When I first set up my blog, I knew there was one topic I’d never approach: politics. Or the press. But when I witnessed firsthand that the press is biased, well, I decided I have something to say.

So today I’m gonna take a tiny break from writing about all that sweet stuff I love to write about–ya’ know, our beautiful calf, our crazy old farmhouse, and our sweet syrup making process–and write about something I feel like I have to…

Plus, it turns out that in a New Hampshire in January… in January of the U.S. presidential primary season… a girl can’t HELP but approach politics. In fact, politics comes to her. Last winter, politicians came to American Legions, high school auditoriums, country churches, and the little country store on the corner. Giant buses rolled in with candidates’ mug shots and tag lines on each side. The state was abuzz with talk of the candidates at every turn, in every corner. And hundreds of cameras, microphones, and steno books spilled into every venue…

… setting up squatter‘s rights where there was no room; towering above onlookers, with no thought of actually squatting down so anyone behind can see.

With the next presidential election only days away, my daughters and I have had a whole different perspective on what we see nightly on the news, given our personal experiences with the press last primary season.

We also have a different perspective, given another one of our current insights… I’ll mention that later in this post. Please stick with me, because there is a very positive conclusion to all this circus-crazy mess.

Last January, in a local country store, my daughters and I were surprised that we couldn’t see the podium where the candidate was speaking, because more than two dozen news channels were represented by more than four dozen people and all their paraphernalia, and they were stationed at the bottleneck area of the small store, at the top of the two steps that lead to the small speech platform.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, about three other giant cameras stationed themselves to our left, in front of an obstructed view of the podium. Their corresponding reporters would periodically make obnoxious sounds and flamboyant gestures, overpowering parts of the senator’s speech. Their goal was to get Mr. Cruz to look in their direction, for a better photograph, that was indeed probably not much different than the 2,080 previous shots they had taken of him all across New Hampshire.

Even though he was only ten feet from us, all we could see of Senator Cruz, at the ironically named “Meet and Greet,” was the image we could glimpse through the small screens on the cameras in front of us. I was truly shocked at the rudeness of the press in the few hours that we spent in that little country store. Even if the women’s designer bags and hairdos, in lieu of baseball caps and ponytails, and the men’s argyle sweaters and black shiny loafers, in lieu of muddy work boots, didn’t scream “outsider” in our tiny farm town, their attitudes alone would have labeled them as such.

Direct Answers

Since our family’s move, from suburbia to a small farm in small town, USA, I’ve felt blessed on a daily basis.

But the past month I’ve felt richly blessed to be, more specifically, a New Hampshire resident in our great democracy. This is exactly how a government of the people should work. Every man and woman who wants to lead this great country should have to make themselves available to answer directly to the people, and that’s what happened this winter in small country stores, rural American Legion offices, and school auditoriums all around the Granite State. It was a wonderful experience to meet the candidates directly, in small groups, and form my own opinion without filtering out the press’s opinions. Because indeed, I learned, the press is biased.

A Third Party

The discussions, you see, are not just between the candidates and the people. On every shoulder and behind every elbow of the people there is a third party, who isn’t a separate party really at all, but–very often–an extension of the Democratic party. Regardless of each reporter’s personal political stance, they–just like all of us–also have preconceived notions and personal theories that will sway their portrayal of any given situation. The press is biased. Although one khaki-clad reporter I talked to from California did not come across with a political agenda, per se, in his article where he quoted me, he certainly had an original, preconceived thesis. He quoted just the right amount of my statements to uphold that thesis.

I attended many Town Hall meetings in January and early February, and at the last one, after many minutes of heartfelt discussion one-on-one with Rubio, both my 15-year-old daughter and I were interviewed by 3 different reporters: a young, golden-haired gentleman from California, a middle-aged man with the Associated Press, and one quiet, white-haired reported from Kasich’s home state of Ohio.

In the California article, to make my quote support his theory, Mr. Nash (the reporter from the Golden State) did quote my words word-for-word, just out of context and incompletely. You see, Mr. Nash had a theory that Rubio was working hard to pull Cruz supporters to the Rubio campaign. It was surely even an accurate theory, but I wasn’t the correct interviewee to support his theory, so he just reported part of my words. He wrote that he spoke with “a 46-year-old homeschool mom who said she was torn between Cruz and Rubio, finding both senators articulate avatars of the conservative philosophy.” He went on… “Now that I see what happened in Iowa, I came off the fence,” the mom said in an interview.

