The following article was first run in the FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1947 edition of THE “OJAI” on PAGE TEN. THE “OJAI” is now the “OJAI VALLEY NEWS”. The article is reprinted here with their permission. The author is unknown. Photos have been added by the “Ojai Valley Museum”.
Articles from the past often contain historical inaccuracies. History changes as new information is brought to light. Please read the notes from a local historian below the article for updated information. Or better still, purchase a copy of “The Ojai Valley: An Illustrated History” 3rd edition.
MEANING OF ‘OJAI’ IN DOUBT BUT INDIANS HAD NAME FOR IT __________
“A-hawai,” was how the early Indians of the Ojai Valley pronounced what we now call “Ojai,” and they spoke a Chumash dialect; but what it means, has long remained cause for difference. The various Indian dialects used the word with different interpretations, but for many years has been accepted to mean “nest,” (although a number of persons have claimed that “moon” is the proper interpretation.)
However, because of the area’s geographical setting, persons viewing the twin valleys from an elevation are convinced that it resembles a giant bird nest, and for this reason feel that “A-hawai” means “nest.”
From “A-hawai” the name was developed to “Ojay,” and then to “Ojai” when the Spanish and Americans occupied the territory. In the middle of the 19th century, California was about the most interesting place in the world, or at least the entire world wanted to know more and more about this place called California . . . GOLD, you know, interested just about everybody . . . except, probably, a man known as Charles Nordhoff, who was more occupied with the coast scenery and writing about it and the people.
Nordhoff was a roving correspondent detailed by the New York Herald to do a few articles about this land by the Pacific shores. While roving around in the year 1872, he came across the Ojai Valley, and what he saw inspired him to write words so forcefully that two men gave a small location his name. 
In 1883, an R. G. Surdam purchased 1500 acres of land in the Ojai Valley near the San Antonio creek. Of this land he laid out 160 acres to be established as a townsite, offering 20 acres to anyone who would build a hotel on the property. A Mr. A. W. Blumberg accomplished this feat, and one day while the two families were discussing the townsite over a dinner table, the hotel builder suggested naming it Nordhoff, in honor of the man who wrote so enthusiastically about it. And so was it called in 1884. 
However, prior to this, in the Ventura “Signal” issue dated July 26, 1873, the first townsite in the Ojai Valley was advertised as “Ojai,” but this did not develop.
And though legend has it that an unwritten law existed between the Indian tribes, in which the Valley would be utilized to discuss peace terms, and that wars would be religiously forbidden, the land was thickly populated with wild animals.
The early farmers were often troubled by the animals, and so were those who thought themselves safe behind locked doors. Thomas R. Bard, who was sent here to look after the interests of Thomas Scott, assistant Secretary of War under Abraham Lincoln, is reputed to have killed a bear in his bedroom in 1870. One year later, so say the history books, three boys lassoed a bear and brought it home to their astonished parents.
The town of Nordhoff was growing quite rapidly, and on October 27, 1891, the first issue of The Ojai was published at the Ojai library.
Just when the name of Nordhoff was changed to Ojai is somewhat confusing. One bit of reference claims “Ojai” was officially adopted in 1916, however, some records show that in 1917 a Henry Morse, then manager of the Foothills hotel, first petitioned to have the name changed. According to the newspaper masthead of The Ojai, the change from Nordhoff to Ojai appears in the May 4, 1917 issue for the first time. Evidently, however, the change must have been of little importance because there wasn’t a mention of the fact in that particular issue.
Why the name was changed, is still another story. Many people claim that Charles Nordhoff, born in Germany, was a German sympathizer during World War I. 
Nevertheless, on July 26, 1921, the townsite became officially known as the City of Ojai on a vote to “incorporate” by the people. On this occasion, a gavel, composed of East Indian Teak (off a wrecked English ship on Santa Rosa Island) and Iron Wood (found on Santa Cruz Island), was sent with a letter to the city council by a C. W. Rasey, of Santa Barbara, who wrote: “May the sturdy strength and tenacity of the materials of which this gavel is made, prove typical of the enduring future of your picturesque and beautiful little city.”
‘Awha’y’ (aw-ha-ee) was the name of a Chumash village in the Upper Ojai.
