In describing my move a year ago I mentioned that I had dragged along my stained glass workbench and my inventory of glass and related supplies.  In December I added a page to this journal (see tab at top) talking about some of my work over the years.  Well, the well has been dry for a long time with life getting in the way but I finally cranked out a new piece:

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The bevels have been on the bench for several years but it was now time.   The finished panel measures 13″ by 24″.  This may be my last bevel piece as they are more difficult than they look.  The difficulty lies in (1) getting the bevelled pieces to fit together in the lead came channels that provide rigidity, and (2) cutting the four curves in each of the four corner pieces and fitting them to the bevel came so that there are no light leaks.  Bad stuff happens and I had to recut one corner piece.

I’m glad I did the piece as the bevels gather the sunlight beautifully.



Barbara and I recently took a drive up to the shops of Peddler’s Village in Bucks County.  One of them specializes in unique crafts pieces which they import from all over the world.  A set of lamp shades and lamp globes caught my eye, each made of tiny pieces of glass handlaid into a matrix material.  Couldn’t walk past it.  Another candidate for my placemat series.

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One of the things I enjoy here at the Old Folks Farm is the occasional appearance of deer.  Since my townhouse is up against some woods and a trail they seem to be comfortable passing by.  I’m sure there are gardeners here who are unhappy about the damage to shrubs and trees, and I would be too.  But it’s OK with me if they just pass by.—————————–—-

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A Sunday afternoon with no commitments brings me to the back roads of Salem and Cumberland counties.  It was beautiful to be out in the country, passing farm fields lightly dusted with snow under a stunning blue sky and not a McDonald’s in sight.  At one point I found myself driving into Alloway, still a country village, one where my maternal grandfather, William Rudolph was born.  I set out to revisit the family plot which I had discovered a few years ago.  Nevertheless, I still wondered through the wrong (Methodist) cemetery, gave up and headed to the Baptist Cemetery where I found it. 

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The monument is for my great grandfather, Adam S. Rudolph, a civil war veteran, born in the early years of the 19th century while Andrew Jackson was president.  He and his wife, Rebecca McPherson, brought my grandfather, William, into this world in 1875.  This was a “How about that?” for me as I now understood where my mother’s name, Rebecca McPherson Rudolph came from.  It is even more interesting to me in that my late wife and I named one of our daughters Sigrid Rebecca, and she, in turn, has a daughter Madeline Rebecca, and my late brother’s son, Chris, has a daughter named Rebecca as well.  Nice.


Our South Jersey Camera Club field trip energizer bunny, Pat W., had scheduled a sunrise shoot at the Forsythe Wildiife Refuge at Oceanville, NJ.  Turned out that there were four of us crazy enough to emerge from warm beds and drive fifty miles or so to enjoy a 19° F. and windchilled  dawn. 

Once we got out on the refuge road it wasn’t so bad (all photographers lie a little) and we persevered.  As the sun rose the light became warmer.  Not so the photographers.

We finally came across a gaggle of snow geese which had been a primary reason for the trip.

We waited patiently for them to decide about us.  Finally they’d had enough of our company and, breaking into flight, became  (et voila) a skein of geese.

One thinks of the refuge as being a bird sanctuary, particularly out on the meadows.  This one and a companion, however, were also enjoying the meadows and they provided comic relief as they bounded from sedge clump to sedge clump, frequently sinking into the muck in between.

There are always the Canada Geese  Their multitude, testiness and droppings are unpleasant but when they break into flight it’s wonderful; their plaintive honking, calling to each other, so moving on a moonlit fall or winter night.  I remember a childhood writing that Sigrid had from somewhere.  It had to do with the geese flying away far overhead, and it ended with the child’s cry: Be Careful!   Years ago I gave Marty Lou a gold pin of a pair of them in flight.  In part it was a rememberance of our years on Chesapeake Bay; in part because geese mate forever.

Don't miss that left turn ahead.