A blog by Bill Hess

Running Dog Publications

P.O. Box 872383 Wasilla, Alaska 99687

 

All photos and text © Bill Hess, unless otherwise noted 
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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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Friday
Dec262008

Kalib's first birthday, part 1: flashback one year to his actual birth day

In just 45 minutes, guests should begin to arrive to help us celebrate Kalib's first birthday. I had not yet begun this blog when he was born at 3:19 AM, December 26, 2008, so I am going to flashback one year to that day. This way, when I post the pictures from the party, readers will be able to put them in context.

Shortly after the birth, the scene was calm, peaceful, joyous and serene as Kalib bathed in the love of his mom and dad. Of course, it did not start out that way.

It began in pain, along with a disruption of our Christmas plans. Jacob was working on a roast, which he was marinating and doing various things to enhance the flavor. As usual, we were cooking turkeys out here and pies and all of that kind of thing. The baby was not due for another week.

Then in the afternoon, we got a call that Lavina's water had broke and they were headed to the hospital. Jake had to put his roast aside. 

The emergence was not imminent, so the rest of us ate our dinner and exchanged our gifts. The word was we could confidently wait until after we got a good night's sleep to come in, because the baby was not coming fast.

Still, we could not wait. We climbed into the car and drove to Providence Hospital in Anchorage. We entered the delivery room a bit after midnight and this is what we found.

The stuffed St. Bernard is the original Muzzy, the one Jake gave Lavina years before, when they were in no position to have one of the eating, breathing, slobbering, bounding, loving, pooping kind.

Jake holds Lavina's hand. In this way, he helps her bear the pain that we who sire the babies can never know. Once, Jake caused his mother that same kind of pain. When it reached its worse, she told me that she had changed her mind.

"Take me home," she said. "I changed my mind. I don't want to do this anymore. Take me home right now." She was not joking. She meant it. 

I did not take her home. She got very angry with me. Margie doesn't often get angry, but she did then.

Lavina bore her pain quietly, hugging stuffed Muzzy, holding Jacob's hand as her good friend Natalee massaged her back, moaning and crying out lightly now and then, but never did she scream. Margie and Melanie watched the baby's heart beat on the monitor, as it sped up, slowed down, then sped up again.

Obviously, the baby was having a remarkable experience.

 Natalie Massages Lavina as Jake comforts her from the other side. Shortly after this, a nurse came in and told us that the baby was almost a good ten to hours away from being born and that we should go get some sleep and then come back refreshed for the big moment.

I was leery about leaving, as I did not want to be gone when baby appeared, but I was extremely tired and so was Margie.

At that time, Jacob and Lavina lived in an apartment less than two miles from the hospital. So we drove over there, to bunk with the flesh and blood Muzzy and the calico cat, Martigny.

 

We had barely exchanged greetings with the cat and dog and settled down to sleep on two different couches when Margie's cell phone rang. The process had speeded up. The baby was about to be born. 

We rushed over and headed for the delivery room. The door was closed. And suddenly a sound penetrated the door - the sound of a baby's first cry. I wept. 

Natalee came out as the nurses cleaned baby and Mom up. She smiles as she listens to the cry of the newborn.

 

Soon we were in the room with Mom, Dad, and newborn son. Mom and Dad had waited until the moment of birth to learn his sex. For a boy, they had already picked the name, Kalib. In full: Kalib Lokaa'Dine Hess, in honor of his Navajo clan. In both Apache Navajo cultures, the children belong to the clan of their mother, so this worked out just fine.

Have you ever heard a sound more beautiful than the cry of a healthy, newborn baby?

I haven't.

A baby's cry is the most beautiful sound in the world.

Not even Mozart ever created a sound more beautiful than this.

Mom, Dad, Kalib and gramma.

Having missed Christmas dinner, Lavina now eats a corn chip.

 

 

Dad kisses Kalib.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mom kisses Kalib.

 

 

Dad and Kalib.

 

 

 

Kalib and Uncle Caleb. Caleb soon proved himself to the very definition of doting uncle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Newborn Kalib.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Newborn Kalib with new mittens.

Kalib Lokaa' Dine Hess - our first grandson.

Well, Kalib's first birthday party has now been over for about two hours. Yes, I was unable to finish this entry before it began - with no small thanks to the glitches and vagaries of Squarespace - but now I have.

Soon, I will blog Kalib birthday party #1.

 

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Reader Comments (2)

Beautiful.

December 28, 2008 | Unregistered CommenterLindy

Thank you, Lindy.

December 30, 2008 | Registered CommenterWasilla, Alaska, by 300

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