A History of Everett and Margaret Ann John Harris 

He loved the quiet, and the rhythmic gait of the horse that almost lulled him to sleep. The afternoon sun was warm and Everett adjusted the brim of his hat to shade his eyes. He looked about him and made mental notes of the scene before him. Margaret Ann would want to hear every detail. 

It was fall, 1887–the Aspen trees, decked out in their Joseph Coats, frolicked gaily among the pines and reminded him of his mother’s patchwork quilts. There was wild game shyly peeking from the safety of a rock or tree near the road as he passed by. How the boys would have squealed in delight over the red fox that scampered in front of his horse, almost upsetting him. 

John Grays Lake was a sheet  of enchanting beauty, spread out for miles. Wide but not very deep–mostly marsh. But the grass! He had never seen such lush pasture. There were ducks and geese on the water and lots of fish in it.  

He thought about the rancher who had told him about the first settler in the valley. His name was Garber and he had settled on Willow Creek in 1870 and started selling fish to the miners in Caribou Basin. They had their own Caribou City with 1500 people living there mining for gold. No one was sure if anyone came out rich and only a few still hung on. A few days before, he had talked to a negro man who had worked on Caribou Mountain. He told Ev about how exciting it had been with people from all over the world trying their luck at panning for the ever elusive gold dust. The Chinese workers probably took money out, because they saved all they made. His family and four other negro families had stayed at the Lake to try farming and stock raising. He was a nice man and Ev had no aversion to having them as neighbors. Well maybe. 

He wondered if Margaret Ann and his two little sons, Arch and Al had missed him as much as he missed them. Tomorrow he would be home. Home–just a cabin in Muddy Creek, Idaho. It had been settled by John J. Williams, who, in route from Montana in 1865, had stopped on the south side of Muddy Creek, built a dugout in the side of a hill and lived there for a short time. In November of that same year, Christopher Gardner had settled his family on the north side of the creek. In 1866-67 other families moved in. His father, Joseph R. Harris and mother Charlotte Green had moved there in about 1870 and since 1877 his father had been the Presiding Elder of the Muddy Creek Branch of the Mormon Church. 

Ev reminisced the boring hours away as the horse jogged steadily homeward. He too would be glad to see the little cabin with its pole fenced pasture, where he knew there would be rest and fresh grass. Ev’s thoughts dwelled on the love inside the humble cabin, but how, he wondered, would Margaret Ann react to the cabin at Grays Lake? It was worse by far than what they lived in now. She would be having her third child next spring. Would she be up to the move? How could he move them? He didn’t even own a team. He could build a wagon and trail the cattle. Was he wrong to move so far from family and friends? Well, his grandfather, Robert Harris, had been with Edward Bunker at Winter Quarters in 1847, and nothing could be worse than that. They were young and strong and could do it! 

He was excited about homesteading there, but was a little awed by the distance from there to–well, anywhere. They had passed through Soda Springs, a fair sized town, and Henry, another farming community, but out there, had nothing but twelve other families to depend on. The winters were pretty mild, and the cattle could fend for themselves. Ev had talked to one man who had made a good many dollars trapping. Muskrat hides were in great demand and he figured he could probably do that to help finance them. A few families, James Sittett, David Robinson, Gideon Murphy, Wm C. Simmons and H.B. Simmons had settled in the valley in 1879 and were making a living. If it were just himself, but to bring his wife and children–he just didn’t know. Anyway, the trip would have one good thing–the memory of all he had seen would be told over and over during the long winter nights ahead, to be shared with his family and neighbors. 

His stories were persuasive, because the next spring, Ev waited until Margaret had her third son on May 21, 1888. They christened him Everett Harris Jr. and the move began. 

Ev borrowed a team from Mr. Yates, loaded all their possessions in a wagon, saddled up his horse and they began the trip to John Gray Lake, Idaho. Tailing fifty head of cattle behind them was slow going and the trip took several days but the summer was beautiful and the boys were full of excitement. Margaret Ann was still a little skeptical about the long move farther away from her family and friends, but her mother had reminded her of the Mormon pioneers and the fact they had to make the same decision. Margaret decided she would be brave and never complain. It was pleasant at night with the boys asleep. They would sit by the campfire and look up at the sky. There seemed to be stars without end and she marveled at the stillness all around them. She took the pins out of her hair and brushed it out. It was her shining glory. A rich brown cascade reaching to her knees. It was hard to care for at times like this, but she couldn’t bear to cut it and a big bun on the top of her head kept it out of the way.  

