First the disclaimer. Horses are a touchy subject because there are so many people with different levels of experience, and different methods, and feelings get hurt easy. Anyway. Horses learn to be bad very easy. They also learn to be good, but need a good person to teach them. Horses that come from a trainer can be good, and then when with their owners who don't know as much, they start to be bad. Horses are always being taught something, everyday, but it is difficult to realize what you (ourselves) are teaching them. Horses are herd animals and want to be with their buddies more than anything. Even if they fight. As to the fighting, separating them before they sort things out is not generally a good idea. Eventually, one of the horses will give in and say "uncle" and then they won't fight so much. Of course, in the couple minutes to an hour that may take, one of the horses could get seriously wounded, but that is the risk you take. Sometimes, there are reasons to keep fighting, like everyday the food shows up and the weaker one doesn't get out of the way fast enough. Having a pen that is too small is a problem, because the weaker one needs to get out of the way. So if you keep having problems, I bet your pen is too small. And when you feed, you need to grab the boss first and tie him until he's not so hungry and cranky. Also, you need to feed hay in two locations about 20 feet apart. A horse that bites doesn't know that the person is the boss. There are different ways to show a horse who is boss (and this is where horse people really fight with each other). My suggestion is an everyday approach, keeping in mind that every day horses are learning from you, good or bad. Your interaction must require him to submit to you. He can't point is butt to you, he can't feed without you telling him it is ok. He can't walk in your space. And he certainly can't bite you. If he is doing those bad things, then don't feed him that moment, don't let him stand still that moment. Work him by moving him out from you. In a round pen, you would work him around and around. You on ground, you with whip, you motioning for him to get moving. But be very quick to recognize good behavior and instantly reward it. In a round pen, the reward is letting him stop, letting him come nicely to you. If not working in a round pen, if not using a whip to move him, at least get a hold of him and not let him eat until he stands nice for you. Then say "ok" and let him eat. Every day. Every darn day. Take this approach to everything you do with the horse. If the horse is being bad, don't tolerate it. Is the goal to ride the horse or is it to have a good horse? If the horse is being bad while saddling, address that. Don't just skip over that part to get to the riding. Also, look for things that might be pinching him, because it might be your fault if the saddle doesn't fit. In my view, hitting a horse is a waste of time. Not saying you are hitting, but just wanted to say. Instead, you have to outlast him. Go slow, and praise the good behavior. When bad behavior happens, do it again, do it again, do it again, when good behavior happens praise him. Do what again and again? Do whatever it is that is causing the bad behavior. Take saddle off and put it back on, take saddle off and put it back on, when he doesn't bite then praise him and go onto the next step. Get the picture of the tediousness of the battle day in and day out? That's what I mean by outlasting. The mistake, in my mind, is when people say "oh, forget it, let's just get onto the next step". That's when the horse wins and gets away with it. By the way, there are no bad horses. Just bad teachers. Every person who interacts with the horse is a teacher. You, your husband, your kids, you are all teachers. What are you teaching the horse every day?

Hi, Shore - no wonder we haven't 'seen' you around. That was a double punch in '07 for you. I would have lost myself, too, if I lost my sister. Damn. I am glad you were able to get through the "one foot in front of the other" time and come out to joy again - many people can't. Something to believe in surely helps - LOL, I used to tell my doctor all the time at my annual physicals, when he wondered how I got into my 50s and have (knock wood) so far been able to stay off prescription drugs, that gardening is my hedge against death. On one of the worst days when DH was working in SC and I was still in MA trying to sell the house, I looked out my favorite window at my favorite tree in the yard, and thought, "You know, that tree was here before I moved here, and it will be here long after I've gone". The memorial gardens are SO helpful - life DOES go on, and they remind us of that. I just got a new-to-me buggy this past weekend - cute little HHR with low mileage - so now I'm beginning to ramp up the search for work a bit. I put an ad in the paper today to try to get piano students, and I've connected with my local professional organization. I'm waiting for my AL (public school) certification to come through; that ought to open some doors. Househunting will get kicked into high gear on the weekends - DH is working hard during the week with the new gig. It does look like we can get more for the money house/land wise than up north. And I'm itching to wintersow again! Last season was poor, as I knew I was in limbo with the moving. I have a zillion seeds - just need a zillion acres to put 'em on, LOL. So glad you're back with us, Shore!

Thank you for the replies. Inna - I agree with the humidity thing. When I lived in Northern Cal near the ocean, there would be no way the soil in a plastic pot would ever dry out. Come to think of it, some of my terracottas there also had tough time drying out. I now live in Las Vegas, where annual rainfall is less than 4". Elevation at my place is 3,500ft. above sea level and typical relative humidity here is less than 25% (today it is only 16%). I think this is a big reason why I can get away with a healthy jade in plastic container. Gill - I really like your "If it isn't broken, why mend it? It's down to a mix of.... a,b,c,d". And in my case, it is more like "If it isn't broken, I am afraid to mend it! :-) My jades will probably have a couple more years before the next re-potting. At that point, healthy or not, I would probably go for terracotta, since my largest one would be over 2-ft. tall then (currently 22" tall, 20" canopy). When I figure out how to post a pic, I will post some of my favorites. Cheers, Alex.

You'll be close to Concord & Lexington, MA. If you enjoy American history it's hard to find a more inspired place. This is the first poem I ever memorized... THE MIDNIGHT RIDE OF PAUL REVERE (from the Landlord's Tale) Listen my children and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, "If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower as a signal light,-- One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said "Good-night!" and with muffled oar Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where swinging wide at her moorings lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon like a prison bar, And a huge black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend through alley and street Wanders and watches, with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed the tower of the Old North Church, By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade,-- By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the town And the moonlight flowing over all. Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, In their night encampment on the hill, Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, The watchful night-wind, as it went Creeping along from tent to tent, And seeming to whisper, "All is well!" A moment only he feels the spell Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thoughts are bent On a shadowy something far away, Where the river widens to meet the bay,-- A line of black that bends and floats On the rising tide like a bridge of boats. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now he gazed at the landscape far and near, Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry tower of the Old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns. A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet; That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. He has left the village and mounted the steep, And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; And under the alders that skirt its edge, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises after the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock, When he galloped into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, black and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock, When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadow brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read How the British Regulars fired and fled,--- How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard wall, Chasing the redcoats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere;= And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,--- A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere. /t Here is a link that might be useful: Lexington, MA Guide