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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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Saturday
Dec052009

Kalib moved out tonight

DateSaturday, December 5, 2009 at 4:03AM

This is the first image of a great many that I took tonight, as Kalib moved with his parents into their new house in Anchorage. Of them all, it is the only one that I have even looked at so far. I am exhausted - too tired to look at even one more image - it is completely beyond me right now to sit down, edit this take, prepare the images, post them and write whatever nonsense comes into my mind.

I can't do it tonight. I can't tell you anything about it.

I must close down, go to bed and see if I can get some sleep.

I am most happy for my son, his wife, their son and their unborn baby, who now have a home all of their own. This is what I want for them.

Yet, my arms feel heavy, and so does my heart. 

A wonderful period of my life has come to an end.

No, not an end - but a change, and in a way, a change is an end.

And I am so exhausted. I cannot tell you how exhausted I am.

I cannot edit pictures tonight.

Can I call 1:00 AM tonight?

To me, it is tonight, although, technically, it is tomorrow morning.

Yet, it is never tomorrow - not tomorrow morning, not tomorrow afternoon, not tomorrow evening. 

It is always one moment - right now - and at the very moment that we perceive the moment, that moment is gone.

So I think I will go to bed and try again, tomorrow.

There is no one here to feed my fish.

Will my fish starve, now?

And what will a little boy do, if he can't feed his grampa's fish?

AuthorWasilla, Alaska, by 300 | Comment7 Comments |
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Reader Comments (7)

Perhaps that grandson will need to call you every single day to remind you to feed your fish. You are a forgetful fellow, after all. Kalib will simply have to remind you. Every day.

You and Margie will need to pamper yourselves for a while. You've had a big change in your lives. You both will miss that little boy. And his parents too.

December 5, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterdebby

Hoping you are catching up on sleep with dreams of Kalib.

December 5, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterWhiteStone

Dang- tears in my eyes reading this.

A chapter ends. Time for the next one. May it also be as good.

Signed,
A Grandma, too.

December 5, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterHistoryGoddess

The bond between grandparents and grandchildren is impossible to break when it has been grounded in the grandparents home, Bill & Margie. We know from past experiences at my parents' home.
This is only a chapter in young Kalib's life. :)

maak

December 5, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterMargaret Ahmaogak

Grandpa's and grandma's share such a bond with a grandchild. An "empty nest" again -- whenever a child leaves, it leaves a BIG hole and the silence is deafening. Sending lots of cyberhugs. He is close by, yet so far away. And a new chapter for all begins.

December 5, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterGrandma Nancy

Awww, such sadness.. but what's coming is going to be so great! Watching them grow in their new house, new family member coming... it's going to be great! Rest up. We expect much from you upcoming :)

December 5, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterMikey

Debby - I guess I had better buy him a cell phone!

Whitestone - That would be a nice way to sleep.

History Goddess - I hope so. Thank you.

Maak - It made me happy to find your note. What I always loved so much when I stayed with your parents was how everyone - grandchildren, nieces, nephews, all came in and out of the house freely and at all times, all greeted with love, all as one big, huge, family.

Grandma - Yes. It has been very silent. Just me and the cats.

Mikey - Thank you for the encouragement.

December 7, 2009 | Registered CommenterWasilla, Alaska, by 300

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