Finally they reached the cabin that would be their new home. Margaret spent the next week cleaning it. She could not stand a dirty house and scrubbed the floor until it was white. By fall they were fairly comfortable and ready for the mild winter they had been promised. Winter came, but it was far from mild. It was the worst winter ever recorded for the area. There were several cattle outfits, but very little feed reserved in the form of hay stacked for the winter feeding and it was estimated that 85% of them were lost, almost eliminating cattle from the Southeast Idaho ranges. One of Ev’s cows fell through a pocket in the snow and was lost. Many more died. The snow was so deep that to get into the cabin, steps were dug down to the door. The nicest thing to happen was when a neighbor came to visit. 

Ev and Margaret learned that the lake received its name from the Iroquois Indian named Ignace Hatchiouquasha or John Day or Gray. He was a guide and considered to be an expert at knowing where to ford the river, the best hunting grounds, and he was very clever as a mediator between the whites and Indians. Before the Harris family arrived in the valley, the name had been changed from John Days or Grays Lake to Gray, on April 10 1888. (In 1892 it was officially changed to Gray). Albert A. Dewey had applied for postal service that spring and weather permitting, mail arrived three times a week, carried by Peter Ketran. 

The old-timers said, “Bad winter.” To Ev and Margaret it was a disaster. By the time it was over they at least knew all about each other. Ev reminisced about his boyhood days in Kaysville, Utah, which was twenty-five miles north of Salt Lake City. He was the third child in a family of ten, born to Joseph Robert Harris and Charlotte Ann Green. His grandfather, Robert Harris, had told them many stories about his days in the Mormon Battalion, how he settled Kaysville, and helped to build the Kaysville Fort. The settlers had no school, but persuaded Robert’s elderly English sister to teach their children. Everett’s father, Joseph Robert Harris, remembered his first school room was in her bedroom. The boys sat on a long wooden bench in front of her bed. If any of them grew tired or sleepy, she let them rest on her bed. The boys on the bed would sometimes pull the hair of the boys on the bench, but nevertheless, they learned to read their numbers and the alphabet, and affectionately called their teacher Aunt Browett. 

A few years later Christopher Layton felt that his large family of children should learn to read and write. In the front room of one of his homes located inside the old fort, they arranged a school room and Maggie Layton, the oldest daughter of the family, taught her small brothers and sisters to read and write. A few of the neighbor’s children were also permitted to attend. School was held only on stormy or cold days when the children could not do farm work or gardening outside. 

The next school was held in the meetinghouse in the fort and was taught by William Lewis. The benches were in the east end of the building near the old stove that heated the place. For punishment, Mr. Lewis would send a pupil to the west end or to “Siberia” as they called it, where there was no stove. Here they were kept in the cold until they were repentant and willing to obey the teacher. This school lasted only a few months of each year. As soon as spring came the children went to work on the farm and in the gardens. Heavy frost, snow or rain found the schoolrooms crowded. On fair days, most of the children were kept home. It seemed that hard work must be done almost every day of the year in order to sustain life and keep them going in their homes. Nevertheless, these pioneers did feel the need for schooling for their children and sacrifices were made in order to have them learn a little each year. 

Every day was filled with hard work. There was not time for worrying about other people’s affairs. Every child had work to do and performed his or her tasks without too much complaining. There were no devices to help in the daily grind of housework. They spun, knitted, washed, ironed, sewed, preserved, cooked, planted, and harvested their food, praying always that God would bless them and help them live according to the Gospel plan for which they had journeyed into the western country away from their comfortable homes in other parts of the world. 

Their first religious education was through prayers at mother’s knee in the dim light from their kitchen stove. She prayed with her family every night regardless of how tired she felt, never neglecting this hour of prayer and devotion. 