Research and linguistic analysis has shown that ‘Awha’y means moon, probably in the cyclical sense.
With the Spanish, the Chumash name ‘Awah’y became “Ojay.” Later, with the American settlers, the Spanish name was written “Ojai.”
Charles Nordhoff visit the Ojai Valley in 1872, nor did his 1873 book, California for Health, Pleasure, and Residence, mention it. Nordhoff visited Ojai on a later trip to California, in 1881, and wrote about the Ojai Valley in the book’s second edition, published in 1882.
Surdam laid out what is now the town of Ojai in 1874. Credit for naming the town “Nordhoff” is given to Blumberg’s wife, Catherine.
The first proposed town was to be located east of what is now Gridley Road, on the ranch of Lorenzo Dow Roberts. Surdam beat him to it by platting the town of Nordhoff in a wooded area of the valley called “White Oak Flats.”
There is no evidence that Charles Nordhoff was a German sympathizer. There was some antipathy toward German names during the time of World War I, but more likely Mr. Libbey suggested it because the name was more suitable after the Spanish makeover of the town in 1916-17.
The following article first appeared in the November 13, 1980 edition of “Paydirt”. “Paydirt” was the newsletter for the now defunct Property Administration Agency. It was a “County of Ventura” agency.
ONE RANGER’S SUMMER
T. Drew Mashburn
YEAH! October is here! Summer is over!!! It’s time for a breather. This isn’t suppose to be any fancy written expose’. I just thought I’d share my summer experience with you. Ever wonder what a Park Ranger really does? I figure summer runs from Memorial Day weekend through September in our parks.
— I put out a trashbin fire on the Rincon Parkway.
— I extinguished a vehicle fire on the Rincon Parkway. — I saw several foxes, many owls, quite a few red tree squirrels, and opossum and a doe in Soule Park. (Did you know that we’ve even had bears and a mountain lion in Soule?) — I had at least two camping trailers and one car towed away for non- payment of fees.
— I replaced at least two dozen wooden toll gate arms at Soule and Foster Parks. A large percentage of the public still doesn’t understand that taxes no longer support their parks. We’ll get them educated though! Our county fair booth did a good job of that. (Good job, Doyle!)
— I out maneuvered at least 693 biting dogs. You ought to see this chubby boy cook when he sees fangs!
— I explored recently discovered Chumash Indian rockart in one of our parks. (Sorry, the location is still a secret until we have a means of protection.)
— I celebrated my 6th anniversary with the Parks Department.
— I was in charge of operations for the Rincon Parkway during the first summer of existence. (Phewie!!!)
— I supervised many fine seasonal Rangers on our newly instituted Reserve Ranger Program. Man, were they ever a big help! Thanks, gang!
— I personally collected around $19,060 in various types of fees, but it seems more like a million!
— I got beat out my “Yosemite” John for the new Senior Ranger position. That’s all right though. I’ve go him trained the way I want him. (Heh, heh. Just kiddin’ buddy. Welcome aboard!)
— I issued approximately 60 citations for various violations. Hook ’em and book ’em!
— I issued around 200 written warnings.
— I issued at least 100, 932 verbal warnings. (That’s got to be close!)
— I probably racked up about 5,000 miles on my pickup. That’s a lot of windshield time.
— Had one death. Unfortunately a young boy ran out in front of a vehicle on the Rincon Parkway.
— Had several injuries in the parks: A little boy pulled a motorcycle over on top of himself at Hobson and broke his leg. A young woman broke her ankle at Faria tripping over a rock on the beach. Another lady at Faria tripped over a rock and put her upper teeth through her lower lip. And a middle-aged gal slipped coming down her motorhome steps at Faria which resulted in one sprained ankle and a broken ankle. I patched up a skin abrasion on a young lad who flopped his bicycle on the asphalt. (Yep, it happened at Faria too!)
— I had the pleasure (?) of dealing with several “outlaw” bikers most of the summer. Some were Hell’s Angels. They took a liking to a couple of our parks.
— I saw numerous seals, sharks, brown pelicans, bikinis, and various other sea life in the Rincon area.
— I took my first summer vacation since I’ve been with this department. I hit a quarter slot machine at Tahoe for 125 bucks!
