“Cardinals don’t eat at night. That’s exactly why I put a light on the feeder.” — Why a 76-year-old Vermont tinsmith is selling his last lantern feeders at a special price, before another winter morning finds an empty tray.

It is 4:40 in the afternoon in Peacham, Vermont, and it is already dark. Adele Coombs is rinsing a pot at the kitchen sink. Through the window she can see a small copper lantern glowing in the old apple tree. Under the light, the seed tray is almost empty.

“They’ll need more,” she says. Her husband Merritt is already pulling on his boots.

The next morning at 7:02, the sun is barely up. Two cardinals drop onto the tray, the male bright red against the snow. They are always first. The seed is there waiting for them.

Merritt is 76. For 45 winters, he has made lanterns like this one by hand, in a small shed behind the house. This winter is his last.

“Birds can’t see a feeder in the dark. They don’t need to. The light was never for them. It’s for whoever fills it.”

Twenty below, and a flashlight at the back door

Adele has fed the birds in the apple tree every winter since they were married. For years, she had one problem. By the time the dishes were done, the yard was pitch black. She could not see if the feeder was empty.

So every night she stood at the back door with a flashlight. Some nights it was twenty below. Merritt watched her do it for years.

She knew why it mattered. Small birds use up almost everything they have just to stay warm through a cold night. In the morning, they need food right away.

“A chickadee has maybe one cold night in him on an empty belly. Maybe. So the tray has to be full before the sun comes up.”

In December 1987, Merritt went out to his shed. He took one of the tin lanterns he had learned to make from his grandfather, and he hung a seed tray under it. When it was done, he hung it in the apple tree. That night, Adele looked out from the sink and saw the light.

“She said, ‘Now I can see whether they’ll have breakfast.’ That was the whole idea.”

Nine hours and 1,400 taps of a hammer

Merritt was a plumber for 41 years. But in the winter evenings, he made lanterns. His grandfather Ansel taught him. Back in the 1930s, Ansel made punched tin lanterns for the farms in the valley.

His workshop is the old sugarhouse behind the house, where the family boiled maple syrup until 2009. It is just big enough for one bench and a small wood stove. Ansel’s punches still sit in a cigar box on the shelf.

First Merritt draws the flower pattern on the metal in chalk. Then he taps every single hole by hand. Tick, tick, tick, like a clock. One lantern has about 1,400 holes and takes him nine hours.

“Every hole is one tap. If you miss by a hair, the whole flower comes out crooked.”

Since 1987, more than 1,900 of his lantern feeders have gone out to backyards all over New England.

What 45 Vermont winters taught him about a feeder

Merritt does not talk like a salesman. He talks like a man who has watched the same apple tree every winter morning for decades.

• “The Dusk Signal”: When it gets dark, the lantern turns itself on and lights up the seed tray. You can see from the kitchen window if it needs filling. “No flashlight. No boots. Just look out the window.”
• “The Snow-Roof Principle”: The wide roof reaches out past the tray. Snow and rain land on the roof, not on the seed. “Wet seed freezes solid overnight. Dry seed gets eaten.”
• “The Drain-Ring Tray”: Small holes in the tray let melting snow run out. The seed does not sit in water and go moldy. “Moldy seed is worse than none. It makes them sick.”
• “The Sunlight Battery”: A small solar panel sits in the top. It charges during the day, so there are no cords and no batteries to change. “You switch it on once. Then you forget about it.”

It hangs from a branch or a porch hook on its own chain. Merritt fills his with a fine seed mix, which is what chickadees, juncos, finches and cardinals all eat. And in summer, many people leave it up just for the glow on the patio.

The lantern that never came down

The first lantern from 1987 still hangs in the apple tree. The copper has gone dark with age, and the light inside is solar now. But it is the same lantern.

Merritt and Adele have been married for 52 years. Most evenings, she still looks out from the sink before she dries her hands.

“Thirty-nine winters, she’s never once had to go out with that flashlight again. That’s the best thing I ever made.”

The lantern he stopped at hole six hundred

For a few years now, arthritis has been in both of Merritt’s thumbs. To punch a hole, he has to hold the small punch tight between his thumb and finger. Lately he could only do it for a few minutes at a time.

Last March, he was working on a new lantern. At hole six hundred, his thumb simply let go. He put the hammer down and sat there for a while.

“I can still hold the hammer. It’s the other hand that quit.”

He has not punched a hole since. What he will miss most is the sound. That steady tick, tick, tick in the sugarhouse on a winter night, with the stove going and the pattern slowly showing up in the metal.

The last lanterns he finished are lined up on the shelves in the sugarhouse. There are 63 of them. When they are gone, there will not be any more.

“I want them on a tree this January, not on a mantel”

A gallery in Woodstock sells punched tin lanterns like his for more than $180. When the owner heard Merritt was stopping, she asked to buy all 63.

Merritt said no. In a gallery, they would sit on a shelf or a mantel. He wants them in a tree, with seed in them, this winter.

So he set his price low, just above what the materials cost him. He could ask much more, and anyone would understand. He won’t.

“If 63 more kitchen windows can see that tray at night, 63 more yards have breakfast ready for the birds in the morning. That’s worth more than the money.”

His granddaughter Paige, a nurse in Burlington, set up the little online shop for him at Thanksgiving. Merritt still packs every lantern himself, in newspaper. “I don’t know what a website is,” he says. “I know what a box is.”

What bird lovers say about Merritt’s lanterns

• ★★★★★

  “I used to forget to fill my feeder until I saw the birds waiting in the morning. Now I see the tray every evening from my chair. It has not been empty once since.”

  Joan T., Concord, NH
• ★★★★★

  “The light through that flower pattern is just beautiful on a snowy night. And in the morning I have cardinals on the tray before my coffee is ready.”

  Richard M., Albany, NY
• ★★★★★

  “Bought it for my mother, who is 84 and can’t go out in the dark anymore. She calls it her little lighthouse. She checks on it every night.”

  Susan K., Worcester, MA

Three questions people ask before ordering

Where can I buy one of Merritt’s lanterns?

Only through this page. Merritt’s lantern feeders are not sold on Amazon, Temu or in any store.

How long will they be available?

Only while supplies last. Merritt can no longer punch new lanterns, and 63 are left in his sugarhouse. Once they are gone, there will not be any more.

What if it’s not right for me?

You have 30 days to try it in your own yard. If you are not happy, just send a short email and you will get your money back. No questions, no hassle.

More from people who watch theirs from the kitchen window

• ★★★★★

  “We had two feet of snow last week. The roof kept the seed completely dry. The juncos were on the tray the morning after.”

  Gary L., Montpelier, VT
• ★★★★★

  “Even prettier than the photos. It came wrapped in newspaper with a little handwritten note. You can tell a real person packed it.”

  Diane P., Portland, ME
• ★★★★★

  “My husband and I count the birds every morning now. Yesterday: four chickadees, two cardinals and a nuthatch. Best thing we bought this year.”

  Carolyn W., Hartford, CT