2 days ago Advertorial by Carol Denning

"After 22 Falls, I'm Closing the Workshop" — Rosalind Wexler (74) Is Selling the Last of Her Hand-Painted Jack-o'-Lantern Lights at a Steep Discount. Her Most-Loved Design Is Retiring With Her.

In a converted dairy barn in Woodstock, Vermont, Rosalind "Roz" Wexler has spent 22 Octobers hand-painting jack-o'-lantern lights that made her street a local landmark. Now, at 74, she's closing the barn for good, not because she's tired of the work, but because the county is putting a road through it. Why is everyone suddenly after her last batch? Because after this one, there won't be another.

Rosalind Wexler painting a jack-o'-lantern at her workbench in her Vermont barn workshop
Rosalind Wexler (74) at the paint table in her barn workshop in Woodstock, Vermont. Woodstove going, brushes in the coffee tin, finished faces waiting on the bench. After 22 years, she's closing it for good.

The barn smells like resin, paint thinner, and woodsmoke from the stove in the corner. Shelves hold rows of pumpkin faces in every stage of finish, some still bare gray resin, others fully painted with the wear worked into the orange on purpose.

Roz spent eleven years as a scenic painter, the person who ages a costume for the camera or makes a plastic prop skull look like it's been in the ground a hundred years. "I was good at it," she says, without a trace of false modesty. "Then the film work dried up the way it does, and my husband Sal and I bought this barn because it was cheap and the light was good. What I figured out to do with it was pumpkins."


What most solar pumpkin lights on the market get wrong

Roz doesn't hold back when you bring up the pumpkin lights sold at big box stores. "People buy them with good intentions. What they get is decoration, not something that actually holds up through a real October." After 22 years of watching what comes back to her for repair, she'll list the problems without being asked:

Thin, brittle plastic shells. "Injection-molded pumpkins crack the first time it frosts overnight. People bring me the pieces asking if I can fix them. That plastic doesn't take repair."
A single blinking LED instead of real flicker. "Most of these run one dumb blink pattern on a loop. It reads as electronic the second it gets dark. Real flame moves randomly, and that's the difference between a porch that looks lit and one that looks like it's actually on fire."
Undersized solar panels. "If the panel's too small, the light dies by 9pm on a cloudy week. Then people think their pumpkin's broken when it just never had enough panel to begin with."
Paint that fades to chalk by the second season. "Cheap paint isn't sealed for UV. By next fall it's gone gray. Mine from twelve years ago still haven't faded."
Roz holding two finished, lit Wexler lanterns on their garden stakes outside at dusk
Roz with two finished lanterns on their stakes at dusk. This is the flicker she wants people to see before they buy anything cheaper.

22 years, one barn, thousands of porches she'll never see lit up

Roz has never just "made pumpkin lights." She built them the way she used to build for film: hand-cast resin, hand-painted in layers, with genuine wear worked into the finish on purpose. She rigged the very first one with a flicker bulb pulled out of an old prop lantern, the October she and Sal finished paying off the barn.

What she didn't expect was the kids. Every year more of them stopped at the fence just to look. One boy told his mother the Wexler pumpkins were the only ones on the street that looked like they were "actually on fire." That's the same effect she once built for a director who wanted "campfire, not Christmas lights."

"Turns out an eight-year-old on Maple Street wants exactly the same thing a director does. Something that looks alive, not something that's obviously blinking."

Close-up of a single finished Wexler Firelight Lantern lit on the workbench, solar base beside it
A finished Wexler Firelight Lantern, straight off the bench. Hand-cast shell, hand-cut face, solar base and flicker module fitted before it leaves the barn.

What sets the Wexler Firelight Lantern apart

Hand-cast resin shell, not injection-molded plastic. Cast from Roz's own molds, thick enough that it doesn't crack in a hard frost. "I still get pumpkins back for touch-ups after fifteen years. The shell's never the problem."

Real flicker, not a blink loop. The LED module randomizes brightness the way a flame does: brighter, dimmer, never the same rhythm twice.

Oversized hidden solar panel in the stem. Charges fully even on a short fall day, so the light doesn't die by mid-evening. No cords, no batteries.