The first religious meetings were held at night in Grandpa Harris’ home located near the lake shore. They came to this place because it had a large log room in which Brother Harris had built wooden benches. Two acting teachers, James Ware and Thomas Carlos, were in charge of the meetings. No regular course of study was taken up, but topics were discussed from the Church standard works. Humble testimonies followed and all who attended received a spiritual uplift and were helped along their way by virtue of having associated with their friends at these night meetings. In one of these meetings the singing leader tried, unsuccessfully, to pitch the song correctly and start the singing off without the aid of an instrument or pitch pipe. After three or four failures, James Ware, who was in charge, stood up and said, “Let’s go on with the prayer. To hell with the song.” This was typical of the atmosphere of these pioneer meetings and of old Brother Ware who couldn’t see the time wasted. 

One evening, James Ware took up a collection to buy a coal oil lamp. He stood before the group and said, “They tell me you can even see to read a paper across the room from the lamp.” They all agreed that this lamp would be a big improvement and five collars was collected. The next week they purchased the lamp. It was kept in Grandpa Harris’ home but used only for these night church meetings. It was too expensive to burn every night. What a good feeling it was to remember the good and the bad times in their lives. 

Margaret Ann told Ev about growing up in Wellsville, a few miles from Logan, Utah. She remembered her own childhood with experiences not too different from his. 

It was a romantic time too. On Christmas eve, 1888, they celebrated their fifth wedding anniversary along with Christmas. It was to be the leanest Christmas of their married life. They were away from family and friends with only a few homemade items for the children, and snowed in too. But they were healthy and together. They decided things could be worse. 

Spring finally came and the valley was all the more beautiful because of the snow, but with the warm days came the mosquitos–droves of them to plague man and beast, and Margaret was again “with child.” 

The green of summer passed into the gold of autumn and Margaret’s body became bigger and bigger with each lonely, work-filled day. With each pregnancy, her face, neck and chest would be swollen with water retention, making her time the more miserable. Yet, she had vowed not to complain and went about her work in an orderly way. 

This time when winter came, they were ready for it, but it was the mild one the old timers had predicted. During the last month before the baby was due, Ev would drive the team and sleigh over the mile long lane to the main road to keep it open, only to awake the next morning and find it drifted in again. Finally, on 21 January 1890, Margaret sent Ev by horseback for the only midwife in the valley. Mrs. Stevenson, a negro lady, came an hour later, driving her wagon with a lantern hung on the tongue to light the way. Margaret gave birth to her fourth son and they named him after the President of the United States, Grover Cleveland, which was soon shortened to Cleve. 

They were glad when the weather broke and at last a letter came from home. It was dated way back in January, but when they opened it, their joy vanished. Ev’s mother, Charlotte Ann, had died on January 7. Just two weeks before Cleve was born. They realized with a shock how far from home they really were. 

Spring came once more and the Harris family had endured all they could. They packed their possessions once more and trailed home to Muddy Creek. Everett sold his cattle to his father for $11 a head and bought 50 acres of farm land in Cherry Creek, about four miles north. They were so proud of their new land and looked forward to building their own home on it. Life was still hard, but Margaret was home again and could visit her family and some of Ev’s family who lived near them. 

On 16 June 1891, Muddy Creek was given a little nicer name and called Woodruff. Ev’s brother, Joseph Robert Harris, was ordained the first bishop of the Ward and presided until 18 December 1904. 

On 31 January 1892, a sister was presented to the boys named Estella Irene. Since the boys all used shortened versions of their names, the baby’s name became Stell. Arch was especially happy to have a sister because he felt he wouldn’t have the job of churning butter anymore. On 13 December 1893, when Joseph Stillman was born, Arch became his protector. A good thing too, because as he grew and began to talk, no one else could understand him. His favorite expression was “You think you are smart, but you’re not as smart as you think you are.” Only Arch could decipher that.  

The boys knew by now that when their mother got fat-fat, they would soon have another member in the family, and Ev Jr. thought maybe his mother would give him a baby brother for his birthday, but alas, Rosella was born five days after his eighth birthday, on May 26, 1896. 

