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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Wednesday
Dec092009

Half moon rises over Wasilla; black cat waits in the house; Kalib moves out, part 5: after a bit of exploration, he joins his family in the dining room

The half-moon was out this morning. I made a big mistake, though. I had just taken a picture inside, with the ISO on my pocket camera cranked up a bit and the shutter speed down to 1/40 of a second. When I saw the plane coming, I quickly twisted the ISO down to 80, but forgot to change the shutter speed. The plane was coming fast, so I had to lift the camera fast and shoot.

As a result, I got a bit of camera shake. And probably, I will never see an airplane fly under a half moon in quite this manner ever again.

Oh well. The picture is what it is.

This was the scene that I had photographed at 1/40 of a second, taking my time, trying to hold the camera steady. The other day, as Margie and I went through the drive-through at Metro Cafe to order our hot drinks, Carmen pointed to a sign that told us she was now serving breakfast sandwiches.

I promised her that, sooner or later, I would come in and try one out. So today, Margie had to go to Anchorage to see the dentist and get some teeth drilled and filled. This meant that I would be without a car, so I had her drop me off at Metro Cafe so I could try the sandwich.

She had sausage and eggs and ham and eggs, both with cheese. I ordered the ham. It is not the same as having ham and eggs-over easy, hash browns and mult-grain toast or pancakes at Family Restaurant, but for a coffee shop stop, particularly if you are driving to work, it's pretty good.

And the coffee is delicious - way better than Family Restaurant coffee.

When she found out I was going to walk home, Carmen was worried that I would get cold. She offered to give me a ride. But it is only about two miles, the temperature was a very pleasant two degrees above zero (-17 C), so I set out walking.

Pretty soon, I saw a man and a black dog ahead of me. They were moving slow. I quickly caught them, shot three frames, then walked along with them for about 100 yards, until they turned off on Mulchatna, were they live.

"What's your name and the dog's name?" I asked.

"I'm Brian, he's Bubba," he spoke in an accent that reminded me a bit of the Kennedy's - JFK, Bobby, and Ted.

"Looks like kind of an old dog," I observed.

"Yes," Brian answered, "he's getting old." 

"You sound like you're from the Northeast?"

"Massachusetts. I'm from Massachusetts."

"How long have you been in Wasilla?"

"Eight years," he answered. "I came here eight years ago to visit my daughter for two weeks and I never left."

"You must like it alright, then," I mused.

"I like it allright," he said. "I don't even mind the cold that much. There's nothing I can do about it, so what the f..."

I have spent enough time in the Arctic and the Interior that it always strikes me as a bit odd when people speak of Wasilla as if it were a really cold place - although for sure, from time to time, it can get pretty damn frigid, but today was not such a day.

We exchanged a few more pleasantries, then came to Mulchatna, where he and the dog turned right and walked away.

I continued on. Often, the half-moon was hidden from my view, but sooner or later it always reappeared.

Half moon.

And then, all too quickly, I was walking down my own driveway, toward my own house and there was my own, good, black cat-buddy Jim, looking at me through the window.

Once he realized that I was taking his picture, he tried to act indifferent, but I knew better. He was very pleased.

Now... I hope I am not drawing this out too long, but right now, these pictures are the only contact that I am having with my little grandson. So here I am, back to last Friday evening, continuing the "Kalib Moves Out" series. And here is Kalib, exploring his new house with his mom.

He observes as she hangs the curtains.

As mom cleans the refrigerator - which she plans to replace with a bigger one as soon as she can, Kalib tries to get her attention.

This is the dining room. They plan to replace the carpet, perhaps with the flooring that they all stand on here. They wanted to try it out. They liked it.

I will have two more entries in this series and then it will be done.

Then I must find an excuse to go into town and spend some time with my grandson.

Or he could come out here.

Royce, the elderly orange cat, misses him terribly.

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Reader Comments (5)

I'm not certain "very pleasant" and "two degrees above zero" go together in one sentence. In Iowa that is not correct grammar.

We had a storm blow through last night...still blowing...and it will be "very pleasant" for some time, according to Wasilla grammar.

You might like Iowa this week.

December 9, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterWhiteStone

I think a half-moon sky is an ancient sign that one must go visit grandchildren.

December 9, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterWhiteStone

Huh. I'd heard it was a new moon that was a sign of that. Maybe it was a quarter moon... No, wait. It might have been a full moon. But WhiteStone may be right after all. Just to be on the safe side, you should not be ignoring ancient signs. To Anchorage, gabba...you must make haste to Anchorage!!!

Oh, and WhiteStone is right about the grammar. That sentence would not 'fly' in Pennsylvania either!

December 9, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterdebby

Your last sentence about Royce missing Kalib made me want to cry. I'm sure Royce does miss him terribly. Those two were great buddies. Please give all the kat kids some extra love for me, especially the elderly orange man.

December 9, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterAmy

I do think this is a most incredible website for proclaiming great wonders of Our God!

March 1, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterNokincice

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