— I assisted the C.H.P. and Sheriff’s on a couple of automobile accidents by flagging traffic.
— I answered more visitor complaints than one can comprehend. We get some of the same complaints over and over. By the end of the summer I thought I was a tape recorder.
— I saw thousands and thousands of smiling faces on our park visitors. I take each one of these smiles as a compliment to our department and they heavily out weigh the complaints I have to answer. The smiles make it all worth while.
All in all, it was a good summer. It was pretty busy, but pretty mild as far as problems go.
This article first appeared in the Miravalley News in May of 2000. The author is Al Warren. The color photo was added by the Ojai Valley Museum.
THE OJAI VALLEY MUSEUM AND “THE OJAI”
by Al Warren
By taking just a few short steps across a sunny courtyard, you may escape the activity of Ojai Avenue and enjoy the serenity of the 18th, 19th and early 20th centuries. The locale is the Ojai Valley Museum, housed in an exquisite replica of early mission style architecture. Built as a church in 1919, the museum is the only building in Ojai on the National Register of Historic Places. A striking stained glass window and massive wooden doors adorn the front of the structure. In 1969, the Ojai Valley Historical Society was incorporated to give Ojai’s history a fitting home. After several moves, the Museum has found its home.
Inside is a remarkable collection of documents, artifacts, newspapers, and pictures that recreate the Ojai scene from time before the Spanish intrusion in 1542 through the early settlement years, long before the area changed its name from Nordhoff to Ojai.
Fittingly, the exhibit nearest the entrance is devoted to the earliest inhabitants of this area – the Chumash people. Tools, weapons, utensils, ornaments attest to the presence of rich Canalino/Chumash cultures. For as long ago as 2000 years well organized villages existed, including permanent sites on the Channel Islands.
Adjacent to the Chumash story is an equally well displayed collection of memorabilia recounting the history of the settlers who established the roots of this community. Names that now identify streets, schools, and parks become real people through photographs and documents that record their accomplishments. Tico, Blumberg, Pierpont, Baker, Libbey, Soule, Thacher are a few of the many who contributed to the history of the Ojai valley.
A highlight of a visit to the museum is the diorama depicting the Sespe Wilderness area. A beautifully painted backdrop surrounds lifelike representations of the wildlife and vegetation indigenous to The Sespe. The scene is breathtakingly real, including the huge boulders. Museum Director Robin Sim told me that these were man-made and added, “Real stone would be much too heavy.”
I had to believe her. They looked real to me. She assured me also that what I saw as a blank wall next to the diorama, she could see as a door to a children’s section — coming soon. Remarkable vision!
As you leave the Sespe diorama, a sculpture of real stone is visible through the rear windows of the building. This magnificent piece, “Condor Soaring”, was sculpted by Carlyle Montgomery who died in 1998. The condor appears alive. Sculpted from a 9000 pound slab of black Belgian fossilized limestone, “Condor Soaring” stands in the patio at the rear of the museum.
The Gallery is a room set apart from the permanent exhibits. Its intended use is for viewing exhibits of ongoing events. Subjects are changed periodically. Currently featured is “The Ojai”, one of the most durable and respected tennis tournaments in the world. The exhibit billed as “100 Years of Tennis” is a nostalgic tribute to the Ojai residents and organizations whose time and enthusiasm have maintained the tradition of quality tennis competition for over 100 years. Actually, the present format of single elimination matches began in 1899.
It isn’t necessary to be a tennis buff to enjoy this beautifully executed exhibit. Photographs and manikins display the gracefully inappropriate feminine tennis wear. Pictures of the players and spectators abound. The placards record the history of Ojai as well as that of tennis. Displays of old rackets and tennis balls evoke fond memories for anyone who has ever stepped on a court.
The greatest players in the world have competed on Ojai courts. The list is long: Bill Tilden, May Sutton Bundy, Helen Wills Moody, Ellsworth Vines, Pancho Gonzales, Alice Marble and Billie Jean King are among the best known, but not necessarily the best of a distinguished list.
For old tennis hackers such as I, this is a touching trek down memory lane. For anyone else, it is a creative and professionally prepared exhibit of an event that has brought very favorable attention to Ojai. Competition in “The Ojai” begins the last week of April.
