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A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

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Wasilla

Wasilla is the place where I have lived for the past 29 years - sort of. The house in which my wife and I raised our family sits here, but I have made my rather odd career as a different sort of photojournalist by continually wandering off to other places to photograph people and gather information, which I have then put together in various publications that have served the Alaska Native Eskimo, Indian and Aleut communities.

Although I did not have a great of free time to devote to this rather strange community, named after a Tanaina Athabascan Indian chief who knew Wasilla in the way that I so impossibly long to, I have still documented it regularly over the past quarter-century plus. In the early days, my Wasilla photographs focused mostly upon my children and the events they participated in - baseball, football, figure skating, hockey, frog catching, fire cracker detonation, Fourth of July parade - that sort of thing. 

In 2002, I purchased my first digital camera and then, whenever I was home, I began to photograph Wasilla upon a daily basis, but not in a conventional way. These were grab shots - whatever caught my eye as I took my many long walks or drove through the town, shooting through the car window at people and scenes that appeared and disappeared before I could even focus and compose in the traditional photographic way.

Thus, the Wasilla portion of this blog will be devoted both to the images that I take as I wander about and those that I have taken in the past. Despite the odd, random, nature of the images, I believe they communicate something powerful about this town that I have never seen expressed anywhere else. 

Wasilla is a sprawling community that has been slapped down hodge-podge upon what was so recently wilderness of the most exquisite beauty. In its design, it is deliberately anti-zoned, anti-planned. In the building of Wasilla, the desire to make a buck has trumped aesthetics and all other considerations. This town, built in the midst of exquisite beauty, has largely become an unsightly, unattractive, mess of urban sprawl. Largely because of this, it often seems to me that Wasilla is a community with no sense of community, a town devoid of town soul.

Yet - Wasilla is my home and if I am lucky it will be until I grow old and die. Despite its horrific failings, it is still made of the stuff of any small city: people; moms and dads, grammas and grampas, teens, children, churches, bars, professionals, laborers, soldiers, missionaries, artists, athletes, geniuses, do-gooders, hoodlums, the wealthy, the homeless, the rational and logical, the slightly insane and the wholly insane - and, yes, as is now obvious to the whole world, politicians, too.

So perhaps, if one were to search hard enough, it might just be possible to find a sense of community here, and a town soul. So, using my skills as a photojournalist and a writer, I hope to do just that. If this place has a sense of community, I will find it. If there is a town soul to Wasilla, I will document it. I won't compete with the newspapers. Hell no! But as time and income allow, it will be fun to wander into the places where the folks described above gather, and then put what I find on this blog.

 

by 300...

Anywhere within a 300 mile radius of Wasilla. This encompasses perhaps the most wild, dramatic, gorgeous, beautiful section of land and sea to be found in any comparable space anywhere on Earth. I can never explore it all, but I will do the best that I can, and will here share what I find and experience with you.  

and then some...

Anywhere else in the world that I happen to get to, such as Point Lay, Alaska; Missoula, Montana; Serenki, Chukotka, Russia; or Bangalore, India. Perhaps even Lagos, Nigeria. I have both a desire and scheme to get me there. It is a long shot. We shall see if I succeed.

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« Wasilla: A roadside expression of love for Senator Stevens - an individual who claimed to be among his sign-carrying supporters attacks my first amendment rights; New York City series on hold for tonight, will continue | Main | Wasilla: Halloween drive to Anchorage to send Kalib south; New York City: On the way to the Met I walk by a bus »
Sunday
Nov022008

New York City: Subway Series, Part 1 - Music and Love; Wasilla: waiting for breakfast at Family

DateSunday, November 2, 2008 at 11:32PM

Where did he come from? What did he do there? What did he plan to do here? What is his instrument? Where does his mind go when he plays it? How much does he earn? How many people does he feed? What thoughts go through the mind of the fellow on the bench beside him? So many questions, but the train door opens and I rush through before it can shut me out.

The door closes behind me and I sit down. I see these two, who look to be in love; she exhausted, he intent, curious; she finds comfort on his strong shoulder. Those on either side intently ignore them.

A click will make the image bigger.

One wonders why life passes by so quickly, why age and deterioration downgrade the body even as desire remains young.

What do they find so interesting in this booklet? I want to read it and find out for myself. I doubt that I ever will. Too many other things to read, too many books that I want to read but never will. Too many more books I want to write. Reasonable health and life provided, I will write some of them, but it is clear to me that I have already used up too much time to ever write them all. 

So why do I waste time blogging?

Blogging is fun. Damn, it is fun!

I could ask the same questions of this gentleman from Africa as I did the one from Asia. I did ask him one question, but he did not seem to have the English to answer. Or maybe he had the English, but did not wish to be bothered into making answers.

His music was good. I liked it. 

It seemed to me that he should be playing on a stage somewhere, in front of an auditorium, rather than in a subway station. The thought struck me that perhaps he does both - plays on a stage, and then in the subway, too. Maybe when he goes home, friends and family gather about and he plays and others sing, drum and play even more instruments - maybe a guitar.

Today in Wasilla, beginning at Family Restaurant:

Margie and I were fortunate and got a table within two minutes of walking in. But Family was crowded today. All who came after us had to wait to be seated.

More who must wait.

The boys sit as they wait to be seated.

This boy seems to grow impatient.

As she waits, she gets a gumball.

Those who wait will get seated. Family Restaurant is very popular and there are many more tables than the few seen here.

After breakfast, I drop Margie off at Wal-Mart - a popular raven hangout.

After Margie gets off work, I drive her and Lisa to the Espresso Cafe. Lisa orders an iced Americano, which strikes me as crazy, since the temperature is in the teens. The barista is glad to fill Lisa's "Alaska for Obama" mug, as she is a supporter, too.

It's amazing how many Barack Obama supporters I encounter, right here, in Wasilla, Alaska.

 

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