The Bird in My Bones

(and in yours...)

Synchronicities. Fate. Dreams. Tarot cards.

This is how the past month has unfolded for me, my wife, and our farm.

Our farm is undergoing a massive transformation—one I’ll be sharing more about very soon.

But today, I want to talk about something a little woo-woo. A little witchy, even.
I want to talk about a sense we all have, though we’re often taught to dismiss it.

We’re told it’s nonsense. Make-believe. Unrealistic.
We’re told it’s irresponsible to make decisions based on anything other than linear logic and material data.

Today, I want to talk about intuition.

This sixth sense lives inside each of us, nestled like a baby bird deep in our bones.

It pecks gently at our hearts and souls, nudging us away from what we think we should be doing and coaxing us—softly, insistently—toward what our soul truly longs for.

Most of us ignore those early taps.
Until they’re no longer gentle.
Until the bird becomes an eagle, and the beak becomes a talon.

I was 23, living in Knoxville, Tennessee, in a four-bedroom cookie-cutter house in the middle of suburbia—a setting that might light someone else’s fire, but for me, suburbia and I go together like oil and water.

The house, painted white with black shutters, was shared with three other twenty-something year old men. Crusted protein shake residue clung permanently to the Bullet blender. Tide detergent streaked the washing machine. Sweaty gym socks were strewn like confetti throughout the house. I rarely left my room and was kept awake most nights by drunken games of cornhole and a revolving door of one-night stands hosted by my roommates.

And to top it off, I was working a job I truly hated.

About a month into this chapter of my life, my body gave me a warning:
Heathar, don’t go. Stay in bed today.

That relaxed, intuitive message was foreign to me. I was a textbook type-A: always the first one in, the last one out. Always striving. Always pushing. Always climbing.

But the truth is, the only ladder that exists is the one built from our own projections.

I ignored the warning. I pushed through it.
Because, at that point in my life, I didn’t even know what intuition really meant.

Instead of staying in bed, I went through my usual morning routine. I placed two slices of Ezekiel bread in the toaster, smothered them with almond butter once they were browned, topped them with sliced bananas, and washed it all down with a pint of sheep yogurt. I dropped three green tea bags into my thermos, poured in the boiling water, sealed the top, and headed out the door to my Volkswagen Jetta—expecting another monotonous, unchallenging, and frankly boring day at work.

But that day was different.

Five minutes into the drive, I lost control of the car. I overcorrected the wheel and crashed headfirst into a telephone pole. My head slammed against the steering wheel, leaving me with a traumatic brain injury (TBI). And just like that, my type-A, athletic identity came to an abrupt and unexpected end.

Honestly, it needed to die.

I was deep in an unfulfilling, numbed-out routine. I was rigid in my beliefs. I was swimming upstream, against the natural current of my life. I was so locked in my ways that it probably did take a car crash—and a hefty side of PTSD—to break the spell and help me see life through a new lens.

Before that moment, I never imagined a life rooted in healing, farming, animal husbandry, and a fulfilling marriage. And I imagine the list of soul callings will only continue to grow.

But here’s what I really want to share with you:

The accident wasn’t punishment.
(This took me years to understand.)

I didn’t get a TBI because I was a bad person.
Not because I was living in a lifeless, soulless environment.

Intense things happen to good people.
Intense things happen to all people.
Change is life. Sameness is death.

Like the first frost that hits apples hanging low on the tree—what survives often becomes sweeter.

Since that day, I’ve been trying to listen more closely to my intuition. I don’t always succeed, but this past month has brought more chances to hear that voice than I can remember.

Or maybe… the voice has always been there.
And I’m finally listening.

Either way, it’s been helping me stay grounded and regulated in situations that would normally spin me out.

Tomorrow, I’ll share more of the witchy, woo-woo insights that have been helping me, my animals, and this ever-evolving farm. Here’s a little clue:

1. Listening to my intuition led Jen and me to an incredible new farm opportunity.

2. Listening to my intuition helped our animals recover from diagnoses that left our veterinarians scratching their heads.I may have also fired two veterinarians in the process.

Here’s to listening,
To letting things die,
To becoming sweeter after the frost.

~Heathar

🎙 Big News from the Barnyard!

Jen and I are thrilled to announce the launch of our new podcast: Something Feral.

It’s for all you rebels out there—those tired of the grind, itching to trade in your office job for a pitchfork, and craving a life that’s more rooted, wilder, and real. Whether you dream of flocks of chickens, fields of veggies, or just a deeper connection to the land—you’re in the right place.

Each week, we share raw, unfiltered stories from our farm, diving deep into the ups and downs and unexpected lessons of homesteading, farming, and building a life on your own terms.

Pull on your boots, and come join us.

🎧 Listen to Something Feral wherever you get your podcasts.