Our Museum is proof that size is not necessary to assure quality. On Wednesday through Friday the doors open at 1:00 P.M. Saturday and Sunday the opening hour is 10:00 A.M. A gift shop is on the premises.
The Museum is located on the corner of Blanche Street and West Ojai and the phone number is 640 1390.
This article first appeared in the 11/09/01 issue of the Ojai Valley News. It is reprinted here with their permission.
‘Tis the season for making Chumash baskets by Earl Bates
People native to the Ojai area had a special intimacy with the plants that perhaps is best evidenced by the baskets they made.
“Baskets are really emblematic of a lot of the relationships the Chumash had with the natural world,” said Jan Timbrook, curator of ethnography at the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History.
The alliance Chumash had with plants included not only how they used plants, but also how they thought about them, how they affected the environment in which plants grew and how plants intertwined with people’s lives. “It’s not just a one-way deal, it’s an interrelationship between people and plants,” Timbrook explained.
While researching for the most essential aspect of native basket making, Timbrook heard a collective voice. “Tell people about the plants,” it said. “The plants are really the key.” The plants must be helped to grow in the right way, collected at the right time, and prepared in a certain way.
“You don’t just go wandering around looking for something that looks like it might possibly work to make a basket,” said Timbrook, “You have to know where the particular plants are.”
Many of the plants required fairly intensive management while they were growing so they would produce materials suitable for basket weaving, she said.
The main plant used for Chumash basket making is juncus rush. “It grows in freshwater marshy areas or near a spring or seep,” said Timbrook. One of the problems that weavers creating Chumash baskets today have is in locating healthy populations of the plant because much of its habitat has been drained, filled in and paved over. “It is much more difficult to find that plant than it used to be,” said Timbrook.
The many steps in making baskets happen at appropriate times during the year. “Late summer into fall was a good time to collect basket materials,” she said. “Especially juncus rush and the deer grass that is sometimes used for foundation material. It’s fully mature, but it hasn’t been battered by the weather yet.”
By November, the Chumash would begin the long and intricate process of preparing these freshly collected materials for fabrication into some of the finest and most useful baskets ever made.
The preparation process included splitting, cleaning and bundling of the material. “That’s probably what they would be doing now (in November),” she said. The prepared materials would then be put away to dry and cure for several months, a year, or maybe longer.
Preparing the materials is the most time-consuming part of basket making and unless you have done that right your basket just isn’t going to work, she said.
“The juncus rush is used whole for the coil foundation, but you have to split it for the sewing strands,” she said. “It’s split lengthwise and it has a kind of cottony pith on the inside that needs to be peeled off. Then it needs to be sized so that every single strand is the same width, all the way along, because you don’t want the stitches to be different widths when you are sewing.”
The juncus rush is also prepared in different ways to get different colors. “Pretty much all of the colors you see on a finely decorated Chumash basket come from this one plant.”
The basket weavers have a knowledge of what they are doing, but it’s not like they work from computer-assisted draftings. The creative process starts in the weaver’s mind. “Basket weavers typically envision the whole design before they begin to weave,” she said. “I think the most they do in terms of (technical) planning is counting stitches so the designs will come out even.”
“I have talked with a number of weavers and they say sometimes the basket gets a mind of its own, like it is the one that actually determines how it comes out,” said Timbrook.
“I think it’s very likely that designs for baskets came to women in their dreams, but I’m not sure of how characteristic that would be of basket weavers in native California in general.”
“I know that particular designs or patterns were inherited, passed down from mother to daughter. People who are very familiar with basket designs from a particular area can often identify the weaver of a basket just by the design patterns.”
Perhaps a design for a beautiful basket was dreamed up long ago by a Chumash woman napping on a sunny autumn afternoon under and oak tree near Ojai.
“We do have baskets that are potentially attributable to Candelaria Valenzuela,” saidTimbrook. Candelaria had family ties from the Matilija Canyon and Sespe Creek areas. “She was one of the last old-time basket weavers, she lived in that backcountry area when she was younger.” Juncus (AKA: Rush)
My Chumash Ancestral Legacyby Julie Tumamait-Stenslie
As a Chumash descendant, it is my belief, and that of many other Chumash people, that we have always been on this land. Anthropologists (scholars who study the remains of past societies) do not know for sure when the ancestors of the Chumash arrived in this area. Theories claim that they may have arrived somewhere between 12,000 and 27,000 years ago.
