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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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Wednesday
Mar112009

Tot pulls fire alarm - daycare gets evacuated - firetruck comes - tots wear space blankets

DateWednesday, March 11, 2009 at 11:10PM

It was awful. We drove into the parking lot of the daycare center where Kalib now goes and there found a firetruck, obviously called to action, and a bunch of toddlers huddled nearby, wrapped in space blankets.

That's not what was awful. That was kind of cute. What was awful is that Margie and I had not seen Kalib for several days. His Mom and Dad had been housesitting for some friends in Anchorage and they had taken him with them.

We had told them not to take him, but to leave him with us. They disobeyed.

Now I had to take Margie to town to get some X-rays so that we would know how well the breaks in her knee and wrist were healing.

Since we were in town, we went to see Kalib, but we arrived during an emergency.

We studied the faces of all the little toddlers huddled by the firetruck.

None belonged to Kalib.

And then the firetruck left.

We spotted Kalib! He was being carried in the arms of a daycare worker. He and the littlest toddlers had all been evacuated to a nearby building, but now she was bringing him back.

There never had been a fire. One of Kalib's more advanced and skilled daycare mates had found the emergency fire alarm and had pulled it.

Hence, all the excitement.

Too bad we did not get there earlier, when people still thought there might be a fire.

Once he was safely back inside the daycare center, Kalib completely ignored me. He wanted only to go to his Mom, who I had picked up at work and brought over.

Once he was safely in his mother's arms, Kalib wanted to come to me.

Kalib, coming to me.

And look at that! It's right there on his sweatshirt. It is he who is coming to the rescue, not me. 

As for Margie, I haven't the time or energy to post the experience tonight, but I will try tomorrow, if nothing prevents me.

AuthorWasilla, Alaska, by 300 | Comment1 Comment |
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Reader Comments (1)

My co-workers son pulled the handle. When asked why he did it his response was, " because my hand was on fire."

it wasn't.

Lisa

March 12, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterLisa

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