Ev and Margaret seldom went to the Mormon church as Margaret was not a member, but they were very strict about the children always attending. To make Sunday extra special, Margaret, who was an excellent cook, always had a delicious dinner waiting for them when they came home. At one time, Ev let the Bishop talk him into being President of the Young Men’s Mutual Improvement organization in Woodruff with the stipulation he would never have to talk in a meeting. Well, the very first meeting he was asked to take charge, so he just walked out and never went back. Margaret always went to Relief Society and enjoyed the meetings. 

In about 1897, Ev began building them a house on the farm in Cherry Creek. It was built of logs and the boys loved to help and of course the neighbors were always willing to lend a hand whenever their work would let them. One day Ev was putting up the very last log but it slipped and as it fell, it hit him on the side of the head, cutting his ear off. For six weeks he lay unconscious. Margaret sat at his bedside praying he would move or speak to her. She thought of all they had been through and wondered how she would manage should he die. His tall, lean body looked so weak under the homemade quilt. She brushed the thick, dark hair from his swollen brow and tenderly changed the dressing over the severed ear. Finally Ev regained consciousness and eventually rejoined his family, however he was never able to hear from that ear again and was never quite the same as he had been before. Before long the family was ready to move into their new home. There were two large rooms in front and one big room in the back.  

This move was much more promising than the long journey into the unknown of Gray Lake. One day they read in the paper that W.E. Wheeler planned to build a railroad through the Gray Lake area to Yellowstone Park in 1892. Margaret did not want to go back no matter where the train went. (Good thing! It was never built). Perhaps if they had followed Wheeler’s advice and planted grain instead of cattle, they would have had money in the bank, but now they would plant on their new farmland and prosper here just as well. One day Margaret saw a poem in the paper and cut it out. It described exactly how she wanted her home to be. It had been written by Nancy Byrd Turner and was entitled: 

       To Our Guest 

If you come cheerily, 

Here shall be jest for you. 

If you came wearily, 

Here shall be rest for you. 

If you come borrowing, 

Gladly we’ll loan to you. 

If you come sorrowing, 

Love shall be shown to you. 

Under our thatch, friend, 

Place shall abide for you. 

Touch but the latch, friend, 

The door shall swing wide for you! 

And that’s just the kind of home it became too. 

On 28 January 1899, baby Sarah was born in the new home, but sadness came with her birth because the next day she died. That same year on 18 December 1899, William was born and less than a month later, on 15 January 1900, he too died. Margaret was broken of heart and health. In fourteen years she had borne nine children and now two were dead in less than a year. She continued to be the ideal mother and wife. Ev worshipped her and her wish was his command. 

On April Fools Day, 1 April 1902, Vera was born. Margaret was too sick to even care for her, and she was placed in her sister Stell’s arms at birth and Stell, at age ten, cared for her from that day on.  

Margaret’s strength came back slowly and another year slipped by. Margaret scrubbed the back step to its usual whiteness and sat on a bench behind the house in the cool afternoon shade. The mountains behind the house were a lush green on that spring day. She treasured these quiet times. Her day’s work was done, Rose was rocking Vera who was worn out after her first birthday. It was Stell’s turn to fix supper, and she sang as she went about her work. What a help these two daughters were to her. Unbidden tears slipped from Margaret’s eyes as she thought of the tiny babies buried in the cemetery on the hill. In three months she would bear another child. She had been married almost 20 years and had brought 10 children into the world. That made almost eight years she had been pregnant. Why did she have to get so big? Other women didn’t. Oh, well, maybe this baby would be the last one, or perhaps she should have one more and make it an even dozen. Tomorrow she would begin making Stell and Rose their dresses for the 4th of July. She had always made them of white fabric, just alike but with different color sashes and lots of ruffles. This year Vera must have one too. The baby was due to be born about then, so she needed to get the dresses done early. July 4th was always a special day. 

Ev loved horses and wanted his team to look their best. He brushed Tom and Jerry, or maybe Silv and his beautiful sorrel, Glen, until they gleamed. The boys had oiled the harness and washed the buggy. Everyone shined their shoes, put on their best clothes, and anyone who was lucky enough to have a saddle horse had him looking his best too. One year Stell got to ride her horse in the parade. They were all so proud of her. Meanwhile, Margaret and the girls had fixed a big lunch to take with them. Each one carefully combed out her hair which had been set on rag curlers the night before. They put on their new dresses and bonnets, loaded up the buggy and were off to Malad, five miles to the north of their home. Going to town was special but to go to a parade and then the games and other fun things held in the village square or park was so exciting. 

