A Chilly Duluth Porch Morning That Got Me Thinking
The other day I stepped out onto the porch here in Duluth with a cup of coffee in my hand and a blanket over my shoulders. It was one of those early winter mornings we get up here, when the sun feels like it’s taking its time getting over the trees, and the air has that sharp bite that wakes you up faster than the coffee does.
There was a light crust of snow on the porch rail, just enough to crunch under my hand when I brushed it away. I could feel the cold drifting in off Lake Superior, that kind of deep chill that just settles into your bones a little bit. The sky was pale, almost white, and the pine trees at the back of my small yard were holding onto the snow like frosting.
I sat down in my usual chair, the one that creaks a bit when I lean back, and I watched a couple of chickadees flit around the maple tree. They were clearly looking for food, hopping from branch to branch, checking the old hook where I used to hang a feeder in the summer. I guess they’d gotten used to that spot.
The thing is, my legs aren’t what they used to be. Walking out into the yard on icy days, messing around with poles and hanging feeders in the snow, that’s not as simple as it used to be. I caught myself thinking, “Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just sit right here on the porch and have the birds come to me?” You know what I mean—no boots, no slipping on the steps, just a warm mug and some feathered company.
That’s when I started looking at that porch rail in a new way, like maybe it could be more than just a place to set my coffee for a second.
Why I Wanted Food Right on the Porch Rail
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed my world has kind of shrunk in a gentle way. I don’t drive as far as I used to, and I don’t hike the trails near the lake like I once did. These days, a lot of my nature time happens in my small backyard or on this porch, watching the seasons turn around me.
In winter especially, getting down the front steps when they’re icy feels like an adventure I don’t always need. The sidewalks on our quiet residential street can be slick, the wind off the lake can be stronger than I expect, and some mornings it’s just easier to stay close to home.
So I started thinking:
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What if the birds could come right up to the porch where I sit?
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What if I didn’t have to carry seed all the way across the yard?
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What if I could fill something while I’m sitting down, instead of bending and stretching more than my back likes?
I’d heard of people using little trays that clamp right onto a porch rail, kind of like a small open feeder at arm’s reach. That sounded pretty nice to me—simple, low to the ground, and no fancy setup. But I wasn’t sure if the birds would like it. I wondered if they’d be nervous about coming that close to the house, or if the squirrels would treat it like their own personal snack bar.
Still, the idea stuck in my head. The more cold mornings I spent out there on the porch, wrapped up and watching the yard, the more I thought, “Why not try it?”
What I Tried First and How It Turned Out
I’ll be honest with you, my first attempt wasn’t exactly a success story.
I ordered a simple little metal tray that could clamp to the porch rail. Nothing fancy. Just a flat tray with a mesh bottom so the snow and rain could drain out. When it arrived, I sat at the kitchen table and looked it over like an old mechanic checking a new tool.
The next morning, with a light wind nibbling at my ears, I went out to the porch and clamped it right on the top rail in front of my chair. I filled it with a mix of seed I had left from the fall—some cracked corn, a bit of millet, and a few sunflower seeds. It looked pretty good to me.
Then I sat down, wrapped my hands around my coffee mug, and waited.
And waited.
A squirrel found it first, of course. He hopped right up from the steps, tail flicking, and sat there like he’d been invited. I watched him shovel seed into his mouth and scatter half of it onto the porch floor. The chickadees kept their distance, watching from the pine tree, probably wondering what this bossy gray thing was doing.
What I noticed that first week:
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Birds seemed unsure about coming in that close while I was moving around.
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The squirrels had way too easy a time getting to it.
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The mixed seed just got tossed everywhere.
It wasn’t a total failure, but it wasn’t what I had pictured either. I guess I had imagined a line of small songbirds landing one after another, right in front of me, like a little show. Instead, I got one chunky squirrel and an empty tray most mornings.
Still, I could tell the idea had potential. I just needed to make a few changes.
How I Finally Set Up a Simple Rail Tray That Worked
After that first round, I started paying more attention to how the birds moved through the yard. The chickadees liked to come from the side, slipping in from the pine branches. The nuthatches came down the trunks, then zipped over. The blue jays wanted a little more space and time to look things over. None of them seemed wild about a tray that was directly in front of a moving human.
So I tried a new spot.
Instead of clamping the tray right in front of my chair, I moved it a few feet down the porch rail, closer to the corner where the rail meets the steps. Close enough that I could still reach it without standing all the way up, but far enough that my shifting around in the chair wouldn’t spook the birds as much.
I also changed what I put in there. I went with:
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Mostly black oil sunflower seeds
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A little sprinkle of unsalted peanuts, broken in pieces
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In the coldest stretch, a few small chunks of suet on top
Nothing too fancy, just good, basic winter food that birds around here seem to like.
Then I made a deal with myself: instead of staring at the tray the whole time, I’d just sit and enjoy the morning. I’d listen to the wind pushing through the trees, maybe watch a car or two ease down our quiet street, check how the light was changing over the rooftops.
It didn’t happen right away. For a few days, chickadees would land on the rail near the tray, grab one seed, and dart back to the tree like they were testing the waters. A downy woodpecker took a quick visit and left. I saw one blue jay land on the steps and eye the whole setup like it was thinking through a plan.
