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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Friday
Nov272009

Our Thanksgiving Day, 2009

Not long after Lisa arrived for Thanksgiving, Jacob began to treat her just like he did when she was a little girl and he was a big boy.

Lisa's boyfriend Bryce, who is deeply allergic to cats and dogs, came too, of course.

Lisa and Bryce.

Needless to say, the other boyfriend, Melanie's, Charlie, showed up as well. Soon, he engaged Kalib in a game of "Peek-a-Roo." Here, he sings out, "peek-a..."

"...Roo!" That's because we sometimes call Royce, "Royce-a-Roo." Naturally, that sometimes gets shortened to just "Roo." Hence, the game of "Peek-a-Roo." 

Kalib was greatly pleased with the game.

When I get time, or just take time, I will let Grahamn Kracker post more of this game - and other cat activities from the day - on his No Cats Allowed blog.

Lavina and her feet.

Lisa and Bryce pour the punch.

Kalib comes to the table.

Setting the table. Traditionally, I am the one who cooks the turkey, but, somehow, Margie cooked two of them today. I still cut it up. See that pumpkin chiffon pie? Melanie made that from a recipe that originated with my late mother. It is the best pumpkin pie in the world.

Melanie also made some cranberry sauce out of cranberries she picked herself.

Sooooo goood!

And she made a walnut pie. Margie tells me it is excellent, but so far I have found no room for it in my tummy.

I will try it tomorrow.

As baby Kalib peeks down from a picture on the cabinet door, the feasting begins. I have no more pictures of it, because I was too busy feasting. Please note the state of Caleb's facial hair. 

Readers who have been with this blog - and especially those who visited after the excellent feast that we had last year in Anchorage at Rex and Stephanie's house - cannot help but notice that two members of the family are absent: Rex and Stephanie.

Again, I just want to give them space and not say too much, but Rex went to Homer to spend the weekend alone in a cabin contemplating life. Stephanie - well, we don't know. She no longer shares her life with us.

It is a painful and puzzling thing.

Charlie brought his guitar and gave Kalib his first-ever live concert.

Soon, under the watchful eye of Royce-a-Roo, Kalib was dancing to a tune about little fishes - a song composed just for him.

Lisa and Bryce left a bit early to go back to Anchorage to share a second Thanksgiving with Bryce's parents. A bit after that, a bunch of the rest of us crowded into the Escape and headed to Metro Cafe for a coffee break.

When we got there, Carmen told us that Lisa and Bryce had stopped on their way to town. All week long, Carmen had been telling me that the drive-through would be open from 10-7 on Thanksgiving Day, while her family would gather from all over to have dinner inside. Every day, she reminded me, and urged me to come by.

Naturally, with our bellies stuffed and us growing sleepy, such a break was essential, so we did stop by.

She prepared hot drinks for everybody, engaging us in conversation through it all. Before I could pay her, she closed the window. I thought she had forgotten, so I waved the 20 that Melanie had insisted on contributing in front of her.

Carmen opened the window just a crack, to tell us this one was on the house.

"You're a real good customer," she said.

And it was good coffee, too. It always is.

Back home, we ate the pie. Then Kalib came with the paper, looking at the Christmas ads.

So this is how it will be for the next month.

This year, I want to see if I can experience some Christmas spirit.

It was easy when I was young. Now it is hard. Despite all the promotions, Christmas tends to sneak up on me suddenly and then it is gone and I wonder if it ever happened at all.

Well, we will see.

Melanie and Charlie.

It is time for them to go, because they need to spend some Thanksgiving time with Charlie's parents. Kalib comes running to say goodbye.

Out the door they go and then they are gone. It always comes to this. Always.

I walk from the front door into the kitchen, where I find Kalib eating butter straight off the butter plate.

Kalib goes to work at 10:00 PM, beardless, but with a mustache. None of us have seen him like this before. Four of his coworkers are doing the same thing.

Maybe it is a contest, I don't know. He just needs a cowboy hat, a good pair of boots, spurs, a six-shooter and a horse. Can you imagine how sharp he would look, sitting on that horse, dressed like that, with this mustache?

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Reader Comments (8)

Oh, man. I am sorry about Stephanie. I cannot imagine not wanting to be part of your family. I look at your pictures, and really, it looks like such wonderful fun. I am sorry for Rex.

November 27, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterdebby

PS I note no facial hair on Kalib.

November 27, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterdebby

When I see Charlie and Melanie together, I always fell they are right for each other.. That they 'fit together' so well.. I don't know if I'm saying this badly, but I don't know how else to say it..
The picture of them going out of the door is a great picture.. :)

November 27, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterAsh

Mmmmm I miss Pumpkin Chiffon pies, normal pumpkin just doesn't cut it for me anymore....

November 28, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterRyan

Thank you, Debby,

As to the facial hair, it was a bad typo. Caleb was who I meant.

Ash - They are both great fun to be with.

Ryan - I trust you got some pumpkin chiffon while you were here. Enjoy Canada.

November 28, 2009 | Registered CommenterWasilla, Alaska, by 300

Your pictures come out so clear! Makes me miss my family...... But I got my duties in college and will be home in nearly 2-3 weeks! I'm excited!

November 29, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterSirraq Khan (Selma)

Selma - You just keep studying hard and then you can enjoy your return home. I'm glad my family reminded you in some ways of your family.

December 2, 2009 | Registered CommenterWasilla, Alaska, by 300

Be sure to keep us updated - this is looks very interesting!

December 17, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterABBY

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