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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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Friday
Sep182009

Cocoon mode* - day 10: I see a babe in the Metro Cafe; I feel frustrated; lament for Mary

DateFriday, September 18, 2009 at 7:06AM

I am frustrated now. I took a series of photos this morning from my bicycle and another series this evening, of Kalib, and I would like to post both series in their entirety.

But I haven't the time. I am in Cocoon mode. Furthermore, I am exhausted.

So this one of this very cute baby who did not wave back at me will have to do. I am at the drive-through to the Metro Cafe, where I have just ordered two coffees, one for me and one for Margie, who stayed home.

It will still be hot when I deliver it to her.

Carmen tells me that the local classic car club will be coming to her grand opening Saturday, noon till 2:00, Lucille Street, just south of Spruce. So there should be some neat cars there.

Too bad Melanie and Charlie have gone to Portland. Charlie could bring his Oldsmobile Starfire and we could go in that, spill coffee on the upholstery and then dab it up with cinnamon rolls. Then we could eat the cinnamon rolls and reminisce about the good old days, when people drove about in Oldsmobile Starfires, dipping their donuts into their coffee as they listened to Peter, Paul, and Mary sing about little boys and dragons, flowers that go with soldiers to the graveyard, and jet planes that take you away even though you hate to go.

And now Mary is dead.

It just doesn't feel quite right. But then it never does, even though that is how it always goes. 

 

*Cocoon mode: Until I finish up a big project that I am working on, I am keeping this blog at bare-minimum simple. I anticipate about one month.

AuthorWasilla, Alaska, by 300 | Comment3 Comments |
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Reader Comments (3)

I love your tongue-in-cheeky titles, Bill... :)

September 18, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterKarenJ

Well, Bill, gotta say, if you hope to see Charlie and his Starfire again, you probably should avoid talking about spilling coffee on the upholstery and dabbing it up w/ cinnamon rolls. IMHO.

September 18, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterdebby

Thanks, Karen - occasionally, I bite my tongue.

Debby - Actually, it was Charlie who first taught me how a cinnamon roll that had just been used to dab coffee off automobile upholstery could be.

We often get together for parties where we all bring cinnamon rolls and coffee, sit down in the car and... you get the idea.

September 19, 2009 | Registered CommenterWasilla, Alaska, by 300

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