A Chilly Duluth Morning and a Noisy Old Chair
The other morning here in Duluth, I stepped out into the backyard with a mug of coffee in my hand. The sky had that pale December look, kind of washed-out blue with a thin layer of clouds, and I could feel the cold air right away in my nose and in my fingers. There was a light crunch under my boots from the thin snow that had frozen up overnight, and I could hear a faint hush from Lake Superior in the distance, almost like a steady breath.
A couple of chickadees were already fussing around the feeder, and a red-breasted nuthatch made its way down the pine trunk in that funny upside-down way they do. It was a pretty nice scene, to be honest with you.
I went to sit down in my old lawn chair—the same one I’ve had for years. As soon as I lowered myself, the chair groaned like an old barn door. The fabric sagged farther than I expected, my knees bent more than they liked, and I felt that familiar little bolt of protest in both joints. When it was time to stand back up, I had to rock forward twice and push hard on the armrests just to get moving.
Standing there, catching my balance, I thought, “You know, watching birds is supposed to be relaxing. It shouldn’t feel like doing squats at the gym.”
That was the moment I decided I needed to take my knees a little more seriously and find a chair that fit the way my body works now, not the way it worked twenty years ago. Something light enough to carry around the yard, folding so I could tuck it away, but with a seat and arms that didn’t make me pay for every sit-down and stand-up.
What I Tried First and How It Turned Out
Like a lot of folks my age, I didn’t get it right the first time. I made a couple of classic mistakes.
The Low-Slung Camp Chair Mistake
The first thing I tried was one of those low camping chairs you see everywhere. It folded up small, had a nice carrying bag, and didn’t weigh much. I figured, “Hey, that’s perfect. Easy to move, easy to store.”
Well, the first time I used it in the backyard, on a chilly morning with juncos hopping around under the feeder, I sat down and realized the seat was only a foot or so off the ground. The fabric sloped backward, so my hips were lower than my knees. That might be fine for a college kid at a music festival, but for a 68-year-old with cranky knees, it was not great.
The birds were nice, the air was crisp, the sky had that bright winter blue, and I should have been happy. But the whole time I was thinking, “How am I going to get out of this thing without embarrassing myself?”
When I finally did stand up, I had to roll forward, plant both hands on the armrests, and sort of grunt my way upright. My knees complained the rest of the day.
I learned my lesson: a low, slouchy chair might look comfortable, but it’s not friendly when your knees aren’t what they used to be.
The Heavy Wood Beast
Then I overcorrected. I dug out an old wooden chair from the garage—sturdy as can be, with a fairly high seat. It was much easier on my knees once I got into it. The problem was, that thing weighed a ton.
On a cold morning, carrying it from the garage to my favorite spot in the yard felt like a workout. The ground was a little uneven and icy in places, and the last thing I need at my age is to be lugging heavy furniture over slick ground. I’d get to my spot, set it down with a thud, and by the time I sat, I was already tired.
So there I was: one chair that was easy to carry but rough on my knees, and another chair that was kind to my joints but too heavy to move around.
Somewhere between those two, I figured there had to be a better option.
Little Lessons I Picked Up About Chairs and Aging Knees
After that, I started paying attention—not just to birds, but to how my body felt before, during, and after sitting. It sounds simple, but at this age, those little comfort details matter. A good chair can make an ordinary morning feel pretty nice; a bad one can turn it into a small ordeal.
Seat Height and Angle Make a Big Difference
The first thing I learned is that seat height really matters when your knees are touchy.
For me, chairs that are too low or that sink down in the middle are the worst. My knees have to bend more, and I need more muscle to stand up. A seat that’s closer to standard dining-chair height—somewhere around mid-thigh when I back up to it—lets me sit and stand with less strain.
I pay attention to the angle of the seat, too. If the chair slants back so my hips drop lower than my knees, it looks relaxing but feels like I’ve fallen into a hole. A more level seat, or just slightly tilted back, keeps me in a position where I can lean forward and push myself up without fighting the chair.
Solid Armrests You Can Actually Use
The next thing is armrests. At this point in life, I use my arms to help my legs quite a bit.
I look for:
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Armrests that are firm and don’t wobble when I push on them.
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A height where I can rest my forearms comfortably, but also press down when I need to stand up.
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Smooth edges—no sharp metal corners waiting to bruise my hands.
When I find a chair where I can plant my hands on the arms and stand up in one steady motion, it feels like a small victory.
Light Enough to Move Without a Struggle
I also realized that “lightweight” means different things at different ages. At 30, I thought nothing of hauling a heavy deck chair around. At 68, I want something I can pick up with one hand without feeling like I’m lifting weights.
For backyard birdwatching, a folding chair that I can:
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Carry from the garage to the yard with one hand, while the other hand holds my coffee or binoculars.
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Shift a few feet to catch the sun or shade as the day goes on.
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Fold up and bring inside if the weather changes fast, which happens a lot around Lake Superior.
If moving the chair feels like a chore, I’m less likely to use it, and I end up standing more than my knees really like.
Stability on Uneven Ground
My backyard isn’t a golf course. The ground is a little lumpy in spots, and in late fall or early winter the top layer can be frozen and slick.
I look for a chair with:
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Legs that spread out enough for good balance.
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Feet that don’t sink into soft ground too easily.
