or cursed and spouting off at no one in particular because “where did all the sand come from then, smarty pants?” First, let’s get the rumor out of the way:
Apparently someone started this rumor that a man named Thomas Grayson owned it, his wife died so he remarried. He made his second wife promise to give the land to his son from his previous marriage and when she didn’t do it he cursed the land with sand. (slow clap).
The reality is that back in the ice age glaciers would rub and grind together and a whole bunch of years later all this sand became the result of the glaciers that no longer exist. Then plants and decomposition, topsoil, all that stuff happened. For those who don’t believe in science or global warming, feel free to continue believing the curse of the sandman. Or whatever the hell you want to call it.
And no, it’s not a true desert due to the precipitation and vegetation. But it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
I found the most interesting part of the trip to be the spring house, buried under feet of sand. The spring was discovered by Goldrup in 1935 but the house wasn’t built until 1938 while it was under lease. During WWII the Desert had to cease operations, allowing the elements to have their way with the spring house. It was gradually taken over by sand leaving nothing except the promise that it’s there. There is talk about excavation efforts to expose the spring house again. If they get around to it, I will let you know.
Today, you can camp there, hike the desert or take a guided tour. They have an interesting museum and gift shop as well. However, the best part for me was the original Tuttle barn that still stands today to the right of the gift shop, where their home once stood. The property is dotted with old original farm equipment and belongings from previous lives. This equipment coupled with the old Tuttle barn is the only evidence that this used to be a thriving farm before the sand took over.
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