UV-sealed, hand-applied paint in three coats. "I seal every coat before the next goes on. That's why the color doesn't chalk out after one summer in the sun."

A weighted garden stake built to hold in real ground, not the flimsy wire stick that bends the first time a dog runs past it.


"I have customers whose pumpkins have been lighting the same porch for fifteen years"

Roz keeps a shoebox of notes under the workbench. She pulls one out, postmarked 2013. "This family in Burlington bought three for their front steps. Sent me a photo last fall. Same three pumpkins, still glowing every night in October, still holding their color." That's what happens when a shell doesn't crack and a panel is sized to keep up. "I build these to outlast the porch they're sitting on. Not to get thrown out with the leaves in November."


The end of an era, and a last chance

Come spring, the barn comes down. The county is putting a road through where it stands. Roz got the letter back in March. "I'm 74. I'm not about to rebuild a workshop from scratch to keep doing this. I'd rather spend my Octobers with my grandkids than hunched over a paint table at midnight."

She has no one to pass the craft to. "My son's an engineer in Boston. Nobody's lining up to learn resin casting for jack-o'-lanterns, and I don't blame them."

What's left on her shelves is the last batch of Wexler Firelight Lanterns that will ever be made. To get them onto porches before the barn closes, she's cut the price well below what she's ever charged. "I'm past caring about the money. I want these where people actually notice them."

Roz fitting the solar module into a lantern stem, with the last row of finished lanterns lined up on the workbench
Roz wiring the solar module into one of the last lanterns. The row on the bench behind her is what's left of the final batch.
⏳ Only what's currently on the shelf remains. Once it's gone, there's no next batch.

What the Wexler Firelight Lantern includes:

  • 100% hand-finished: Cast, painted, and wired one at a time in Roz's barn. No factory line, no two exactly alike.
  • Real flame flicker, not a blink pattern: The same randomized-flicker trick Roz used to build for film sets.
  • Solar-powered, fully automatic: Oversized hidden panel charges all day, switches on at dusk. No cords, no batteries.
  • UV-sealed hand paint and a weighted garden stake: Holds its color through seasons of direct sun, and stays put in real ground.
  • Final batch: What's in stock is what's left of Roz's last collection. After it sells out, there won't be another run.
A row of Wexler jack-o'-lantern lights staked along a front walkway, glowing at dusk
Staked along a front walk at dusk. The flicker effect is the detail customers mention most.

What real customers say about the Wexler Firelight Lantern

★★★★★

"I put these out in early October and by the second week neighbors were stopping to ask where I got them. The flicker is what sells it. It genuinely looks like candlelight, not a gadget."

— Diane R., Burlington, VT
★★★★★

"We had the cheap solar pumpkins from a hardware store for two years running, both cracked in the first cold snap. These have been out for three Octobers now, no cracks, no fading."

— Mark T., London, ON

Where can you buy the Wexler Firelight Lantern?

Roz's originals are sold exclusively through Harvest & Home Weekly's partner shop, where her granddaughter Emma runs the small storefront. Similar-looking pumpkin lights turn up on marketplaces from time to time, but they aren't from Roz's barn and they don't use her flicker mechanism or resin process.

Roz with her son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren on the porch, each holding a Wexler lantern
Roz with her family on the last October before the barn closes. The grandkids each picked one from the final batch.

Only this fall, then the barn is gone. Roz plans to close the workshop for good once this batch sells through or the season ends, whichever comes first. "Twenty-two years. It was a good run," she says, with the grandkids' pumpkins already lit along the walk behind her.

Try It Risk-Free: Money-Back Guarantee

Put the Wexler Firelight Lantern on your porch or garden path. If you're not convinced by the build, the flicker, the paint, send it back for a full refund. No hoops to jump through.

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The Bottom Line

The Wexler Firelight Lantern isn't a decoration you toss out come November. It's hand-cast, hand-painted, and built with a flicker trick borrowed from real film sets, by someone who spent 22 years perfecting it.

Thank you, Roz, for 22 Octobers of porches that looked like they meant it.

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