Recent studies on human remains that have been in the possession of the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History have been dated 13,000 years ago. These bones belong to one person, a woman who lived on Santa Rosa Island, one of the islands belonging to the group of islands known as the Channel Islands off the coast of Southern California. This places her as the oldest recorded human being on the North American Continent.
Scholars theorize that the people migrated across a land bridge called the Bering
Strait, a strip of land from Siberia to Alaska. In the Chumash oral tradition, we have creation stories where the people of the upper world, Mishupashup, created man from a table made of marble and then, after it was decided what kind of hands man should have, he was placed in this world, Itiashup.
The decision on the kind of hands for man came about when Snilemun (Sky Coyote) argued with Sun that man should have hands like his; then it was decided. As Snilemun was ready to put his paw down, a lizard ran around behind Snilemun and put down his hand, and with that action, we have hands with fingers instead of paws.
Another more modern creation story came out of Santa Barbara around the 1930s “the Rainbow Bridge Story” in which Mother Earth, or Hutash, planted seeds in the ground on the island of Limu, which means “In the Sea” (Santa Cruz Island), and up sprouted these people, strong and handsome. She gave them many gifts, items for them to survive on. When the island became too heavily populated, Hutash called them to the highest point of the island and told them that she was going to make a bridge out of a rainbow and that they were to cross over to a new land. This bridge connected this this land that spreads out for hundreds of miles in all directions. As the story goes, Hutash gave a warning stating that if the people looked down off the bridge, they would fall off and drown in the sea. Some of the people did look down, and as they fell Hutash heard the cries for help, so, out of pity, she turned them into dolphins.
So, with these stories in place, we Chumash people believe in these origins. My heritage comes from my father, Vincent Tumamait, and my mother, Lucy Castro Tumamait, whose parents come from Guajuanto, Mexico. They settled in Camarillo. My mother and father married in 1942 at the Mission Santa Barbara and made their home in Ventura. Family stories, baptism records and interviews with anthropologist have helped our family trace our lineage throughout Chumash territory.
Our family descends directly from Santa Cruz Island. In 1811, Juan de Jesus Tumamait was baptized in the San Buenaventura Mission, which was established in 1782. He was raised by his grandparents, who were two people among hundreds to be removed from the island to become part of the labor force that built the mission in Ventura. As an adult, Juan de Jesus became a captain for that area, helping maintain order and peace between the native people and the missionaries. He also played a violin in the mission orchestra.
As an adult, he took back his native name of Tumamait, which through research we have found to mean “orphan”. He tried to set an example for the other people to tell them that they should not let go of their culture so quickly, but assimilation was rapidly descending upon the people. As a result, our family is the only one who has a Chumash name as a surname. Juan de Jesus was our great-grandfather.
My father Vincent moved us into the Ojai area in 1952. I grew up in the river bottom of Meiners Oaks, off the north end of Rice Road. As a child, I loved this area, being near the river and the mountains. Later, I would learn that our family descended from the people who lived in the village there. Juan de Jesus’ mother, Maria Ricarda (her native name was Alulalmegue, which means “one who drags their feet”), was born here at the village called Matâ’ilha, or as we know it today, Matilija, which means “division”. She was born about 1786. The village proper was situated where the present-day historical Lopez Adobe is; in 1830 it was a fort. In 1925, it was sold to Louise McCaleb.
It was in the 1830s that soldiers witnessed the Chumash people, hunting and gathering along the river, making temporary camps and performing ceremonies. Recently, workers were pulling rocks out of a stream bed just up from the former village of Matâlha to use for building a rock wall. One of the workers picked up a rock about the size of a frying pan, and when he turned it over, he saw some painting on it. It turned out to be a ceremonial stone with painted Chumash symbols on it. There has been only one other such stone found and we cannot explain them. This stone was donated to the Santa Barbara Museum of Natural History.
