Lemhi County ID Archives Obituaries.....McRea, Edward March 17, 1934 ************************************************ Copyright. All rights reserved. http://www.usgwarchives.net/copyright.htm http://www.usgwarchives.net/id/idfiles.htm ************************************************ File contributed for use in USGenWeb Archives by: George Finch geofinch@earthlink.net April 3, 2005, 1:55 pm Lemhi County Recorder Herald Lemhi County Recorder Herald, Wednesday, March 28, 1934, Page 2 (Thank You Rick Hodges of the Recorder Herald for permission to post this Obit) Muted Strings- "At Evening Time It Shall be Light!" Wonderful words, unsurpassed. At Evening Time, but a short week ago, a man died. Not feeling so well, yet not sick, in the evening time just before he died, in his restless wandering from room to room, what more natural than his hand should reach out and take from its place upon the wall his violin, and tucking it beneath his chin he played. And almost as though prescience of the Everlasting Sleep which was to be his guided the bow across the strings, and soft strains which drifted through the room's evening quiet were these: "Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee! E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me! Still all my soul will be, Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!" (Softly the singing voice of the violin wandered into the depths, stumbling through the darkness over stony ways, seeking, searching) "Though like a wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone, Yet in my dreams I'd be, Nearer, my God to Thee, Nearer to Thee!" (Over and over, muted to mysterious depths of plaintiff tenderness, the silver notes threaded their way to emerge in joyous triumph and sink again to a subdued trusting, vibrant sweetness.) "Or , if on joyful wing, Cleaving to the Sky, Sun, mood and stars forgot, Upward I fly, Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God to Thee, Nearer to thee!" It was as though a man had played his own funeral hymn. A hymn which has followed so many into the depths out and on up toward the heights and into the Beyond, to break with "Joyful wing" into that "Evening Time Which Shall Be Light"; and having played it the man, literally, "Gathered the drapery of his couch about him and lay down to pleasant dreams," in the midst of loved ones. The violin, its silver voice muted to silence, in it's accustomed place. The funeral rites for Edward McRea were attended almost enmasse by the community people and with friends from other places, who came to stand with bowed heads during a service of exceeding sweetness conducted by Father Bradley. A service of loving compassion which sought to bring solace, if possible to those bereaved. Beautiful flowers banked the bier of the sleeping man; who wanted all things done in "a simple way." Sons and daughters, now grown, came to step softly over thresholds their childish feet had worn thin, to stand at their father's bier, eyes tearblinded in grief at the wrench of mortal separation. And the hands and voice of Mother-love, which had been quick and sweet to comfort childish sorrows, were brave and sweet to comfort men and women grown. Enduring Mother-love. And when Edward McRea did "but wrap the drapery of his couch about him and lay down to pleasant dreams" he went but a short distance from that home of treasured associations, of memories but endeared by Times passing, to be laid to rest in the little cemetery, part of the McRea estate, on the brow if the bench overlooking the Old Town of Junction, home of his boyhood, where Past, Present and Future keep tryst with Eternity. * * * Other Notes: The Old West- We feel doubly privileged in that we are able to today to devote this space to the memory of one of the Upper Valley's Pioneer men; because this friend, a truly western cattleman, was a consistent and persistent reader of his county paper; and he especially liked the Leadore page. Deservedly or otherwise he bestowed "unqualified" praise on our efforts in getting out the weekly news letter Not picking out the flaws in the pattern of construction, not searching out a few possibly crooked stitches, but viewing the completed garment as a whole and calling it, good. We appreciate such praise and its encouragement, which we knew to be sincere. Ed McRea was spoken of by men as being "square". On any committee or in any group of men with whom he served it was said of him: "He will do what he believes is right," What man can do more? At the time of his death he was an active member of the Leadore school board, and of the CWA. Romance of the old west has been portrayed in fiction, the colorful theme of story, song, and poesy. The simple life story of Ed McRea was interwoven with Old West in a reality greater than any fiction. From youth until the day of his death he was a cattleman. As a cattleman he prospered. And he was above everything else, sincere. Fatherless at an early age he came first with his mother to the booming smelter camp of old Nicholia, and later to Junction; then a lonely little pioneer town set within a circle of mountain peaks, purple in summer, whitely beautiful in winter. His schooling was obtained here with treasured time spent at the