What Mr. Nash didn’t explain what I told him first thing in our probably 5-minute-long interview, which was that I was a Rubio supporter from the beginning. Then I met Ted Cruz and was pleasantly surprised that he impressed me as genuine. (I didn’t feel that from debates, his commercials, and different details I had read about him.) Then, I explained to Mr. Nash, I watched polls and knew if Rubio dropped too low I could, with good conscience, vote for Cruz if I felt a vote on Rubio would be wasted. After seeing how many Iowans agreed with me, and after meeting and talking with Rubio in person, I decided to definitively put my vote where it was to begin with, with Marco Rubio. On a side note, Mr. Nash, although not the most talented man at summarizing another person’s views accurately, did in real life look like a golden boy from the Golden State, showing an uncanny resemblance to Brad Pitt.

“Pantless” Truth

Unfortunately, no matter how attractive the reporter of a lie may be, as Winston Churchill said, “A lie gets half way around the world before Truth has a chance to get his pants on.” I’m not saying that all reporters lie (at least not intentionally). But the press is biased. Reporters have their own personal view points and their own world views, and they are quite skilled at twisting facts to fit nicely into their outline.

Mr. Nash gave me one more inaccurate quote in his little article. He quoted the 46-year-old homeschool mom saying, “I hope the Trump supporters are going to wisen up and realize that he can’t even begin to be elected, and they’ll go to Rubio, too.” In reality, this was only a smidgen of my comments about Trump as well, making it appear that I felt there was no way Trump could ever win the nomination. In additional remarks, which weren’t quoted, I explained to Mr. Nash that I did not mean, literally, that Trump wasn’t able to win, but just the opposite. I was afraid, even back in early February, that he could win the Republican nomination, when in my opinion, there were much better, more conservative and morally upright candidates. Yes, I was concerned that Trump could win the nomination and, hmmmm, there might be an ugly run for the presidency offering a situation where no one truly had a candidate they could fully stand behind. So my meaning, which didn’t make it into the article, was “Trump can’t even begin to be elected if we as a people value our country and all that is at stake… if we want a leader of substance, character, and well-grounded, level-headed policies, we can’t elect Trump for the conservative leader of the Republican party.”

Like it or not, and whether they ever disclose full, unbiased truth or not, reporters are a staple of the primaries. They brighten up a room with enough radiant light to make a room unbearably hot, even on a cold February day.

They literally take over any area in which they are allowed to expand, like the downtown Radisson where we went to hear Rubio’s speech on the night of the NH primary. The Boston newscasters literally had a full-scale news desk set up in the front hotel lobby, complete with a hanging trellis of lighting, multiple cameras for multiple angles, and about two dozen large-screened monitors on rows upon rows of tables.

But before you even got to the Radisson, you had no doubt where the political circus was that night. Bright lights, huge tents, multi-level camera platforms, and even a CNN reporters’ trailer on an elevated lift, all pointed the way to the center ring of the political craziness.

Even after they had been standing for three hours to guarantee their front-row status, eager teen voters and patient, tired elderly ones were deprived of an intimate view of the candidate by camera men and women who waltzed in minutes ahead of the senator and blocked all views with their camera screens and flashes.

I decided that all reporters in the Radisson that night had a specific agenda and a predetermined thesis in mind for the evening as I watched all of them parade right by a man worthy of talking to, without asking him a question. A man who had obviously been a part of this political circus for quite some time and who seemed unphased by the craziness of it all. He was there under the bright lights, far behind tall cameras, elbow to elbow with other crazies like my daughters and I, just hoping for a conservative leader this time around (and of course a winning political pin).

The reporters-by-the-busload frenzy during the months leading up to the New Hampshire primaries does pay off, literally, for the Live Free Or Die state. Because, let’s face it, all those members of the press do not live for free… In New Hampshire (according to the U.S. Travel Association), visitors in town for the campaign spend approximately $350 per day on transportation, hotel rooms, meals, rental cars and the other basic needs. In hotel revenue alone, it estimates an extra $8.9 million. So I guess they all spend plenty to rest easy when they lay their heads down at night, regardless of the circus and confusion they participate in each day.

