El Jardin: The Texas Beach You Didn't Know Existed

Every summer, I pack my pink travel bag and drive myself and my son to my favorite place in the entire world, El Jardin Beach. As a broke graduate student, pristine summer getaways are hard to come by. Fortunately, my family’s tradition of spending the first weeks of summer in the quaint, lesser-known beach community of El Jardin in Seabrook, Texas means that I can salvage my bank account while lounging on the beach. For Texas families who are looking to save on a getaway, El Jardin beach is worth a chance.

It’s true that there are bluer beaches out there, tropical paradises with turquoise waters and white, pearly sand. On the tropical-resort-paradise scale for middle-income people who can afford the expense, there is absolutely no competition between the murky waters of the Houston bay and the iridescent hues of beaches in California, Jamaica, and Honduras, to name only a few. While there is no doubt these beaches are stunning, El Jardin beach is still my favorite place to spend the summer. Here are a few reasons the community is worth a visit:

In El Jardin, there are nearly no sidewalks. While that might sound like a public safety red-flag, I think it speaks to the neighborhood’s old-timey, homely vibes. Drivers slow for bikers, dog-walkers, and beach-goers on golf carts. Impossibly spoiled by the within-walking-distance proximity of my aunt and grandmother’s houses to the bay, I crave my peaceful, solitary beach walks every time late-spring rolls around. Every visit involves new friendships with outdoor cats I meet as I stroll to and from the beach.

The neighborhood is full of aged beach houses that add character to the community. My aunt’s old house sits across the street from the beach, and I cherish the tranquil experience of sitting outside on her chipped white deck, looking out at the public-facing side of the beach. The nicer beach-houses live in front of hers: the vacation homes with white decks and long, pristine driveways, and light blue, perfectly painted walls. Often rented out as air b and bs, those houses are the ones that attract the vacationers at an affordable price.

Families of deer frolic from the wooded edge of the community in the evenings, venturing wide-eyed into my aunt’s yard, where an old wooden playset with a rusted swing sits abandoned from her time as a mother to young boys.

El Jardin beach has two faces. The private-side is wilder, and it’s where the home owners hide from the neighborhood visitors who frequent the public-side with their beach-umbrellas, coolers, and stereos. On the private-side, dogs sprint into the ship-waves unleashed. The edge of the private beach is marked by sharp sea-rocks where snakes hide.

Separating the private beach from the lawn where my aunt’s church meets underneath the tree every Sunday morning at 10:30 AM is unruly beach-grass and bamboo. To the left of the body of church goers is a yellow swing-set that my son loves. The beach-church has no childcare, but my cousins like to run around and push my son back and forth on the swing set while we listen to my aunt share a message. Church attendees, who are home-owners and renters in the El Jardin neighborhood, gather in their golf-carts or sit in collapsible beach-chairs to listen and worship with my family. Sometimes, my aunt invites vacationers she meets on the beach to come visit her small gathering space where everyone belongs, no questions asked.

The summer days spent with my son in El Jardin remind me of my own explorations in childhood, collecting frogs and wildflowers with my grandpa among the pine-trees of Longview, Texas. While I won’t let him risk poison ivy, his experiences of bike rides on the beach and jumping with my cousins across the waves of the bay allow for that same sense of wild abandon, away from Minecraft and My Singing Monsters.