University of Valparaiso in the company of a boyhood friend "Billy" Smith of Salmon. He married the sweetheart of his youth, Margaret Vreeland, daughter of another pioneer cattleman. The wedding took place at the Vreeland ranch home east of town, the ranch now owned by Peter Vreeland. After a brief interval spent at Eighteen Mile the present McRea ranch was acquired from "Grandpa" Hailey, and it has been the McRea cattle ranch since. Days of happy associations ensued, when hope and joy and love were woven into every rafter, beam and sill of that home; social activities in which the young couple took their accepted place. Then the patter of children's feet, the lilt of childish voices cane and helped to endear the new home. And there was sweetness of toil and content of rest. Freshness of dawns came grayly over the eastern ridge to spread in a rosy glow; came the full brilliance of noonday heat beating in dazzling waves on sage brush flats; the fading afterglow when purple shadows came cooly down to mantle those same flats from the front stoop the close of day was watched as glorious washes of color marked the sun's going down; moonlight like a silver sea with the distant hills a rugged shoreline; rain sweeping the hills and irrigating ditches becoming silver ribbons across gray-green expanses; little by little by little snow banks fade to disappear; rocky knolls are covered with the rose flush of bitterroots in flower; willow and cottonwood break into leaf, and living green spreads all the Cleft Peak country. Lowing herds make their eager way in long dark strings to spread into open and foothills hungry for lush grazing. Summer succeeds spring to lend warmth and mellowness. Hay fields ripen richly and are put in the stack; bunch grass heads are brown, heavy and rich in nutriment. Fall walks with eager feet over the lowlands, the hills, the height, clothing them in warmest of scotch plaids in anticipation of a time of bitter cold; wood is hauled from beckoning pine and fir clad hills; figures in schaps and spurs with sweating horses and creaking saddle leather go gaily forth on the fall roundup scouring sage brush hollows and aspen groves for cattle grown sleek as eels. Pastures are dotted with herds, old and new, calves making a bowling bedlam of summer quiet. Shipping time or driving time, "Ah, It is good to inhale that first, wild crisp tang of winter," the cattleman thinks, as firs blizzard swoops down and the drifts swiftly pile on the north side of hills and hollows; the Cleft Peak becomes a towering white lookout. Wood smoke drifts, blue and fragrant with the blizzards howl, and through it all the old ranch house but seems to snuggle closer to the brown earth with as strong sense of well-being. Seasons succeed seasons, the years wing their flight; then another chapter is written, a page turned down; but some sons are left to pick the thread of the story and carry on. EDWARD MCREA PASSES AWAY Edward McRea, prominent citizen of this county for many years, died very suddenly from a heart attack at Leadore last Saturday at the age of 66 years. His death brought profound sorrow to a host of friends over the county who admired him for his many splendid qualities. Mr. McRea was born at Austin, Nevada on November 15, 1867. He came to Lemhi County in 1882 and became one of the county's best known stockman and ranchers. On June 3, 1890, he was united in marriage to Margaret Vreeland at what was then known as Junction, Idaho. He and his bride made their home on their ranch where they reared a family of six children. Those who survive him are his wife, three daughters, (Wilda) Mrs. George Johnston, of Coeur d' Alene; (Gladys) Mrs. Lee Reamy of Spokane; (Effie) Mrs. H.R. Robinson, of Armstead, Mont.; Three sons: Edward E. of Butte; Earl H. and William C., both of Leadore; Also, his sister Mrs. A. C. Waugh, of Dillon, Mont.; and seven grandchildren. The funeral was held at the home near Leadore on Tuesday afternoon, at 2: o'clock, Rev. Bradley conducted the service. There was a very large attendance. Internment was made in the Old Junction Cemetery. Edward McRea (By the remaining trusties of the Leadore school board.) Again the Grim Reaper has claimed His tributes. In acknowledging the will of God, we also acknowledge the loss of a neighbor, a friend and a co-trustee. Mr. McRea was not only an outstanding member of this board, but an outstanding character of this community; a man well liked, which was shown as the scores of neighbors and friends gathered from far and near to pay their last respects, and to show his bereaved family that they were not alone in their sudden grief. As a member of the board of trustees he was a willing, cheerful and agreeable co-worker. As an old timer of this country, and with his many years of experience, his advice was often found invaluable in the solution of difficult problems which so often confront a school board. Mr. McRea was blessed with a pleasing personality, and to know him was to like him the kind that made one feel better for having met him and having talked with him. We, the board of trustees, extend deepest sympathy to his entire family who survive him, and mourn his passing. 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