And while, like Mark McKinnon said, “The media has wrested complete control from the parties and candidates over everything….[it’s]  become a circus…” we also have a little more insight into all this craziness. You see, we’ve been studying the book of Daniel recently. Daniel as a young teen was taken into exhale in a foreign land because his own nation–that had once been the most prosperous in the world–collapsed. But he never gave up hope, and he even personally survived a deadly circus of killer furnace flames and ferocious lions. Daniel had God-given insight into his seemingly desperate situations, and that insight still holds true today. This insight rings in my ears and comforts me when I see the political circus that has engulfed our nation. It reminds me that on November 8th, God is the reigning authority. “He changes times and seasons; he removes kings and sets up kings; he gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding.”–Daniel 2:21

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My other posts in this series on the 2016 NH presidential primaries:

A post about the day When I Met Marco Rubio.

One about the different venues in the NH primary and what it’s like to meet the candidates.

And one about why NH holds the first primaries and a history lesson about the constitution.

The post A Look at the Presidential Primaries (and the press) first appeared on Souly Rested.

Back in January, when we had some snow on the ground and baby bunnies in the barn…

I was facing an important decision. I knew in a few short weeks I had the awesome privilege of being among the first in the nation to choose one presidential candidate whom I felt would be the best Republican nominee. I knew I’d have to shade in one circle on the ballot, and only one, among many.

An Amazing Privilege

Based on my respect for the constitution and its view of the roles of our federal government, I knew I would be voting for a presidential nominee who was conservative. Based on my Judeo Christian heritage and beliefs, I knew I would be voting for one of two candidates whom I felt most closely shared my values, while having enough support to be a valid possibility for nomination.  A vote for anyone without a legitimate chance to win the nomination was, in my opinion, a vote for a misogynistic, racist, pompous alternative candidate.

I knew Senator Cruz had, as a teenager, memorized the constitution, and I knew he was a staunch defender of the constitution. I knew I wanted to meet this man.  (More about that in a future post.)

Another candidate I first heard of when I watched his speech at the Republican convention in 2012. I loved what I heard and personally hoped then that I would see more of him in the political arena. Little did I know not only would he be running for the highest office in the land in just 3 brief years, but I would get to talk to him about how he viewed his role if elected Commander in Chief.

It’s an amazing privilege afforded residents of little ole New Hampshire… if you take the time, go to the town hall meetings and rallies, and wait patiently, you can hear the candidates, up close and personal. You truly get a feel for their genuineness, or lack thereof.  You watch their mannerisms and interactions with others, behind the scenes. You can form your own personal opinion, based on your own observations, of whom you personally believe is worthy of your vote.

Undimmed Enthusiasm

When Marco Rubio was talking at a small American Legion headquarters one hour south of us, and exactly one hour north of my oldest daughter, who is attending college outside of Boston, two daughters and I met their sister in the middle and attended the town hall meeting together. After listening to his very personal description of his childhood; his family; his career; and his passion for our country, our military, and our constitution, we sat for a long time enjoying listening to his open responses to question after question from a wide array of audience members. Long after his staff mentioned that the next question would be the last, he kept asking them to take the microphone to one more audience member, then one more. It was his last stop of a very full day, but he wasn’t ready to actually stop. While he did look a little tired, his enthusiasm never dimmed. He seemed to truly want us to know his opinion on every topic that surfaced with every turn of the microphone.

After the last question, it took a while for the crowded, standing-room-only-from-wall-to-wall room to empty. We considered staying and making our way to the front to shake the hand of this man for whom our respect had grown immensely in the past hour or two, but tests to study for, unsureness if he’d stick around for long (making our wait for naught), and mainly our churning, empty stomachs pushed us out the door. Even so, the restaurant where we stopped next was all abuzz with people who had just experienced what we had… a politician who genuinely wanted to talk openly about his detailed thoughts and beliefs… and everyone–a group of gentlemen in their 60s, two young military men who traveled from Vermont, and a group of local college students– everyone was excited at the possibility of such a genuine, committed, America-loving, constitution-honoring man in the White House.

The young age of supporters…

…and the level of enthusiasm for Marco was obvious.

Days later, one daughter was lamenting that we let our stomachs win out over our desire to talk to Marco Rubio that night, so we did what any one would do in the Granite State, in February of a presidential primary year, we went to see the same candidate again, just 72 hours later. It was cold and rainy.

But it was also the morning after the Iowa caucuses, and the large room in the old mill building was filled to overflow, with young, old, and every age and type in between.

