I worked at a factory in Cleveland Tennessee. Worked long shifts and lived by myself in an absurdly cheap minimalist apartment. Granted, the minimalism came not just from sensibility, but partly from necessity as well. The one room apartment was right in front of a rail way line, and the griping shake that this caused gave me reason to speculate on the possibility of whether or not I could, if necessary, run right through my walls.
I don't remember why, probably welling up from a well bred romantic wander-lust, but I found myself in the local library looking for books on Arctic explorers. On the shelves of a southern library who's local patrons were more concerned with comparing the new Wal-Mart to the old, and finding movies staring Brendan Fraser, I found an old yet strong looking blue bound book titled The Friendly Arctic.
I took the book back to my home, crossed over the railroad tracks, climbed the step hill, sat down in the grass, and began to read. The Friendly Arctic. Filled with the tales of true exploration, beautiful pull out maps, and a healthy supply of bearded men, the Friendly Arctic was a gift from G-d to a heart that had no business hoping for beauty. The Friendly arctic excitedly argued that, while most considered the arctic a cold dead land, it was actually full of vibrant life and beauty. I leave it at that.
When my brothers and I were discussing starting something the might have resembled a record label, we threw around names...The particle factory, trade wind controls, The Friendly Arctic. The name grew and visions have emerged, grown, adapted, changed. To me, whatever the application, The Friendly Arctic has meant finding, and sharing the beauty that lays within much that seems cold and dead. It is a tremendous blessing to know, that while I currently can not fulfill many of the dreams that have been attached to the name, my brother and sister are still using it.
Why am I sharing all of this? This Christmas I was blessed with some money as a gift. Emily inspired me to look at finding a copy of this book ( I still had secret plans to one day return to Cleveland and permanently check out their copy.) I found, for a reasonable price, an autographed and inscribed first edition copy in excellent condition.
The inscription reads:
To Mima J. Weaver:
Katharine and I started out to get a (salt?) collar for you in a jewlary store, but the designs did not suit, so she concluded you would like an autographed book of mine better. I hope she guessed right.
Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Dayton
October 26, 1922
