No, that’s not a typo. That is what’s written on the sign that hangs above the entrance to the town’s historical main street. It’s in honor of the Dutch settlers who founded the city. They named it Nederland, because it reminded them of the flat lands of their home country, The Netherlands.
Right now, the population is around 18,000. It’s got four elementary schools, two middle schools, and one high school. I always thought that created the perfect pyramid. I can’t tell you the town’s entire history. I’m not sure how exciting that would be anyway.
This is my hometown. It’s where I still live, for now. I’ve lived in the same house, in the same neighborhood by the park for twenty years. The city has changed a lot during that time, but it’s also stayed remarkably the same.
We have a Whataburger now. A Checkers just opened, replacing the roach motel that was a staple of Nederland Avenue for as long as I can remember. Vape stores litter the city, there’s a least one on every main street. But the seafood restaurant where I worked my first job is still operating after more than 60 years. The sno-cone stand that I always went to when the weather got hot is still in the parking lot of the library.
The elementary school that me and my siblings went to, and where my sister now works, is still standing. I can still walk there in less ten minutes, if I’m warmed up. In between my house and the school, is the same park and same public pool. I spent many summers swimming in that pool and playing in that park.
One particular summer, I jogged at that park every day. I would always rest on this one bench after my run. One day I looked down and noticed that the bench was dedicated to a young woman who had passed away. She didn’t look much older than me. I couldn’t help but think of who she was. We had so much in common. She lived in this town. She came to this park. She probably went to the same high school I did. Had the same teachers, sat in the same desks. She went to the same places I did.
She probably went to the Heritage Festival. Every Spring Break the city would hold their obligatory small-town festival. It’s set up along the main historical street, Boston Avenue. The same street that my middle school is on. It was always exciting to see the carnival trucks lined up at the football stadium next to the school.
Within a day, the street would be transformed into a Wonderland, of sorts. Rides and games and food stalls somehow fit on a street, that doesn’t look as wide when the trucks drive away. I have fond memories of the Heritage Festival growing up. The smell of grease, cigarettes, and sweat fills the air. The humidity makes it feel hotter than it should in March, but that’s just Southeast Texas for you.
It’s a place where first kisses happen, where fights break out, where you can win a goldfish that either dies in a day or lives ten years. You can get unhealthy food and eat it in front of the giant Dutch windmill. It’s a place where you run into teachers from school and friends that you haven’t talked to in years.
I don’t really go anymore.
We’re close to the Louisiana border, so you’ll see a lot of Cajun influence here. I myself am Cajun, most people are in some way. We celebrate Mardi Gras in a neighboring city. Crawfish is big here, and most seafood restaurants will serve it to you. But the best crawfish boils, are the ones held in people’s backyards.
When people ask me where I’m from, the conversation usually goes like this:
“It’s a small town you’ve probably never heard of. Nederland.”
“Oh, where’s that?”
“It’s about fifteen minutes from Beaumont.”
If they know where Beaumont is, this is the end of the explanation. If they look at me confused, I add:
“It’s about two hours outside of Houston.”
They don’t need much more explanation than that.
The big industry of the area is oil. Refineries make up the skyline of Nederland. At night, they look like little cities all lit up. Sometimes you can see a fire roaring from a tall tower. The refineries make the stars disappear. Everyone knows someone who works there. It’s a good living and it brings a lot of people to this area from around the world. But sometimes you look at the smoke that billows in the air and you wonder, is it even safe to breathe here?
My town sits surrounded by many other small towns. If you cross the street, you’ve entered a new zip code. It’s confusing even for natives like me. One city you enter after crossing the railroad tracks, is our archrivals, Port Neches-Groves.
The Nederland Bulldogs versus the PNG Indians is a rivalry of intense fandemonium. The football game, called Mid-County Madness, is so important that people line up overnight at the high schools just to buy a ticket. To a high school football game. After a problem with scalpers, they had to limit the number of tickets a person can buy. The stands are always packed.
The week leading up to the game is called Spirit Week. Every day is a new theme to dress up for. It’s one of the few times during the school year where we don’t have to follow the dress code. The most popular day of Spirit Week is PNG Nerd Day. This is the one day of the year where Nederland schools are filled with purple and white. The more ridiculous you dress the better.
This rivalry runs deep. Stealing yard signs, spray painting your school colors around the enemy’s city, these are common occurrences during Mid-County Madness. Two small towns that share a border. Families divided between black and gold and purple and white. If you ever find yourself in town during this game, just drive by the football stadium and you’ll see what I mean.
They’re building a new high school. After years and years of trying to get a bond passed, it finally happened. When I drive by the high school, I can see the new building in progress. It’s huge and modern. Of course, the bond doesn’t pass until I’ve already graduated. These future bulldogs are lucky. They won’t know what’s it like to go to school where ceiling tiles fall down in the middle of class. They won’t know what it’s like to walk down the hall between class and feel like herded cattle. Packed in like sardines. They won’t know what’s it like to be in a classroom with walls so thin, you can hear the lesson from the class next door.
Good for them.
There’s something about the people here. Everyone knows everyone. Or more like, everyone knows someone who knows someone. You hear gossip about people, whose name sounds familiar, but you can’t quite picture their face. You can’t help but wonder, “is there anything being said about me?”
But the people are friendly and welcoming. They smile at you and hold the door. You wave at strangers as you drive passed them in your car. It’s just the polite thing to do. It’s almost as if to say, I acknowledge your presence and hope you have a good day.
Sometimes the city can feel stifling. When there’s nothing to do and nowhere to go. When you drive the same streets and eat the same food at the same restaurants, you do start to feel bored.
“There’s nothing to do. Let’s just drive around.” And get in trouble.
It’s hard to leave. There’s a university fifteen minutes down the road. Get your degree and stay at home. You know these streets like the back of your hand. You know these people, like they’re family or friends. You know what to expect.
Here it’s safe. Here it’s comfortable. Here it’s home.
I don’t know if I’ll stay here forever. I’d like to leave, at least for a little bit. Experience a part of the world that I don’t know. A place that’s dangerous, a place that’s uncomfortable, a place that doesn’t feel like home.
Nederland is many things. It’s small, it’s boring, it’s proud, it’s predictable, it’s friendly, it’s hot, it’s changing, it’s the staying the same.
It’s my hometown.
Gabby Gaspard 