A Morning Here in Duluth That Got Me Thinking About All This
I stepped out onto my small back porch just after dawn, the way I usually do these days. The sun comes up a little later now in December, and the sky over Duluth has that soft, grayish light that makes everything feel quiet. The chill off Lake Superior had a way of settling into my jacket, even though I wasn’t out there long. The pine branches in my yard were lightly dusted with snow, the kind that falls overnight without much fuss.
I had my mug of coffee warming my hands while I waited to see who would show up first at the feeder. Most mornings, it’s the chickadees doing their little hop-and-go routine, brave as can be in the cold. Once in a while, a red-breasted nuthatch sneaks in from the side like it thinks I won’t notice. I guess I’ve grown to depend on these early visits. They give me something steady to look forward to.
A lot of folks my age wake up before the sun for all kinds of reasons — old habits, creaky joints, too much on our minds, or no particular reason at all. I’ve found that a slow morning with the birds helps settle me. It’s not anything fancy, just a simple rhythm that makes the early hours feel less empty. Watching who arrives at the feeder, listening for the rustle of wings in the evergreens, breathing in the cold air — it all eases me into the day in a pretty gentle way.
I used to wonder if I needed special gear or expert knowledge to enjoy all this, especially when I’d hear other folks talk about rare species or high-end binoculars. Truth is, I didn’t know much. I made small mistakes. I still do. But every morning taught me something new, and over time I figured out a routine that suits a slower pace and older legs, you know what I mean.
What I Tried First and How It Turned Out
When I first started paying attention to the birds in my yard, I didn’t really think about comfort or ease. I figured I’d just stand there, drink my coffee, and watch. Trouble was, standing on a cold porch in winter isn’t exactly pleasant, especially for someone my age. My knees started talking back, and not in a friendly way.
So I tried dragging out a folding chair. At first, that helped. But the chair sat a little too low, and I found myself craning my neck anytime a bird perched high in the pine branches. After a few mornings of that, I realized I needed a better spot.
Here’s what changed things: I set up a simple wooden stool — not too tall, not too short — right near the porch railing. That gave me something solid to lean on or sit on, depending on how stiff my back felt that morning. Just that one change made the whole routine feel more welcoming.
Then came my next discovery: seed types matter. I’d always bought whatever was on sale, figuring the birds weren’t picky. Turned out, some mixes just fell straight to the ground and attracted more squirrels than birds. So one morning, I switched to black oil sunflower seeds. I’d heard other folks mention it at the hardware store, so I figured I’d give it a shot.
Sure enough, the number of birds doubled within a couple days. Chickadees came first, then the nuthatches, then the occasional downy woodpecker. I never expected a small adjustment like that to make such a difference, but it did. Kind of made me laugh at myself. Sometimes you don’t need a big plan — just a little curiosity.
Little Lessons I Picked Up Along the Way
Over the years, I’ve gathered a handful of small lessons that help make the mornings smoother. Nothing complicated — just practical things I learned by trying, guessing, failing, and adjusting.
A Few Pointers That Help Me Ease Into the Day
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Warm the hands early. Even with coffee, my fingers get cold fast. A light pair of fingerless gloves keeps me comfortable enough to hold binoculars without fumbling.
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Keep the binoculars light. My first pair was too heavy, and holding them steady in winter air wasn’t easy. A lighter pair made all the difference.
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Position the feeder where you can see it without twisting. I used to turn too much, which bothered my lower back. Now the feeder sits in just the right spot — straight ahead from my favorite porch stool.
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Keep paths clear. Snow can pile up fast around here. I make sure there’s a safe walkway from the kitchen door to my lookout spot. Just a small thing, but it prevents slips.
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Don’t rush the morning. Birds take their time, especially when the air is crisp. Letting myself settle into the quiet gives them space to appear.
What surprised me is how these tiny adjustments made the whole routine easier on my body. At my age, slow and steady feels right. I think a lot of folks around Duluth would say the same.
How I Made This Work for My Own Backyard
Once I figured out that comfort mattered as much as curiosity, my mornings got better.
One thing I changed last winter was the angle of the feeder. The wind off Lake Superior can be sharp, even on a calm morning, so I shifted the feeder a little closer to the pine tree for shelter. I worried the birds might not like the new spot, but they seemed to appreciate the break from the wind as much as I did.
Another adjustment came with light. Winter mornings here can be dim, especially when the sky gets heavy. I thought I needed a big upgrade for my viewing, something pricey, but I discovered a simpler trick: I placed the feeder in a spot where the morning light naturally hits a little earlier. That alone made the birds stand out better.
I guess the biggest surprise was how the routine changed my mood. On days when I wake up before dawn — happens more often now — I used to just sit at the kitchen table waiting for the sky to lighten. Now I step outside, breathe the cold air, and look for life in the branches. It’s a pretty comforting way to start the day.
A Small Story About One Change That Made a Big Difference
Last week, after a stretch of gray mornings, we had one of those bright winter sunrises Duluth gets once in a while. I decided to put out a fresh batch of seed earlier than usual. By the time the coffee finished brewing, I looked outside and counted three chickadees already flitting around the feeder.
That little moment reminded me why I keep doing this. When you’re older, you appreciate signs of life that show up without being asked. It wakes something gentle inside you.
Why This Matters More to Me Now at My Age
I don’t move as quickly as I used to, and I’m fine with that. Slowing down has made me notice things I rushed past earlier in life — the shape of a bird’s wing, the way fog rises off the neighborhood after a cold night, the sound of a chickadee before the sky brightens.
I guess that’s one of the gifts of getting older. You start paying attention to the small markers that guide you into the day. Early mornings can feel long or lonely if you don’t have something grounding them. For me, birds do that. They show up with their own little sense of purpose, and somehow that gives me mine.
Some folks think they need perfect vision or fancy equipment to enjoy this. But I’m here to tell you, a simple routine — one that matches your pace and comfort — goes a long way. Even if you’re just watching from a kitchen window, it’s still a way to feel connected. Kind of reminds you that you’re part of the morning too.
A Few Gentle Reminders If You’re Starting Your Own Morning Habit
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Find a comfortable seat. Don’t force yourself to stand if your legs or back complain.
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Keep seed refills easy. A small container stored by the door helps keep things simple.
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Pay attention to the season. Winter birds behave differently, and patience pays off.
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Don’t worry about knowing every species. Just enjoy who shows up.
All of this is just what works for me. You’ll find your own rhythm, I’m sure.
A Quiet Thought to End On
These early winter mornings in Duluth can be pretty still. Snow softens everything — the pine needles, the rooftops, even the sound of the lake a few miles away. At this stage in my life, the quiet feels good. I sit with my coffee, watch the birds move through the cold air, and ease into the day in a way that suits who I am now.
If you’re someone who wakes before dawn and wonders how to fill those early hours, you might find comfort in a slow moment with the birds too. You don’t need to know much. Just show up, breathe a little, watch the branches, and let the morning unfold around you.
There’s something steady in that, something kind. And for folks our age, steady and kind feels pretty good.