Margaret decided this year she would stay home all alone. She hoped the baby would come early. Her plans went well except baby boy, Lorin, decided to wait until 5 July 1903 to be born.  

The next year it was Stillman’s and Rose’s turn to be excited about July. They had heard about the baptism of the boys and Stell into the Mormon Church and now it would be their turn. As they were on their way, Arch told them about his baptism way back in 1893, 10 years previous. Arch was special to them. He was their big brother and had tended them so much and now he was away from home working for Khalil Kingsbury and they missed him. Al and Ev had both been baptized so it was surely O.K. Cleve related to them how lucky they were to be baptized in the summer. He had been made a member of the Church on 9 March 1898. Stell felt April of 1900 was a cold day too, so they were pretty happy about it by the time they reached their destination. 

They liked going to church in Cherry Creek. It was only about a mile from home and most of the time they walked. It was not as close as it had been in Woodruff, though, where it had been just across the road. The Cherry Creek Church had been built in 1885, and the members had worked very hard to have the stone from the mountains. It was quarried with the simplest of hand tools, hauled by oxen or horse drawn wagons. It took lots and lots of hard work by men who were always busy trying to coax a living from the land.  For six years after they had all the rock walls in place, the church stood without a roof because there just wasn’t enough money to buy materials. Finally in 1891, John Davis Jones (who became their bishop) went to the bank, borrowed the needed money and the building was finished. He later paid back the loan. 

Margaret awoke with a start. She sensed something was wrong. Someone was moving about. She slipped quietly out of bed. The sun wasn’t up yet but she felt the promise of another hot August day. Fourteen year old Cleve was sitting at the kitchen table, arms wrapped around his stomach, rocking back and forth in pain. Margaret set to work with all the home remedies she knew of but as the hours passed, he seemed to grow worse instead of better. Nothing helped. Two days later on 17 August 1904, Cleve, her fourth child died. Appendicitis. Losing William and Sarah had been hard, but they were babies. In 14 years, love for Cleve had coiled itself deep inside her. He had been born in the misery of Gray Lake. Her comfort, her son, part of her–given back to the Lord. 

The hot August days dragged on into autumn and never a day passed that they did not see a dozen things to remind them of Cleve. A sock far under his bed; his favorite food; the horse he loved to ride. Cross words were few in the Harris home, but now they all remembered every argument, every reprimand, and each vowed in his heart to be more loving and kind to the other. Each tried to make the days happy ones, and as the quiet nights of winter settled in, they found their comfort in their music. They loved to sing. Lots of hard work and saving had earned them an organ. Stell played and they all sang. Each had a beautiful voice and learned to sing parts. Mom sang alto, Stell the soprano, the boys bass and tenor. Arch, Al, Stell and Stillman worked up a little quartet and their favorite song was “Four Walls.” 

Christmas was always good. Not that there were lots of gifts. It was just a good feeling. Fun things had become traditions throughout the years. Getting a Christmas tree from the mountains; popping corn they had carefully sown, dried, and stored from the summer garden and stringing it to decorate the tree; helping the little kids hang their socks; a dozen fun things that were all free; the excitement of Christmas morning; always getting the rare treat of an orange that Santa had left in the toe of their socks; gifts Mother had carefully made and hid away; the delicious dinner she fixed. What a store of happy memories they had to carry in their hearts and treasure up to share with their own children, even for generations to come. They were taught to appreciate whatever they had. 

Winter always brought another treat. From the first hard freeze until the spring thaw, they spent any spare time on ice skates. The meadows and hayland to the west of their farm stretched out for miles and became their ice pond. When that failed, the Toveys had an ice pond and they swept the snow off that and skated there too. The big kids even skated all the way to Malad at times. Extra special was when Walt Jardine brought his team and sled and they cut Geezers on the ice. One day they threw Katie Tovey out on the ice and knocked her out literally. This scared them all and slowed the play down a bit. They had ice races and lots of fun–nothing fancy–just fun. 