Throughout Chumash territory there are select places where cave paintings can be seen. We do not know all there is to know about them, but we do know that these caves are sacred and that visitation is not encouraged. This ceremonial stone was found near a spring, which is consistent with the painted caves. The closest cave that we know of in our area is in a place called Mutah Flats, named after William Mutah, a homesteader who lived in the area of Pine Mountain. This cave is a beautiful example of the intricate designs that the Chumash used to express their visions.
One reason that we will never fully understand these symbols is because the person or persons painting these symbols were sometimes under the influence of a hallucinatory drug, a special potion made up of the Datura plant. When drunk, the person went into a coma-like state. Upon awakening, the person would then tell the medicine man, or the “alaqlapsh”, his or her dreams. It is at this point that we lose the knowledge as to who actually painted the symbols.
When we take a look at Ojai and its power spots, we have to first acknowledge the great Topa Topas. The name comes form the Chumash word “sitop topo,” which means “much cane.” This type of cane was used for arrows and for small tubes about 2 inches long used to hold tobacco and then the person would pierce it through the ear lobe.
The village of “Awhay,” which is where the name Ojai comes from, was situated in the upper valley and, from ethnographic reports, it was said that crystals were gathered from the Topa Topas. Our oral traditions tell us about men who would dress in bear skins and travel from the villages of Sisar (eyelash) Sespe (kneecap) down the grade to villages in the lower valley all the way to the village of Matilija.
Little is known about the life of the Chumash in the Ojai Valley during the pioneer days. Some of the Chumash became cowboys and ranch hands; others picked the fruit from the orchards. Like my grandparents, they would belong to a family who put them to work on their ranch. Then, when they were finished, they would be “lent” out to another ranch.
Very little archaeology has been done in the downtown Ojai area. We all know about the Soule Park Golf Course site; it has no village name, only a number. It is only by looking at the collections at the Ojai Valley Museum that we can get an idea of what was in people’s back yards.
When Caltrans was doing trenching along Ojai Avenue near the El Camino Motel [Chantico Inn] and dirt was being loaded on dump trucks, the person monitoring this dig asked to look in the back of the truck. While sifting around with a shovel, a sandstone bowl was found. This bowl would have been used for pounding acorns into flour.
My brother and I do monitoring of construction sites, and it is in talking with different men who we are working with that we get a lot of after-the-fact news about village sites that were destroyed, or cemeteries that were plowed through. We heard how Lake Casitas and the Ojai Valley Inn were both built on former village sites. This was at a time when there were no laws in effect to prevent it. Communication with native people wasn’t done then and sensitivities weren’t as strong as they are today.
During the Ojai Valley Inn’s new construction, they hired a monitor. When we experience any drought years, people call me to say how artifacts are washing out of the banks at Lake Casitas, but my only concern is that no human remains are being exposed there.
A village by the name of Kashomshomoy (kind of animal) was located at the Ojai Honor Farm site (now HELP of Ojai West).
When I was a child, we spent a lot of time at Matilija Hot Springs and Wheeler Hot Springs, both have the healing waters that made Ojai famous.
The Matilija Hot Springs were discovered in 1873 by J.W. Wilcox, and were purchased by R.M. Brown in 1895. It was sold again in 1877 to a Mr. Gardner who opened it to the public. It remained open for several decades, but in 1988 it was closed to the public. It is now owned by a couple who allows groups to come in, though it is still closed to the public.
In my mind, this should always remain a healing place. I always feared the Matilija area for reasons I couldn’t explain to anyone. Through my learning process, I can now explain those feelings. This is a very powerful medicine place, and I feel that people should only enter this place at certain times with great respect.
We grew up hearing about Chief Matilija and his group of warriors who tried to fight off the ever-present armies. In the myth, the story goes on to tell of Chief Matilija’s daughter, Amatil, who was very much in love with the handsome warrior, Cocopah. Tragically, he was killed in the final battle. Amatil’s love was so deep and so pure that she she laid upon her lover and there she died. What remained of that love was a beautiful flower with pure white petals symbolizing their love and a yellow center to represent the everlasting brilliance of their love.. We know this flower as the Matilija Poppy.