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A frame that doesn’t feel tippy when I shift my weight to one side.
I test this by sitting down, leaning a little to the left or right, and seeing if the chair feels solid. If it feels wobbly, I move on. My balance isn’t what it used to be, and I respect that.
How I Finally Landed on a Chair That Works for Me
After trying a few duds, I started taking a more deliberate approach. Instead of grabbing whatever was on sale, I made a little mental checklist in my head.
A Simple Store Test I Use Now
When I’m at the store looking at folding lawn chairs, here’s what I do:
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Pick it up with one hand.
If I can’t lift it easily and carry it down the aisle with one hand, it’s too heavy for my daily use. -
Set it up yourself.
I unfold it right there (carefully, so I don’t pinch my fingers) and see if the mechanism feels simple and dependable. If it takes me a minute to figure out, that’s not a good sign. -
Sit down slowly and notice your knees.
I back up to the chair, sit down the way I normally would, and pay attention:-
Are my knees screaming at that last few inches?
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Do I feel like I’m dropping into a hole?
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Try standing up without using “momentum.”
I plant my feet, put my hands on the armrests, and see if I can stand up smoothly in one push. No rocking, no second attempt. If I need a running start, that chair is not coming home with me. -
Shift around a little.
I lean forward, turn a bit as if I’m watching a bird to the side, and see if the chair feels solid. If it wobbles, it stays at the store.
I know it might look a little funny to other shoppers, but at this point, I don’t mind. I’ve earned the right to test things properly, you know what I mean.
What Changed Once I Had the Right Chair
Once I found a folding lawn chair that checked those boxes—light frame, decent seat height, solid arms, and easy folding—my mornings changed more than I expected.
Now, on these early winter days when the sun peeks up late and the light stays low and soft, I can carry my chair out with one hand, set it in my favorite spot near the feeder, and settle in without bracing myself.
When a cardinal drops by, bright red against the snow, I can turn a little in my seat, lift my light binoculars, and enjoy the view without worrying about how I’m going to get back up. When I’m ready to go inside, I just plant my hands, stand up in one smooth motion, and fold the chair with no drama.
It doesn’t sound like much, but those small things add up. Instead of thinking about my knees the whole time, I get to think about the birds, the sky, and the feel of the cold air on my face.
Making It Work in a Small Backyard or a Local Park
My backyard isn’t big, but it’s mine. There’s a patch of grass, a feeder or two, and a view of a pine tree that seems to hold more chickadees than you’d think possible. Sometimes I bring the same chair to a little neighborhood park, or down toward the lake on a day when the wind isn’t too sharp.
A Simple Checklist Before I Head Out
Here’s the routine I’ve fallen into when I plan a little birdwatching session, whether it’s in the yard or just off a quiet residential street:
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Check the ground conditions.
If it’s icy or deeply snowy, I pick a spot that’s as flat and clear as I can find. Sometimes I pack down a little area with my boots first. -
Bring only what I really need.
Usually that’s the chair, a small thermos of coffee, and one pair of light binoculars. No sense in hauling a bunch of extra stuff. -
Face away from the worst of the wind.
Up here, the wind off Lake Superior can cut right through you. I try to set the chair so the wind is at my back or blocked by a shed or some trees. -
Give the birds some space.
I don’t sit right under the feeder. I back up far enough that the birds can come and go without feeling like I’m on top of them.
Once I’m settled, I let my body relax. My knees are bent but comfortable, my back has some support, and I can sit still for a while without fidgeting. The longer I sit quietly, the more the birds seem to forget I’m there. That’s when you start seeing the really nice moments—a nuthatch chasing a chickadee off the suet, a downy woodpecker hopping up the trunk, or a shy cardinal finally popping out from the deeper branches.
Why Choosing the Right Chair Matters More to Me Now
When I was younger, I would have sat on just about anything—a log, a rock, an old cooler—and not thought twice about it. These days, my body lets me know when I’ve made a bad choice. My knees stiffen up, my back complains, and getting up can feel like climbing a small hill.
At 68, living here in Duluth with our long winters and our early snow, I’ve come to appreciate comfort in a different way. I don’t need luxury, just something that respects where my body is now. A good folding lawn chair, light enough to move and friendly to bad knees, is part of that.
It’s not just about the chair itself. It’s about what it lets me keep doing.
Because I have a seat that works with me instead of against me, I can still step out on a cold morning, feel that familiar bite in the air, listen to the wind in the pine branches, and sit quietly while the birds come and go. I can head to a small park on a bright winter day, set up near a cluster of trees, and spend an hour watching life move through the branches without worrying about how I’m going to get back on my feet.
If you’re like me—maybe your knees aren’t as forgiving as they used to be, and you find yourself hesitating before you sit down—I’d say it’s worth taking the time to find a chair that fits you now. Test the height, check the weight, make sure the arms are solid. Don’t be shy about trying it out in the store. You’ve earned that right.
Once you find the right one, your backyard, your porch, or your favorite little park in town can become a much more comfortable place to sit still, breathe, and watch whatever birds decide to drop by.
And on those chilly mornings when the sky is soft, the light is low, and the world feels quiet, it’s a real gift to have a seat that lets you settle in gently, take the pressure off your knees, and simply enjoy the simple, steady company of the birds.
