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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Sunday
Apr102011

Kalib rocks in the canoe, Jobe rocks on the piano and then they are gone; fantasies of life as a dedicated and successful "Grampa Blogger"

Yesterday, I posted but one picture and a bit of text, noting that even as I did so, I was hearing the sounds of Kalib and Margie outside and I wanted to go see what was up.

After I made that post, I went outside and this is what I found.

Kalib, in the tiny remnant of this season's pitiful snowfall - perhaps the least that we have seen in all of our 30 winters here.

I mentioned the sound of him tapping a canoe with a stick? Actually, he was filling the old, green, Coleman canoe with rocks. We must drain this water out of it soon, before it becomes a breeding place for mosquitoes.

We kept the boys with us all day so that Jacob and Lavina could accomplish all that they needed to accomplish before they had to go to airport to board the plane and begin their trip to New Mexico/Arizona. We brought the boys home a bit after 8:00 PM. 

Jacob was still at work, working on a project he had to complete before leaving. Lavina still had much to do, including some shopping.

So Margie and I told her we would come right back after we a paid a visit to Larry Aiken at the hospital. 

That is what we did - although Larry was in deep and needed sleep and never knew we had come.

Soon, Jobe was rocking up a storm on his little piano.

My goodness! This tot has talent!

Those were actual notes that he played, several at a time.

The boys with their mom, not long before their dad came home. I think this would be a good one to make black and white, but I don't have time right now.

This morning, the rock-filled water in the canoe had frozen over. Lavina sent me a text from LAX, where they have a long layover before continuing on to Albuquerque. "Kalib loving all the planes... he's screaming "jet" for all to hear!"

For awhile, I was getting worried about whether or not Kalib was ever going to start talking. It seemed to me that it was taking longer than it ought to. But now he is talking all the time.

I cannot understand everything that he says, but I understand a lot.

Like, when we drove them home the other night, the light turned yellow on us at the awkward time - the time when you are not sure if you should continue or stop, because it is that close. I decided to stop, and so stopped quickly.

"Gosh, grampa!" he said.

Then I bought him an ice cream cone at McDonald's and handed it over the seat back to him. It was kind of stretch and I did not know if he could reach it.

"Can you get it?" I asked.

"I get it," he answered. And he got it.

Last night, just before we left them, his dad had returned. They had been playing with a toy shark maybe three inches long, but it disappeared.

"Damnit, Daddy!" Kalib swore.

This time, I'm not teasing, either.

That's really what he said.

"Damnit, Daddy!"

Damnit, anyway. Now they are gone and I am not going to see them for at least three weeks, maybe longer. Maybe a month. They will only be gone for two weeks, but I will be gone when they get back.

Sometimes, I think maybe I should just drop all other ambitions and be a full-time "Grampa blogger." There's lots of "mommy bloggers" out there, you know, and at least a few of them have figured out how to make a very good living doing it.

If I were a grampa blogger, I could be at LAX with them right now, waiting to board the flight to ABQ. 

And then I could go tag around with them in ABQ. I could then follow them to Lavina's childhood home in the Navajo Nation, where they are going to help shear sheep. Oh, the photos I could take! Next, I would follow them to the White Mountain Apache Res, where grandma is going to go down and meet them, too; where everyone but me and a few billion other people will get together in Carrizo Canyon on Easter Sunday, have an Apache style cookout and hunt Easter eggs.

These are the kinds of things that I could be doing, right now, with my grandsons, if I were a dedicated and successful Grampa blogger.

I think my love and dedication for and to Alaska ought to be clear to anyone. But I would really like to be there for that sheep shearing. I would really like to be there for that Easter Egg hunt. And one time, in Albuquerque, Lisa and I paid a visit to the acquarium.

Oh, my goodness! Kalib is going to go nuts when he sees those sharks swimming around! "Shark! Shark! Shark!" he will be hollering. Jobe will watch the sharks in quiet fascination. He will study their every move and gesture.

And if I were a dedicated and successful Grandpa blogger, I could catch it all.

And then we could return to Alaska. Jobe will really be walking by then. We could go hiking. We could go canoeing. I could begin to show my grandsons this great place they call Alaska. I could take them to Prince William Sound when the Copper River King and Red salmon come in; I could take them to the Arctic Slope to witness the landing of a whale by their large adopted family, onto the Yukon to see fishwheels turning. We could do it all, my grandsons and I - if I could but be a dedicated, successful, Alaska Grampa blogger.

I wonder why I never thought of this before?

 

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Reader Comments (6)

You definitely are a dedicated, successful, Alaska Grampa blogger. Those boys are beautiful!

April 10, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterManxMamma

I miss them already! Can't imagine how busy you're going to need to be not to get so lonesome without them.

April 10, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterGA Peach

LOL Jobe playing the piano! What a great shot,

April 10, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterMichelle

super pictures today, you have a beautiful family...and i think you are a great grandpa blogger now.

April 11, 2011 | Unregistered Commentertwain12

Dearest Uncle Bill, you are a dedicated blogger for sure and THE BEST... and if there is a grampa in between then I'l be the happiest of all!!! :) :) :)

April 11, 2011 | Unregistered CommenterSuji

Well... I miss my two sons. I really want to hug them but I really need to work so that I can give them a better life in the futures to come.

July 28, 2011 | Unregistered Commenterstriae

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