Summers were fun too. They all walked or rode horses over to the river for a day of fishing and swimming. No cost here–fishing gear was a tree limb, a piece of string and a bent pin. Swim suits were anything too old to wear anywhere else. Their favorite swim hole was down by Alma Facer’s farm on The Point, where there were hot springs. Entertainment a little more fancy were the plays at the Opera House on Deep Creek in Malad. It was owned by Forest Taylor and he provided some good entertainment for the whole family. Another treat was to go roller skating at the old LeGrand Hall, down by the Second Ward church house. Anyone who could ice skate could surely roller skate and usually did. Everyone liked to dance the Quadrille, the Varsouvianne or Turkey in the Straw. Young and old alike were involved and found joy in being together as much as the dancing itself. 

School for the Harris children wasn’t much improved from when their Grandpa Joseph Harris went to school. It wasn’t held on a regular basis and for only about three months of the year. There was usually only one teacher for five grades. Then you either graduated or stayed in the same grade. Stell came home in tears one day after her teacher, Tom Nibert, had punished her by having her hold her hand out while he hit it with the yard stick. There didn’t seem to be much problem with discipline in those days. Other teachers were Sarah Apgood, J. Peter Jensen, Lathan and Charlie Naughan. 

Everett Harris sat on a hill overlooking the community of Cherry Creek one summer day in 1905. Each neighbor’s home was dear to him. The rock church; his own home; the fields and animals, but of more interest his particular day were the folks of Cherry Creek lined up along the new railroad track not a mile from his home. What excitement it would be to see the first train go through. Ev had chosen to sit up here–a much better view of the panorama below. He felt particular pride in the fact that his son, Arch, had helped build it. He had driven four head of horses on a Fresno (scraper) for a couple of months, but it was good experience for the boy. By the time the train came huffing and puffing and blowing dirty smoke all over and making an awful racket and scaring all the cattle and horses, he wasn’t sure it was really a good idea after all. But it was progress, and you couldn’t stop that! 

Ev thought of the pleasant summer when he and Dave Jones had pastured their sheep out west of St. John on the other side of Tim Woozley’s hollow. Every night after the sheep were settled down, the two men would walk to St. John. 

Professor Evan Stevens had taught several men to play musical instruments, which they had sent away for. The band was a joy to listen to. Ev had never heard anything like it–they were really good! 

Ev and Margaret’s sons, Arch 20, Al 19, Ev 17, and Stillman 12, had each worked hard that summer of 1905. They had saved a little money. Many hours were spent discussing how to spend it. Finally, they decided (after much coaxing from Mother and Father) that they would go to the circus in Logan, Utah. It was 60 miles each way and they were joined by Oliver Harris, John H. Jones, Dave Jones, Jenkin w. Jones and Howell Williams. Two boys rode horses and the rest piled into an old spring board wagon with hay for the horses. There was an overnight bedroll for each boy, two dollars to spend, and food from Mom’s kitchen. What a time they had! That winter, never a night went by without a story about the elephants, how Arch spent half the time looking for Al, the rain, the tent, every detail was hashed over a hundred times, becoming better with each telling. 

The next spring, on 25 April 1906, Margaret Ann gave birth to her twelfth child and Millie May became the pet of the family. Margaret rocked the baby and was thankful for her dozen children. The boys worked away from home most of the time and Stell was working for the Jessie Dredge family. They were very good to her and appreciated what a good worker she was. Ev had built another room on the back of the house and they were a happy family.  

On 10 June 1908, Arch married May Jones in the Salt Lake Temple. The entire family piled in the buggy and drove to St. John to the reception. It was nice in every way, except the newly-weds missed the train home and were quite late, after walking the four miles from Malad to St. John. Anyway it was a good party and helped to brighten the spring days. 

Arch and May lived that summer in the back room, and that fall when school began, May was the teacher. Fall, however, brought sadness again when their precious Millie May, only two, died. Seemingly from that time on Margaret Ann was sick. 

On 4 November 1908, Al married Diane Daniels. It was good to see the children find good companions and start homes of their own. 

