Ma

Early on we started calling my mother's parents Ma and Pa  to differentiate from my Dad's mother whom we called Grandma.  My early childhood, Ma and Pa lived on the farm where my mother was raised about 30 miles from Tomahawk just outside of Ogema. It was a working farm, Pa was proud of his Holstein cattle. Ma helped with the farm chores in addition to keeping house.
It was before the automatic milking machines when Ma would trudge to the barn, grab her stool from the rack and start on the lineup of cows. Milk would ping the bottom of the bucket but soon a rhythmic hiss would take over until the bucket was filled. The barn cats knew the routine and would lineup just close enough that Ma could squirt a short stream of milk to their waiting mouths.  The bucket was dumped into the larger milk can and Ma moved on to the next cow. So it went until the entire herd was milked and ready to be turned out again. Pa would wrestle the full milk cans to the milk house to wait in the cool water for the truck to pick up.

Ma had a large flock of chickens, in the spring she would set up one of the bedrooms in the house as the brooder. Newspapers covered the floor, Pa had made a large enclosure with just room to walk around, A large light hung from the ceiling to provide warmth for the chirping chicks. They would grow contentedly until strong enough to be outside.

Ma loved her grandchildren and made each of them embroidered quilts. The hours she must have spent, hand embroidering the squares, then sewing on the treadle machine until the quilt grew large enough. Being a young mother during the depression, many of the quilts were made from outgrown clothing. The flannel quilts of course were from pajamas and long johns. Her quilts were all tied, and for batting she used additional flannel sheets. 
I was about 4 when my newborn sister received a baby quilt from Ma.  I don't remember saying anything, but Ma knew I needed a gift also. She quickly returned with a small box that held beer bottle salt and pepper shakers. Perhaps a strange gift for a 4 year old, but I treasured them and still have them over 50 years later. 

The next time we visited the farm, Ma handed me my very own quilt for my bed. It was pink (I was the oldest granddaughter) and white with embroidered animals on the white squares.  I couldn't wait to have it on my bed! Yet, my mother decided it would grace a spare bed, rather than my own. I would treasure my quilt, taking many opportunities to lay on it with a good book, trace the animals with my fingers, until finally my mother relented and allowed me to put it on my bed. Though somewhat tattered, that quilt is still a prized possession.

It was time to leave the farm. Pa wanted to retire, Ma wasn't feeling well. The decision was made for them to purchase a trailer and move it to our back yard.  Mom had strict rules about Ma and Pa's new house. We couldn't go to the door and were not allowed in unless we were invited.  One day, I don't know where my siblings were but Ma invited me in. It was time for a treat so she grabbed a fork and speared the last marshmallow in the bag and gave it to me telling me not to eat it. She brought a chair over to the stove and invited me to stand on it. (only a grandmother would sanction this). She turned the flame on medium on her gas stove and showed me how to roast the marshmallow to a rich golden brown. Oh, how yummy, made especially so because I didn't have to share.  A precious memory of a grandmother that would leave us all too soon.

Ma was soon diagnosed with a brain tumor and died while I was in second grade. My parents thought we were too young to go to the funeral so stayed with a babysitter. It was hard to understand why Ma wasn't there for us anymore.

Edwin and Tillie Albrecht in front of their house in the 1940's
I would later know them as Ma and Pa (my grandparents on my mother's side)