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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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Monday
Jul052010

Flying from Copenhagen to Anchorage - my big day at the movies

DateMonday, July 5, 2010 at 5:15AM

I left my hotel in Copenhagen for the airport at 7:00 AM this morning and arrived at my house in Wasilla just before 10:00 PM - 25 hours, when the time difference is factored in.

Here I am in Amsterdam, where the switch from planes was long and tedious. I am too tired to explain. It is now 10:47 PM in Wasilla and I just want to go bed. But first I will finish this blog and set it to publish for 5:15 AM, July 5.

I follow the crowd into the airplane that will take us from Amsterdam to Minneapolis St. Paul. We will fly directly over Nuuk, Greenland.

I watched three movies between Amsterdam and Minneapolis: The Book of Eli, The Hurt Locker and this one, Rinco, a Japanese film with English subtitles. This was the last of the three and I was worried that we would land before I could see the end.

The final scene ended just as our wheels touched the runway. The credits then began to roll, but were almost instantly cut off as the movie service ended.

It's okay. The credits were in Japanese and I can't read Japanese anyway. 

I was thinking about my friend, Chie Sakakibara.

If she had been flying with me, she could have read them - if only they hadn't been cut off.

The final leg, MSP-ANC, was about 6 hours, but it seemed less, so I must have actually dozed off.

Margie picked me up and drove me home. Here she is standing in the backyard. Around us, we can hear the sounds of rockets exploding and firecrackers popping as people celebrate the Fourth.

This will probably keep up, off and on, until 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning.

Jimmy, with me in my office, getting a drink of fish tea.

Jimmy loves his fish tea. And he loves me. Margie says he has been wandering about, lost, through the house. Now he is happy. He keeps jumping up onto my chest, stays for awhile, then jumps off, drinks a bit more fish tea, then comes back and jumps up again.

He just did, again. He is making it hard to type. 

I don't care. Jimmy's purring right in my left ear and I'm done.

Pistol is here, too.

I haven't seen Chicago yet, but I did hear her hiss just when I walked into the house. Not at me - at Pistol. She does not like Pistol at all. That is why I have not seen her yet.

Now, Jimmy has left. Pistol-Yero has taken his place - but on my lap, not my chest or shoulder.

 

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AuthorWasilla, Alaska, by 300 | Comment6 Comments |
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Reader Comments (6)

good to see you made it, what a long trip though

July 5, 2010 | Unregistered Commentertwain12

welcome home, catch up on some well needed rest and time zone adjustment!

July 5, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterPat in MA

Welcome home, Bill. Get some rest!

July 5, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAkMom

Welcome back :)

July 5, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAsh

Looks like this morning you've brought us home some sun!!! We can use a spell of sun after the rain and gloomy skies.

July 5, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterCyndy E

Welcome Home! Hope you are enjoying this crazy wind!

July 5, 2010 | Unregistered CommenterAlicia Greene

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