By First therapeutic referral under the new certification: a miniature horse named Biscuit, which I didn't name and am not responsible for. Severe laminitis, rotation in both front coffin bones, the owner — a woman named Kay outside Bozeman — had been through two other farriers who'd done what they could with limited knowledge of the condition. I spent three hours on the first visit, most of it on assessment and planning before I touched a nail.
The work on a horse with laminitis is more like engineering than standard horseshoeing. You're correcting angles to relieve pressure from the sensitive laminae, trying to encourage better blood flow, adjusting the breakover point to reduce stress on the compromised structures. Biscuit was patient with me — miniatures often are, they're smart animals who understand when you're trying to help. Kay watched and asked questions. I like clients who ask questions.
I drove home through falling snow and felt the particular satisfaction of a hard job done carefully. It's different from regular farrier work — there's a problem-solving quality to the therapeutic cases that keeps the brain engaged in ways that routine shoeing sometimes doesn't. I'm not complaining about routine work, which is the backbone of the business and which I do without resentment. But the harder cases remind me that I went into this work partly because horses are interesting and their bodies are interesting and there's always something new to learn.
Made a big batch of white bean soup Sunday — dried navy beans soaked overnight, then slow-cooked with a ham hock I'd been saving, garlic, sage, some dried tomatoes. The kind of soup that fills the house while it cooks and tastes like something your body needed without knowing it needed it. Packed some in jars for the week. Ate a bowl standing at the stove, which is how you know it's good — the person who made it can't wait to sit down.
The white bean batch I described is a Sunday ritual, but on a week when I’m coming home after dark with cold hands and a full head from a case like Biscuit’s, I don’t always have the patience for an all-day simmer — and that’s where the pressure cooker earns its spot on the shelf. This English pub-style split pea soup hits the same notes: smoky ham, earthy legumes, the smell of something serious cooking, and a bowl that tastes like you earned it. It’s the kind of soup you make standing up and eat the same way.
Pressure-Cooker English Pub Split Pea Soup
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 lb dried green split peas, rinsed
- 1 meaty ham bone or 1 1/2 cups diced cooked ham
- 3 medium carrots, sliced
- 3 celery stalks, chopped
- 1 large onion, diced
- 3 garlic cloves, minced
- 6 cups chicken or vegetable broth
- 1 cup water
- 1 tsp dried thyme
- 1/2 tsp smoked paprika
- 1/2 tsp black pepper
- 1/2 tsp salt, or to taste
- 1 bay leaf
- Crusty bread, for serving
Instructions
- Build the base. Add the onion, carrots, celery, and garlic to the pressure cooker insert. Pour in the broth and water, then add the split peas, ham bone (or diced ham), thyme, smoked paprika, black pepper, and bay leaf.
- Pressure cook. Secure the lid and set the pressure cooker to high pressure for 15 minutes. Allow a natural pressure release for 10 minutes, then carefully release any remaining pressure manually.
- Finish the soup. Remove the bay leaf. If using a ham bone, pull it out, shred any meat from it, and return the meat to the pot. Stir well — the peas should be completely broken down and the soup thick. If you prefer a smoother texture, use an immersion blender to partially blend.
- Season and serve. Taste and adjust salt as needed. Ladle into bowls and serve with crusty bread for soaking.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 290 | Protein: 22g | Fat: 4g | Carbs: 42g | Fiber: 16g | Sodium: 680mg