A chilly Duluth morning that reminded me I’m not 30 anymore
The other morning here in Duluth, I slid open the back door just a crack and got that first breath of cold air. It had that sharp, clean smell we get when fresh snow has settled overnight and the sky is starting to clear. Off in the distance I could hear the faint hum of traffic on one of the main roads, but our little street was quiet. Just the crunch of a neighbor’s boots somewhere down the block and a crow calling from one of the pine trees behind the house.
Out on the patio, the snow had blown into small drifts along the edges. The feeder by the fence was already busy, chickadees popping in like they were late for work. A red-breasted nuthatch zipped down the trunk, grabbed a seed, and took off. It was one of those pale winter mornings when the sun takes its time coming up, kind of sliding in sideways and bouncing off the snow in a way that makes everything glow blue and white.
I thought, “This would be a pretty nice time to sit out there for a bit.” So I grabbed my coffee, pulled on a jacket, and stepped out, planning to sit on one of our old patio chairs and watch the show for a while.
Here’s where things turned a little less peaceful.
Those chairs sit low. They’re the type I bought years ago because they looked comfortable for summer evenings. Back then I didn’t think twice about dropping into them and popping back up. Now, at 68, with knees that sound like crumpling paper bags, getting down into that chair feels like a slow, creaky descent— and getting back up isn’t much better.
That morning, I eased myself down, watched the birds for maybe ten minutes, then realized my knees and lower back were already complaining. When I tried to stand, I had to rock myself forward a couple times and push off the armrests. The cold didn’t help. Every joint felt a little stiffer.
As I finally got upright, I remember thinking, “There has to be a better way to sit out here.” I love being on the patio, close to the feeders, feeling the air on my face instead of looking through the living room glass. But my body was clearly saying, “Pick a better seat, buddy.”
That’s what got me started on finding a light, easy-to-move stool with a soft top that my knees would actually tolerate.
What I tried first and how it turned out
Like a lot of folks my age, I didn’t get it right on the first try. I have a long history of buying the wrong thing once before I figure out what I really need.
The heavy old stool
My first attempt was dragging out an old wooden shop stool from the basement. It looked sturdy, and I told myself, “Wood is solid; this will last forever.”
Well, it might last forever, but I’m not sure my back will.
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It was heavy, so carrying it through the sliding door felt like a small workout.
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The seat had no cushion at all—just flat wood. After about fifteen minutes, my hips and knees started to protest.
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It was a little too tall, so my feet dangled just enough that I couldn’t plant them firmly. That made standing up awkward and a bit wobbly.
I remember sitting there one afternoon, watching a couple of blue jays scold each other at the peanut feeder, and all I could think about was how uncomfortable I felt. The birds were great, but my mind kept bouncing back to, “This is hard on my joints.”
The folding camping chair
Next, I tried a folding camping chair. You’ve probably seen those—fabric seat, cup holder on the side. Handy for ball games and picnics.
It solved one problem and created a new one:
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It was lighter than the wooden stool, which was good.
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But it sagged in the middle. That low, slung seat meant my knees were bent more than ninety degrees.
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Getting out of it felt like trying to climb out of a hammock with a cup of coffee in one hand.
There was one morning when I almost tipped the thing trying to stand up while watching a downy woodpecker on the suet. I caught myself on the patio table, and nothing bad happened, but it gave me a little scare. Out here when the concrete is cold and hard—and maybe a bit icy—you don’t want to be taking chances like that.
That’s when it finally hit me: I needed something made for sitting up a bit higher, with a firm but softer seat, and light enough that I wouldn’t dread carrying it out the door.
Little lessons I picked up about sitting outside with sore knees
Once I accepted that my body has changed, I started paying attention to what actually makes a seat comfortable at this age, especially for birdwatching on the patio where you’re sitting still for a bit.
I’m not talking about anything technical. Just plain, lived-in lessons from a guy who’s spent a lot of mornings staring at birds and then groaning when it’s time to stand up.
What matters most in a good outdoor stool at our age
Here are the things I found I really care about now:
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Weight: If it’s too heavy, I won’t use it. I need to be able to pick it up with one hand while opening the sliding door with the other.
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Seat height: Too low, and standing up turns into a struggle. Too high, and my feet don’t sit flat. Somewhere just a bit higher than a standard dining chair seems to be my sweet spot.
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Cushion: A little padding goes a long way. It doesn’t have to be fancy, but a soft top is kinder on the hips and knees than bare wood or hard plastic.
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Stability: Four solid legs, no wobbling. I like feeling like I could lean slightly forward with binoculars without worrying it’ll tip.
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No arms (in my case): Some folks like armrests, but I found a simple stool actually lets me plant my feet and push straight up more easily.
After thinking through all that, I realized I wasn’t just shopping for any old outdoor seat. I was trying to find a small bit of equipment that would let me enjoy being outside more often without paying for it with pain later in the day.
How I finally found a seat that fit my body and my backyard
I ended up with a simple, light little stool designed for outdoor use, with a padded top and a frame that doesn’t weigh much. I won’t name brands here—that’s not really the point. The important thing is how I chose it and how it changed my mornings.
