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
Feb062009

Insundry Images from today: Kalib on walk; Muzzy misbehaves; cell tower goes up, airplane passes by moon, cop-stop; kids on Schrock

This morning, I cooked eggs, bacon and hashbrowns and afterward I needed to go on a walk. It was a warm day, so Lavina put Kalib in his stroller and the two came with me.

Ever since Margie got hurt, I have had little exercise. I have taken only three walks and all have been short. I have eaten a great deal of junk food. I could feel it on this walk. My breath headed in the direction of short on slight uphills that, at the time of Margie's accident, I would not even have noticed.

Lavina asked me if I was going to go snowshoeing anytime soon. Ha! Before I even think about it, I've got to turn this around. Today was a start. A small start.

Muzzy misbehaved. But only because he loves to play with other dogs so much that sometimes he forgets who is boss. So he chased after a dog, hoping to play with it. The poor dog fled in terror. Afterward, Lavina reminded him that he is not the alpha male; she is. No striking, no violence - she just spoke firmly and he submitted.

A bit later, we saw some goats. She put the leash on him, just in case he forgot.

In the afternoon, I drove to Little Miller's to get some coffee for me and to bring back a cup to Margie. The coffee was very hot, much hotter than she likes, so I meandered a bit on the return, until finally I came down Wards Road. I was surprised to see the cellphone tower up. Given yesterday's entry, I don't know why I was surprised, but I was.

Cellphone tower and moon. The coverage here is still weak and spotty. I wonder when they will turn it on?

As it looks now, coming down Wards.

After I park the car in our driveway and get out, an airplane flies by. Moonlight grows.

Come night, Margie and I needed to eat. Everyone else was gone. So I went to Carr's and bought some food, including fresh raspberries and blackberries. They were identical to raspberries and blackberries that I had bought in Washington, D.C. and that Mary Ann had fed us in Salt Lake City.

As I drove home, I passed a "cop-stop." The officer had just returned to his car from the Chevy Trailblazer that he had pulled over and was about to get into it. I can only speculate as to why he had pulled the Trailblazer over to begin and that speculation could be completely wrong. On the other hand, it could be absolutely true, too.

Still, I will keep all such speculation in my head.

 

As to this photo, I place it here only to remind myself that it exists - assuming that one day, I will come back and read this post, because I will forget all about it, otherwise. It is a picture that I think has potential, but the foreground is severely underexposed and the sky, overexposed. So here, right now, it will look like nothing.

But one day, maybe, if I can spend some time working on it, drawing out what is in the foreground and smoothing out the resultant noise a bit (this will be difficult) and bringing the sky back in line (this will be easy) it just might be a good photo.

It might not be, either. It might be beyond hope.

Right now, I don't have the time or energy to fool with it.

Speaking of energy, sooner or later I must deal with Margie's accident in here, and the aftermath. Maybe tomorrow. No, wait! Grahamn Kracker has been promising to get a certain post up on his Kracker Cat blog, so I think perhaps I should hold back here, keep tomorrow's entry simple, and let him get it done.

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Reader Comments (1)

The potential of that last picture touches me for some reason...I like it as potential. Wow, they put that cell tower up fast! That's an excellent symbol of the difference between the rail belt and Southeast. I'm impressed with the submissive dog shot...mine is a chow mix, not prone to submitting to a human without some serious gruff talk. Thanks for your stories.

February 8, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterKelly Mitchell

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