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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Monday
Sep072009

Kalib at the Fair, Part 1: He visits the animals; we bump into Taktuk

We had to park far, far, away from the entrance. And there, in the makeshift grass parking lot, which I suspect was originally a hay field, Kalib got his first amusement ride.

As for me, I had a big debate this day - whether to bring my big pro digitial single-lens reflex camera and two or three lenses or my pocket camera. The argument for the pro camera was that it would give me a lot more versatility and I would get many more good pictures. I would be able to count on the camera to shoot the instant I pushed the shutter (you just never know with the pocket camera) and I could knock off a dozen frames or so all at once if I wanted to catch a sequence of events.

The technical quality of the images would be considerably better than those I could produce with the pocket camera.

The argument against the DSLR was that it would be big and heavy and bulky and when it was all over, I would have many more photos to edit and so it would have to spend more time doing so.

The pocket camera had one thing going for it. It would be light and easy to carry.

I chose the pocket camera, even though I knew it would cost me some pictures. And it did. It cost me plenty and it put limitations on those that I did get, but, oh well.

It made the fair experience more pleasant.

We had to stand in line for a very long time, but afterward Kalib saw some goats. I am not quite certain what he thought of them.

A goat sticks its head through the rails of its pen to get a better look at Kalib.

Kalib turned to his dad for protection against the frightening goat.

Donkeys are very special to Lavina. When she was a small girl on the Navajo Reservation, her grandmother had one and Lavina used to ride it.

It wasn't easy, because the donkey was stubborn. She would climb on and it would just sit there. Only a whip, repeatedly applied, could get that donkey to go.

She liked it anyway. "Donkeys are so cute," she explained.

When she saw this little tiny donkey, she was quite thrilled and took Kalib straight to it. He placed his hand upon it.

Kalib fed some tiny goats. I wonder who the goats will feed?

Kalib learned something about birds, big, birds, Thanksgiving turkey birds.

Kalib also learned about bees - busy, buzzing, honey- making bees. Sadly, the bees here have but one season of life, because they cannot make it through the winter and so they must be replaced each spring with new shipments from the Lower 48.

However, somebody had made a super-insulated, heated, big bee house where people can bring their hives, so they are going to experiment and see if they can get these Wasilla bees through the winter.

I hope they succeed.

Every year when we got to the fair, I see someone from the Arctic Slope. This year, it was Taktuk,  Roberta Ahmaogak of Wainwright, part of Iceberg 14 - the whaling crew and family that took me in and made Wainwright home to me - with her children. Roberta is studying at the University of Alaska, Anchorage. You can find Taktuk and daughter Kara dancing at February's Kivgiq in Barrow right here.

Next up in part 2: Kalib gets frightened by a horse, he zips down a slide and dines on nutritious fair food.

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Reader Comments (1)

I recognized your son from seeing pictures on this site, I automatically looked for you, "Bill!"
Rodney had games games games on his mind. Cara was questioning herself, but she probably remembers you and your camera!
Hello again!

September 8, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterTaktuk

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