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
Apr302010

I go to Anchorage to pick Margie up and find Kalib ill; he eats the fish food; Tyler and his saw; Bear Meech and Diamond

Margie had spent her four days babysitting Jobe while Lavina went back to work and it was time for me to pick her up. So, in the afternoon, I climbed into the Escape and headed for Anchorage. Along the way, I passed this guy on his big Harley Davidson.

By the time I reached the house, Lavina had already returned home from work. Kalib had not gone to day care this day, because he was feeling a bit ill.

I found Lavina giving him comfort.

Margie held the sleeping Jobe, strapped into his cradle, on her lap. Lisa came by and sat down next to them. Jacob had yet to return from work.

Lavina and Kalib.

Jacob returned at about 6:00 PM. His ailing son lifted his finger and the two touched.

This caused Kalib to feel a bit better, so he got up and stood beside his father as they watched a bit of the evening news. The big story was about how the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico is much worse than BP originally reported and appears to be on its way to becoming a true environmental disaster.

Shell Oil plans to drill five exploratory wells in the Chukchi Sea this summer, where bowheads, belugas, gray whales, polar bears, walrus, seals, migratory birds, fish and plankton thrive.

President Obama, maybe you should give this a little more thought.

Next, Kalib dove onto his Auntie Lisa to wrestle with her. This was a good sign that he was feeling better.

Then he headed toward his bedroom to feed the fish that I gave him.

His dad handed him the cannister of food. Kalib knows that he is not supposed to eat the fish food himself, but he pulls out a stick, smiles mischievously at his dad, then shoves it into his mouth and eats before anyone can stop him.

Jobe woke up before it was time for him to wake up. He started to cry. Lavina picked him up and began to rock him back to sleep.

Soon, Jobe would return to sleep. He remained in his cradle throughout the duration of my visit.

Then Margie and I headed over to pay a short visit to Melanie and Rex before we headed home. Directly across the street from Melanie's house, her neighbor Tyler had downed a tree and was now cutting it up.

Bear Meech observed as we headed up the stairs to Melanie's front door.

Inside, Diamond chilled warmly. Poof came trilling to my lap right after I sat down. I spent more time with Poof than with anybody else, but, somehow, I don't know how, I failed to take a picture of him.

Oh well. He was the star last time.

I had a lot of work that I still wanted to do before bedtime, so soon we headed home, where I got lazy, and put most of that work off.

I guess that I had better get it done today.

 

And my thanks to those of you who clicked that button and contributed. This blog has a long way to go, but now it has begun to generate revenue. Thank you!

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Reader Comments (3)

hope Kalib feel better soon and i love the picture of Diamond , actually i love all, the cats :)
The oil spill just maces me sick, i really wish we would look more seriously at alternatives.
When i visit my family in Germany i'm struck at the small cars, the solar panels on countless homes, their commitment to recycling etc. Maybe it is the large amount of people living in relatively small countries that makes it more of a necessity.

April 30, 2010 | Unregistered Commentertwain12

Lavina is one beautiful woman! I love visiting your neighborhood. As a census enumerator I visited my first neighborhood today in Willow Grove PA (my town but far away from my house). One woman yelled at me when I rang her bell, so I wrote in the column "REF" for refused and then in the Comments column wrote "Uncooperative woman w/barking dog.' I carry my Census bag and wear my nametag dangling round my neck which gets tangled up in my beard, oops, I mean, my eyeglass chain. The paperwork for the census enumerator is horrific beyond belief!

April 30, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterRuth Z Deming

Furless Jim is off to Kodiak to accompany his AK Guard friend (recently back from 2nd tour in Iraq.) Friend's special bear permit, Jim is pretty much his kemosabe, trusty scout.

April 30, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterCyndy

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