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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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Entries in Vagabond Blues (1)

Monday
Jan182010

Vagabond coffee drinker in front of the world; Kalib comes to feed Bobby and the fish, then takes them home

DateMonday, January 18, 2010 at 4:00AM

Kalib was asleep in his car seat when he and his parents arrived to pick up the fish and so the lot of us headed over to Palmer to get some coffee at Vagabond Blues. Some of you may recall an earlier stop at Vagabond in August, when I photographed Charlie standing in front of this very map.

I have decided that each time I wind up in Vagabond with Charlie, I will photograph him in front of this map.

It should prove to be an interesting study.

I wish I had thought of it years ago.

The lady behind the cash register at Vagabond Blues in Palmer.

Kelsey, Vagabond Blues barista.

Charlie and his mug. Charlie always comes up with neat mugs.

Kalib was still asleep when we arrived at Vagabond, so Jacob had to stay in the car with him.

By the time we returned home, Kalib was wide awake. The first thing that he asked to do was to come out here to my office to feed "Bobby," to feed "fish." Ever since he has moved into his new home in Anchorage, he has continually brought up the subject of feeding fish. He has been sad that he had no fish to feed. His parents found what appeared to be a good deal on an aquarium complete with fish on Craigslist, but someone else beat them to it.

So I decided to give him one of my four active aquariums - not the one behind him, but the one that is most prominent in my earlier Kalib-fish feeding pictures.

I don't think that he understood yet that he would be going home with an aquarium and fish of his own.

Before they took the fish, Kalib, Jacob and Melanie did a little fish dance.

We also shared a little dinner. Royce took a seat near his buddy.

Kalib points at Bobby, his favorite fish, the one he named, the big pleco. I'm afraid that I did not do too well taking pictures of the fish-moving, because I was too active in the process.

I kept the orange parrot fish pictured in earlier posts. I moved it from the 55 gallon tank that Kalib would take home to the 90 gallon tank where Bobby had lived.

Kalib, about to leave for home with his fish.

I hope they all survive. They are pretty old fish, mostly eight and nine years, but the two smaller ones are four or five; I can't remember exactly.

Had things gone according to my original plan, I would have joined Margie in Arizona today. Tomorrow, assuming that everything goes according to my current plan, I will go to Barrow.

I have much to do in a short time up there. I will try to post every day, at least one or two pictures.

AuthorWasilla, Alaska, by 300 | Comment7 Comments |
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