Trying it out step by step
When it arrived, I treated it almost like you’d test a new pair of shoes.
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First, I tried it indoors.
I set it on the living room rug, sat down, and asked myself a couple of questions:-
Can I sit here for ten or fifteen minutes without squirming?
With this one, sitting felt pretty natural. The cushion wasn’t squishy, just enough give to take the edge off. When I stood, I didn’t have to rock back and forth; I could push down through my feet and come up in one smooth motion.
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Then I tested it on the patio.
I carried it out with one hand while holding my coffee in the other. That might sound silly, but it told me something: I wasn’t straining or gripping it tight. It was truly light enough for a quick move. -
I checked how it felt in “birdwatching posture.”
On the patio, I planted the stool where I could see the feeders and the pine tree in the back. I sat down, leaned a little forward, lifted my light binoculars, and just paid attention to how my back and knees felt.No pinching, no feeling like I was sinking. My feet stayed flat on the concrete, which gave me a sense of control.
A small change that made a big difference
The first real test came on a sunny but cold morning. The sky was one of those hard, bright blues you get after a night of snow. The wind off Lake Superior had calmed down a bit, so it felt pretty good to be outside, as long as you were bundled up.
I took my new stool out, set it near the edge of the patio where a little sun was hitting, and sat down. Chickadees were already busy at the feeder; a blue jay swooped in, scattering them like confetti. Somewhere nearby, I could hear a neighbor’s snowblower kicking up.
I sat there for a good half hour. That’s longer than I’d been able to manage in those low patio chairs without really paying for it. I noticed a few things:
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My knees didn’t stiffen up as quickly. When I shifted, there wasn’t that sharp little complaint behind the kneecap.
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Standing up felt almost easy. I could lean slightly forward, push off through my legs, and be upright without the whole “grunting and grabbing the table” routine.
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My mind could stay on the birds. Instead of counting the minutes until my legs hurt, I was counting how many woodpeckers came by the suet and whether that finch had a red cap or just a bit of brown.
That one small change—swapping out the wrong seat for one that matched my body—turned the patio into a place I wanted to be again, not a place I avoided because I knew I’d feel it later.
Simple tips if you’re picking a stool for your own sore knees
If someone my age from around here asked me how to pick a good outdoor seat for watching birds, I wouldn’t lecture them. I’d probably say something like, “Well, here’s what’s working for me,” and keep it pretty simple.
A few things to look for
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Try to sit before you commit. If you can, test the seat in a store or at least at home on a carpet before you decide it’s a keeper.
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Check the height with your shoes on. We wear different shoes outside. Make sure your feet rest flat on the ground when you’re wearing whatever you usually have on out there.
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Pay attention to how you stand up. If you need to yank on a railing or pull on the table to get out of the seat, it’s probably not the right fit.
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Don’t chase fancy features you don’t need. Cup holders, side pockets, all that—they’re fine, but if the seat itself isn’t comfortable, the extras won’t fix it.
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Think about where it will live. If you’ve got a small backyard like mine, you might want something that folds or tucks away easily.
A tiny checklist I keep in mind
When I look at any new seat now, I run through a quick mental list:
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Can I carry it one-handed without feeling like I’m lifting weights?
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Does the cushion feel supportive instead of squishy or rock hard?
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Can I imagine sitting there on a chilly morning for twenty minutes, just listening to the chickadees and jays?
If I can answer “yes” to those, I’m usually in good shape.
Why this kind of simple comfort matters more to me now
At this stage of life, I don’t need big adventures to feel like I’m living well. I’ve done the busy years—raising kids, working full time, rushing out the door before sunrise. Now I get more out of quieter things: slow mornings, a calm backyard, the sound of wind moving through the pines beyond the fence.
Winters are long here in Duluth. The daylight is short, the snow piles up, and the cold can wear you down if you let it. Having a little setup on the patio where I can sit comfortably, in a way that doesn’t anger my knees, makes a bigger difference than it might sound. It turns the outdoors from “something I used to enjoy” into “something I still get to enjoy, just a bit differently.”
I can step out, settle onto that light stool, and sit higher and steadier than in those old low chairs. I can watch chickadees hop in and out, see a nuthatch creeping down the trunk, maybe catch a flash of a cardinal if I’m lucky. Sometimes I hear the distant murmur of Lake Superior on a quiet day, or see a band of fog slide between the houses.
All from a spot that doesn’t punish my joints.
If you’re around my age, and your knees or back make you think twice before going outside to watch the birds, I’d say it’s worth finding some kind of easy-to-move seat with a bit of padding that fits you just right. It doesn’t have to be fancy or expensive. It just needs to be light enough to carry, soft enough to sit on, and stable enough that you feel safe.
Once you’ve got that, the patio stops being “one more place that’s hard on my body” and turns back into what it ought to be: a small, open-air room of your home where you can breathe, listen, and watch the seasons turn.
For me, at 68, that’s more than enough—a modest stool, a small backyard, a winter sky, and a few tough little birds going about their lives while I sit nearby, grateful I can still be part of it, one quiet Minnesota morning at a time.
