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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Saturday
Oct302010

I look into my grandson's eyes and see the year 1863 vaguely - a Navajo, imprisoned in the Bosque Redondo, an Apache in the orchards below the red cliffs of Carrizo Canyon, a Mormon with his many wives and scores of children

Yesterday was Lavina's birthday, so Margie drove into town, picked Kalib and Jobe up and brought them home. She did this so that Jacob and Lavina could go out and celebrate however they chose, free for one night of their responsibilities as parents.

In the evening, I sat with Jobe on my lap, Margie at my side.

Jobe was all attuned. I wonder what he heard?

When I looked into Jobe's face, for some reason my mind suddenly shot back to a very specific year, one that I was not here for - 1863. I tried to picture a selection of his direct ancestors, all at the same moment in that year. I saw a Navajo man, with his family, in custody and mourning at the Bosque Redondo. 

I saw an Apache man, with his rifle, ambling peacefully about among the corn fields and wild peach trees growing in the red earth beneath the red rock cliffs of Carrizo Canyon.

I saw a Mormon man, strolling amidst his fields, two or three of his seven wives walking with him and a dozen or so of his 63 children.

All of these events were taking place within a relative short distance of each other. Among these people were individuals who, if they met under the wrong circumstances, might have killed each other.

And then no Jobe would ever have been.

I don't know if any of these mental pictures that came to me were at all accurate.

I thought that I should give myself an assignment to trace Jobe's ancestry back to a certain day in 1863 and find out.

But how would I do that?

Ditto for Kalib, and his ancestry.

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Reader Comments (3)

Thanks again, Bill, for sharing your flights of thought with us. Sent me on my own journey back in time to the farmers back in Sweden with little plots of land and when dad died, it went to the eldest son, and so my ancestors immigrated to the farming/mining areas in Minnesota, Wisconsin and Micihigan. Wouldn't it wonderful if we would all work toward peace on earth, good will to men (and women) of every faith and persuasion. God bless.....

October 30, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterGrandma Nancy

I love your verbal snapshot - it says so much.

October 30, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterCGinWI

Genealogy is a fascinating topic, but you put it in a whole new perspective. My dad and uncle traced their family back to 1066 -- they were Danish mercenaries who came to Britain with the Norman Invasion, liked the place, and decided to stay. But to trace the lines to one date -- it's a captivating thought!

And the boys are beautiful - and getting so big! Kalib looks almost grown!

October 30, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterCynthiaC54

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