Margaret Ann tried to find a more comfortable position without disturbing Ev. He was so kind and thoughtful of her, but he needed his rest too. To ease her pain, she tried to think of happy things. Weddings were happy. She and Ev had been married on Christmas Eve and on their 29th anniversary in 1912, Stell had married John M. Pierce. Less than a month later on 22 January 1913, Ev Jr. had married Ella Thomas. Rose and Morgan T. Jones had chosen 29 March 1916 for their wedding day, and the next year on 29 August 1917, Stillman married Nora Thomas. Vera married Verl Jones on 15 September 1920 and her only baby, Bud, was still single. 

World War I was over and none of her sons had been called to the army. That was two happy things. 

Let’s see, what else was happy? Well, music was happy. Each year on March 4, the Welsh people celebrated St. David’s Day with a program of music at the Opera House. Cherry Creek  had a fine choir, directed by Dave Naggs. Dave (poet) Jones was an excellent music teacher and had helped her children many a time with their singing. Stell and Stillman sang beautiful duets and the four older boys were often called on to sing at funerals and special programs. Margaret and Ev enjoyed singing with them too. What a blessing music had been in their lives. 

Funny things were nice too. She quietly laughed as she thought about how Dave Benjamin Thomas used to come visit and scare the children half to death with his pranks. They ran to hide under the bed whenever they saw him coming. She was inclined to think that Stillman was going to carry on that mischief–he was always teasing.  

Grandchildren were happy too and what a joy they were. All her children and their families lived in Malad Valley, so visits with them were always happy times. They were all healthy, what a blessing that was. What was this disease that was destroying her. Cancer–it sounded so much like canker, which was just a simple thing, healed with home remedies–not this–the doctor had told them there was no cure. Only death–well, she had faced life head on and not complained so she could do the same now. It was sad to think of leaving all she loved, but there was a God and He had always taken care of them and He would now. 

God did take care of her and on a hot 14 July 1927, Margaret Ann went to her eternal rest to care for those she loved who were waiting for her. 

Her death was hardest for Ev. Neighbors came and dressed her in a best dress, fixed her hair, packed her body with empty fruit jars filled with ice from the old ice house. Two nickels were placed on her eyelids to keep them closed and on July 17, she was buried on the quiet hillside of the Cherry Creek Cemetery beside her children who had died before her. They kept the two nickels in a little box Arch had made, but in time they disappeared. Only her memory of the heritage she had left, still lives and influences her family.  

Years later, when Arch’s sister-in-law, Kate Jones died, May wrote a poem about her. Perhaps she had thought these very thoughts about her own Mother-in-law when she died. 

Ev lived on in the house they had built, wishing each day she were there, remembering the good times and the bad. Probably from the hit on his head when he built the house, he found it increasingly hard to sort out the present from the past, to accept the day-to-day problems of life. At length, his children had no choice but to put him in a mental hospital in Provo, Utah. Later he was transferred to the State Mental Hospital in Blackfoot, Idaho. While there he became physically ill and was taken to the hospital in Pocatello, Idaho. 

Ev wished he weren’t there. He wanted to be home. Home with Margaret Ann and his children. The nurse told him it was 13 August 1931. That day had some special meaning in his life that he knew. Now he remembered. It was Margaret Ann’s birthday. Her 65th birthday. That day he joined his love in Eternity. 

Departed 

By Mary Mae Jones Harris 

A loved one from our midst has gone 

        There is one vacant chair. 

Her name has been transcribed on high 

                She’ll answer over there.  

Her rest has come, no pain she feels 

          God set her fetters free. 

With loved ones long since passed away 

          She will united be. 

We knew her worth, we mourn her loss 

          There’s none can take her place 

And anguish caused to loving hearts 

          Time only can efface. 

Her singing voice, her smiling face, 

           Her ladylike appeal, 

Have gone from earth, bo(?), somehow, 

          Her presence still we feel. 

Although consigned to Mother Earth 

          To sleep beneath the sod. 

Her soul, the inner better part, 

          Hath winged its way to God. 

Perchance in Paradise someday 

          On that far distant shore, 

This friend we loved so much we’ll meet 

          To part again no more.  

   Recompense 

Time was, when man no hope did have 

    He thought the grave the end, 

But God, the giver of all things 

    His only Son did send. 

He lived, He died, this son of man 

    His cross he bravely bore. 

He caused the grave bring forth its dead 

    That man might live once more.