The land and waters of Lithia Springs hold a special place in local Indian lore. Prior to Europeans coming, all the tribes of the area shared the springs for bathing and medicinal purposes. All tribal differences were to be left behind as they shared what they considered sacred waters and common grounds.

When I originally decided to build an inn here in 1990, I approached a local Indian asking if any local tribes had any thoughts or input. He agreed to ask and representatives of 5 tribes agreed to do a ceremonial blessing of the land. I was asked to come and bring a bottle of water from the Oregon hot springs.

On the appointed day, an old chief, his son, grandson, and 5 others came. At that time, the land was covered with wild blackberry vines and bull thistles and I felt humbled and perhaps a little embarrassed, wondering what they would think of my modest plans, since some had traveled from as far away as Montana. However, we found a small clearing in the weeds and sat in a circle as soft drumming began. Ceremonial pipes were lit and smoke was blown to the four corners of the compass by the young chief, as other pipes were passed in the circle. Handing his pipe to his s"Trebuchet MS", "Trebuchet MS", on, the young chief began to do a soft rhythmic dance to the quiet throb of the drum, occasionally stopping to consult with his elder. After one of these pauses, the elder chief quietly, in a mater-of-fact way, said “It was time to call in the red hawks”.

I have lived long enough to know that much of the unseen and unverifiable exists just beyond our awareness. However, what happened next I will not soon forget. Within minutes, 3 beautiful red tail hawks were gracefully circling above us as I began to feel a warm sensation flowing up from the pit of my stomach.

The young chief then turned to me asking for the water from the springs. When I picked up the bottle, it was empty. The bottom had broken cleanly away as if cut with a sharp knife. The young chief met the eyes of his elder, neither of them showing any surprise. “The spiders have come”, said the old man. Then turning to his grandson, “You have witnessed a legend born”. After a pause, he said, “It is time to call-in the Grandfather of the Land”, bringing a soft murmur from the circle.

The old shaman began to rock back and forth, appearing to enter some sort of trance. When he finally opened his eyes, he softly announced that the use being contemplated was good and in accordance with plan of The Great Spirit for the land, and should be encouraged. As the drumming slowed and the excitement quieted, tears were running down my cheeks, and the deep warmth had spread throughout my body. There were other tears in other eyes as the ceremonial objects were put away. Then, it was over and they all quietly left.

I soon lost track of them all. As the inn progressed, I have wanted to invite them back, however, there is a part of me that knows that some quiet afternoon when the time is right, one of them will walk in unannounced and invite them all back to see what time has brought, and perhaps to call-in the red hawks once again. I, for one, am ready for that afternoon to come, and when it happens, you all will be invited.