Rooted & Resilient | by Marisa Herzer
Pay Attention
As humans, we are born into this world often raised to hone in on obvious senses such as sight, sound, touch, taste. Our parental figures do their best to guide us through the early years of our lives, showing us what they know in the ways they understand those truths. Often, though, there are some things that slip through the cracks and it is not until later in one’s life that these ‘missing pieces’ are discovered and cultivated.
Through necessity of survival, the most obvious skills become the first ones to learn: how to identify common threats through sight, how to feel around the world to keep oneself safe, how to smell or taste food that may not be the safest to eat.. but something like intuition comes later, after the baby grows and learns the basics of living in this human realm.
There’s a phrase I often hear when people talk about farmers, ranchers, horsemen and others who spend their lives close to the land. “They just know…,” when the rain is coming; when an animal isn’t feeling well, when crops are struggling or when something just feels “off.” For some time, I assumed this kind of ‘knowing’ was intuition – and maybe it is. However, the more time I spend studying agriculture and the natural world, the more I wonder if intuition is not as mysterious as it is often made out to be.
Perhaps intuition is a skill, or a sense, that we just have not yet learned how to harness. What if intuition is simply the result of learning to listen, in a way that is quieter and deeper than what our ears can pick up on?
The Difference Between Looking and Seeing
Our modern lives teach us to move quickly, to rush from one responsibility to the next. This often disconnects us from the environments we inhabit and we only notice what demands our immediate attention.
Nature operates differently. The land rewards your observation and the more time we spend paying attention, the more patterns begin to emerge. It’s truly unbelievable how many patterns exist right before our eyes that we never notice until the moment we do.
You begin to notice which plants really thrive after a rainstorm, or where water naturally wants to flow. You’ll start to notice subtle changes in animal behavior or when the wind suddenly shifts. When seasons begin changing, you’ll know before the calendar tells you so. Over time, these observations accumulate into something that feels remarkably like intuition.
Intuition or Pattern Recognition?
I’ve begun to wonder whether many of the things we call intuition are actually the result of a relationship. Like the gardener who knows a tomato plant is struggling: they may not be guessing. Or the rancher who senses something is wrong with a herd of cattle: they may not be operating on instinct alone. The horseman who feels tension before a horse reacts may not possess a rare supernatural gift, either.
Maybe these individuals have spent enough time in relationship with their craft that they recognize patterns others have not yet learned to see. This does not make intuition less meaningful, but does make it more accessible. As someone who carries an intense closeness with spirituality, this realization is important for me to share. For most of my life, I have viewed intuition primarily from a spiritual lens and still hold that dear to my heart.
Agriculture has opened a new window for me to peer through. The more time I spend observing plants, animals, weather patterns, and ecosystems, the more I see that what feels intuitive is often built upon thousands of small observations collected over time. This doesn’t take all the magic away for me, though, because I understand that in order to truly wield your abilities in this world, you must be present and carry intention with everything you do.
Before now, it has been challenging to communicate that being able to feel a deep sense of understanding of your own intuition is not reserved for a select few but can be developed through true presence.
Nature Listens Through Relationship
A fascinating lesson I continue to learn through agriculture is that not a single thing truly exists in isolation. Plants communicate with each other through chemical signals, and mycorrhizal fungi connect with their vast underground networks as we mentioned in our last post. The pollinators and flowers depend heavily on one another and the organisms in the soil transform organic matter into life sustaining nutrients.
Every place you turn to look, a healthy system is built through relationship. It is no surprise to me that people are no different. The more connected we become to something, the more information becomes available to us. This notion becomes more true every day that I’m blessed to wake up on the beautiful land that I steward.
The more time we spend in relationship with the land, the more the land begins to teach us. The question becomes, are we paying attention to what we are being taught?
The Stewardship of Attention
Through Frontier West, we know stewardship to be something practical. The water management, soil health, plant selection, livestock systems, infrastructure planning and more all begin with practical steps but more importantly: good stewardship begins long before any of these are implemented.
It can all be traced back to attention. Before we can truly improve a landscape, we must first understand it. Before solving any problem, we must first notice there is a problem to begin with. Before any resilient system can be designed, we must learn how the existing system already functions.
These same principles apply to our lives, where attention creates awareness, awareness creates understanding and understanding leads to better decisions. Simply put: these are the building blocks to a practical system that is stewarded with true presence and care.
Learning to Listen
Perhaps intuition is less about receiving answers from somewhere outside ourselves and starts with becoming fully present to what already exists around us.
The land, our bodies and our relationships are constantly communicating and the biggest question becomes not whether the information is available but if we are slowing down enough to truly hear it.
I wonder if intuition is another sense that we have neglected to develop, because modern life rarely asks us to practice it. We are taught to look, but not always to see. To hear, but not always listen… to move, but not always notice.
In comparison, the natural world operates differently: because the land rewards your attention, the animals reward your observation and relationships reward your presence. Over time, the mysterious begins feeling very familiar. Learning to truly listen may be one of the most resilient skills we can cultivate because it reconnects us with the systems that sustain.
Maybe intuition was never a supernatural gift reserved for some but is a natural result of paying attention long enough to develop a relationship with something greater than ourselves. As nature shows us every day, resilience is created through relationship. Perhaps this is why the land is such a powerful teacher: it continually reminds us that understanding grows wherever attention and relationship are allowed to take root.
In a world that seems to constantly complete for our attention, learning where to place that attention may be one of the most important skills we can develop.
From the Desk of Marisa, The Agriculturist
Marisa holds a Bachelor of Science in Animal Science Production and a Master of Science in Agricultural and Consumer Resources from Tarleton State University.
Her journey into agriculture began with horses. Studying their physiology, nutrition, and behavior revealed something deeper: environments are shaped not only by inputs, but by energy and connection.
Her work focuses on functional, science-backed agricultural systems that strengthen resilience for both people and animals.
At Rooted & Resilient and Frontier West, she integrates traditional livestock production with regenerative design — always asking:
How can we design systems that nourish more than they consume?
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