Even though Chief Matilija was a fictional character, his curse still lives on. Many people have asked me about this. I don’t know when it began, but it focuses on the Wheeler Hot Springs several miles up the road from Matilija Hot Springs. The curse states that anyone who uses this land for ill gains shall perish. In our oral stories, we have a special one called “Gain Is All” that talks about the results of too much profit.
“A man once played on his four-holed flute: ci winu hayaya, winu winu hayaya, gain or profit, will always exist. He was a very close observer, and he began to study the world. He found conflicts that went so far as people killing one another, and the cause of it all was gain. He stopped playing this flute, put it to his ear, and listened to the world. And he heard that all was gain. Then he played the tune again and listed again, etc. And this is allâ€”the hole in the flute is the pathway to thought. After figuring it all out, the man concluded that profit is the voice of all. All the time, it is a single voice-like humming of the air. Gain is the touchstone of the human heart. This story was published in 1975 by Thomas C. Blackburn in his book December’s Child: A Book of Chumash Oral Narratives.
Wheeler Blumberg built a bathhouse at Wheeler’s Hot Springs in 1888. He died in 1906, leaving the place to his daughter and son-in-law Webb Wilcox. It was sold many times and had a number of disasters befall on it. In 1917, five people died in a fire, and a flood in 1935 nearly destroyed it. A mobster was hiding out in one of the cabins when it blew up, killing him. One of the owners in the 1960s committed suicide. The flood of 1969 again put Wheeler’s out of commission for several years.
In 1985, as I was visiting the spa, I had just started my shower after a wonderful massage and hot tub, when I heard the sound of a fire engine. I looked out the window and the fire truck was pulling up in the parking lot. You never saw anyone get dressed so quickly! As we ran out of the building and out onto the road, we could see the fire coming down toward us.
At the time my now ex-husband was playing in a band at The Wheel bar across the street on Sunday afternoons. Well, this was a Monday when the fire started so all of the band’s equipment was still in the bar. We found some people who were visiting and had them fill their cars with all the instruments to take them down the hill to our house. The hot tub buildings did catch fire, but were not destroyed.
The worst tragedy was the death of owner Frank and Evelyn Landucci’s son John in 1987. He and a friend were killed when an oak tree fell on them. It had been hollowed out by the 1985 fire.
Wheeler’s is now closed due to a number of financial problems. The latest news that I have heard was that someone wants to turn it into an Indian casino and I’ve been asked if I would be interested in joining up and being a part of it. “No, thank you!” Some people just don’t get it. Wheeler’s has so much power that we will never be able to capture its full potential; we have seen the full potential of its wrath.
This place as to remain what it had been for thousands of years, a healing place of humble origins, a place where friends and families can go and be healed. Great respect should be given when thinking of developing the land. When disturbing ancient sites, in some cases, there is retribution.
As we come back down the hill along the Ventura River, we come to everyone’s favorite gathering spot. As we talked about earlier, the shell beads that the Chumash made can be found everywhere in this valley, especially after it rains. These beads were made only on Santa Cruz Island, so when found on the mainland, one can say that they were a trade item. The Chumash people would bury the shell beads with the dead. So, when people tell me about the collection of pretty beads they have and where they found them, I have to ask them how their luck and health have been lately. I tell these people that the best thing to do is to go back to the spot and bury what they found, say a prayer, and ask for forgiveness. People who have not heeded the warning often fallen ill and died or they kill themselves.
Some may find this superstition, but, you see, we do not have much proof. Somehow man has learned that it is not OK to dig into modern cemeteries, so they don’t. We don’t know what effect that would have on a person. On the other hand, it seems to many that it is OK to go looking for the pretty beads and other things that are considered ceremonial and funeral-related.
There are other places we must mention which can occur anywhere; they are prayer spots. We can be walking down a trail and all of a sudden spot a carved stone item. This is an atishwin, a supernatural dream helper obtained by a vision quest and used as a charm. The person who made this fetish is long gone, but, for all we know, his or her power still remains. So, when you find these items, place them back in the ground and say a prayer.
One of the reasons I love living here in Ojai is the people and their concern about the land. People here are always ready to put down their hard-earned money to purchase land to be preserved as open space. For me and my descendants, it will be wonderful legacy to be able to learn and know about the ancestral villages and be able to look out over an open meadow instead of a mall.