I am surprised that people with a traditional view of canoe tripping would be troubled by a little sand. I just shake stuff a lot and do not give it a second thought.
I shake everything out daily. And the grit reappears daily. Or never fully disappears; the only way to fully eliminate the fine dust of the Green or Chiricahuas or other desert SW locales is to hose everything out and off once home again. Or just let it stay as a happy memory.
Given the right gear and precautions I enjoy sand camping, at least if it’s not windy. If on the coast or in the desert there often is no choice, and those sandy places often offer an excellent vista.
I don’t like replacing tents every few years and sand is invasively tough on tent zippers. If I can extend the life of a tent zipper for a few years with a simple swipe of a sponge that’s a small price to pay. I never thought of using the face cleaning wet wipe for that before trashing it. A little nose oil might be good for the zippers. (Actually not, I occasionally refresh my tent zippers with a swipe of wax or silicon, but I leave them dry and unsticky for beach and desert trips).
Beyond killing zippers grinding that abrasive into the tent floor probably doesn’t help waterproof longevity, so I do what I can to keep the sand out.
OK, that is at least in part because I am a Princess and the Pea when it comes to sand in the tent. Rasping sandy shoulder and hips against a pad isn’t comfortable, and in a tidal environment my unbathed, bug sprayed, sun screened epidermis is second only to duct tape for stickiness.
I could probably just flail my naked body around on the empty tent floor like a fleshy lint roller.
If I can’t keep it clean I’ll resort to spreading a small microfiber sheet or even my UV lap blanket material between me and the sand before retiring. It helps as well to keep everything container-ished - - stuff bags, dry bags, barrels and such - - closed as often as possible. And not set things in the sand that don’t need to be there when packing and unpacking.
I don’t like eating sand or crunching it between my teeth, and refuse to cook on the ground. Hence the folding tabletop for the blue barrel and the full-height camp chair. Plus if it is windy I’d rather have more of me well off the ground away from the blowing sand when seated. Also see ticks, fire ants, sand fleas and other ground hugging nasties. Also see I’m too old and stiff to get out of one of those six inch high chairs without breaking the dang thing.
In an odd happenstance the fake grass idea comes from a Florida paddling friend who spent a lot of time camping on the fine sugar sand (limestone) beaches of the Suwannee, despite professing to hate sand. Her first name was actually Sandy.