Then one morning, the kind of pale winter morning where the sky looks almost silver, I sat down on the porch with a fresh mug of coffee, and there they were:
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A nuthatch hanging sideways off the little edge of the tray, picking through the seeds.
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Later that week, a blue jay swooped in, grabbed a peanut piece, and flew up to the maple branch to crack it open.
Watching them from just a few steps away, while I sat in my old chair with a blanket over my legs, felt pretty special. I didn’t have to walk across an icy yard. I didn’t have to fiddle with tall poles. Everything I needed was right within reach.
Little Lessons I Picked Up Along the Way
It took some tinkering, but I picked up a few simple lessons that might help if you’re thinking about trying something like this yourself.
Give the Birds a Little Space
Even though the tray is on the porch, I learned the birds still appreciate a bit of breathing room.
What helped:
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Putting the tray a few feet away from where I sit, not right under my elbow.
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Keeping a steady routine—sitting in the same chair, moving slowly.
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Letting them get used to the new setup for a week or two before expecting “crowds.”
They seem to trust it more once they realize I’m not jumping up and down or waving my arms around.
Keep It Simple with Food
In my experience, you don’t need a fancy seed mix.
What works well on that rail tray:
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Black oil sunflower seeds – good for chickadees, nuthatches, cardinals, and even jays.
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Small bits of peanut – nice little treat, especially for jay visits.
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A little suet in colder stretches – not a whole big block, just a few crumbles.
I tried putting bread out once, and that was a mistake. It got soggy and didn’t bring in the kind of birds I wanted. Seed and suet do a much better job.
Think About the Porch Mess
To be honest with you, rail trays are a little messy. Seed shells and bits will end up on the boards.
A few things that make it easier for me:
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I use a small broom I keep right by the door, so I can sweep once every few days.
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I don’t fill the tray all the way to the top—just enough for a day or so.
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I put a shallow rubber mat under the rail area where most of the shells fall, which makes sweeping quicker.
At my age, anything that makes cleanup easier is worth a little planning.
A Small Change That Lifted My Spirits
One of the nicest surprises for me was how this little porch setup changed the feel of winter mornings.
Before, I’d sometimes look out at the gray sky, the snow piled near the sidewalk, and feel that heavy quiet that comes with shorter days. The wind off Lake Superior can be pretty unforgiving, and when it whips around the corner of the house, you start to think twice about going anywhere you don’t absolutely have to.
Now, I have a reason to step out on the porch, even if it’s just for ten or fifteen minutes. I wrap up, take my coffee, sit in my chair, and listen.
I hear:
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The soft call of chickadees bouncing between branches.
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The sudden whoosh of a blue jay’s wings as it comes in for a landing.
I watch the light creep up over the trees in the neighborhood park a few blocks away, and I feel a little more connected to the world outside my four walls. It’s a modest thing, this rail tray, but it brings the birds closer in a way that fits my life now—slower, a bit stiffer in the joints, but still curious.
On days when my back aches or my knees complain, I don’t have to give up on watching birds. I just step out onto the porch, sit down, and let them come to me. That small shift has made the season feel less locked in and more alive.
A Few Simple Tips If You Want to Try Something Similar
If you’re thinking about setting up a little rail feeding station you can enjoy while sitting down, here’s a quick list that might help:
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Choose a clamp-on tray with a mesh or draining bottom, so snow and rain don’t turn it into a soup bowl.
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Place it a few feet from your chair, where you can reach it without standing, but the birds still have space.
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Start with basic sunflower seed and see who shows up. Add peanuts or a bit of suet in colder weather.
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Keep a small broom nearby for shells and spills, so cleaning doesn’t feel like a chore.
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Move slowly when you’re out there. The more predictable you are, the more comfortable the birds become.
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Give it time. It might take a week or two before they really claim it as theirs.
Nothing about this has to be perfect. The tray doesn’t need to look fancy. You don’t need to know every bird name. Just set it up in a way that fits your body and your porch, and let the birds figure out the rest.
Why This Matters to Me Now at My Age
At 68, I’ve come to appreciate the small, steady things in life more than the big, flashy ones. I’ve done the busy years—rushing to work, mowing the yard in a hurry, trying to squeeze chores into every free minute. These days, my schedule is looser, but my energy isn’t always what it used to be.
This simple rail tray setup feels like it respects where I’m at now:
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My world is smaller, but not empty.
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My body is slower, but I can still enjoy the wild things that share this neighborhood.
Sitting on the porch in Duluth, feeling that cool air on my face, watching chickadees and jays stop by for breakfast just a few feet from my chair—that’s a pretty nice way to start the day. The pine trees in the back, the snow on the fences, the distant hint of Lake Superior in the air—it all comes together in a way that feels peaceful.
If you’re a bit older, or just finding that your knees and back are less interested in big adventures, I’d say this kind of simple setup is worth a try. Let the birds come to you. Give yourself permission to enjoy the show from a comfortable chair, on a porch that feels like home.
Some mornings I sit there, fingers wrapped around a warm mug, watching a chickadee tilt its head at me from the edge of the tray, and I think, “This is enough. Right here, this is enough.”