Many people were wanting to see this candidate who apparently, after doing rather well in Iowa, was proving he was worthy of a vote.

Many stories he shared and points he made were different than he had shared at the previous town hall meeting we attended. Some parts of his speech were word-for-word the same, but I felt he somehow managed to deliver the same words fresh and sincerely. Of course, this was before the debate that labeled him a “robot.” But I saw no robot. I genuinely felt he meant what he said.

This time when he had answered the last microphoned question and the room started to drain into emptiness, my daughter and I fought the wave that was headed toward the door, instead traveling upstream, toward a large circle of people who hoped to get their picture with the presidential candidate and pick his brain on issues that were important to them.

Eager to Talk

We waited to the side, where we could observe his interactions with others. I was very surprised at his calm manor, listening intently to question after question, often with a hand on a shoulder of the questioner and a tilt and shake to his head to signal he was following along, even surrounded by bright camera lights of reporters and ruckus of the crowd. I was also surprised that he seemed to answer thoughtfully, not rushed, and leave his voice trailing open a little, to clarify they didn’t have any thing else to share before he turned his attention to the next person.

Twice he turned to my 15-year-old and smiled, about to make a step in her direction and talk to her, even though she was to the side and meekly waiting, and even though plenty of adults were anxious to jump right in his line of vision. He knew she was there, and he was eager to talk to her. But she held back, and his campaign assistant kept directing someone else to step up.

She wound up waiting until we were the next-to-last group of people around the senator, except for a few members of the press interviewing stragglers, and a few camera men still packing up their equipment. I think she may have hung back because she assumed her question, belonging to a teen, probably wasn’t as important as others in the room, or maybe she figured she should give precedence to voting-age people. But she was blown away by the respect he showed her and the sincerity which he answered her.

Senator Rubio put his left hand on her right shoulder while shaking her hand and looking her in the eye as she explained that she is only 15 and of course couldn’t vote, but she had, nonetheless, been closely following the candidates and felt very stressed that if she could vote she truly did not know if she would vote for him or Cruz, but she would choose based on whom she felt was most likely to gain the most delegate votes to make sure he would be able to beat Trump. (Hmmm, back in January, I wouldn’t have thought her worries would truly come to fruition, but sadly, here we are today facing this very concern.) She went on to ask if he was concerned that he and Mr. Cruz may split the vote, giving the advantage to Trump.

He spent a few minutes discussing with her how most likely many candidates would drop out after one or two primary results were in and then hopefully there wouldn’t be a problem moving forward.

Explaining My Reservations

After a few minutes of my daughter and a POTUS candidate discussing the delicate nature of delegate votes, I was ready to contentedly go home and would never have felt slighted if I personally didn’t ask a question. After all, the senator had been at this Town Hall meeting for hours and graciously stayed until the last attendees were filling out. Yet Marco Rubio, once he felt he and Kayla had wrapped up their thoughts, looked me in the eye, nodded his head, and lightly raised his eyebrows as if to say, “And your question?”

I couldn’t resist. I explained my reservations against his more lenient stance on immigration and how it could, in the course of just a few decades, completely eliminate the Republican party. We had a thoughtful conversation about how he and I were in agreement that free enterprise was truly the best way to help those who need help, allowing everyone an opportunity to rise without pulling anyone down; an economic model that allows poor people to become richer without making rich people poorer. He laid out his thoughts about how the Republican party truly does care about the disadvantaged and how the party can, as a whole, help others understand this.

Having read some about his financial background, and knowing that he was far from rich, with a net worth of around $100,000 (versus the over-$3-million net worth of Cruz), I had already decided, before meeting him, that Rubio could actually sympathize with the everyday plight of the common person more than other candidates could.

At this point, his campaign assistant interrupted and pointed out that they needed to be in the bus in less than 10 minutes. Since there was still one small group after us, I started to walk away. He could have easily left it at that, finished with the last straggler and headed on his way. But another thought came to him that he genuinely wanted to share with me, so he rested his hand on my shoulder from behind, and explained, as I stepped back towards him, that a huge majority of the legal immigrants he meets in Florida are very deeply committed to a conservative catholic church, so they do extol many of the same values as the conservative Republican party, but the Republican party needs to do a better job of reaching out to them and helping them understand this common ground.

I was so impressed by his sincerity at that point, sincerity that I saw in the deep line of his brow and heard in the low tone of his voice, that I asked one more question, with deep sincerity of my own, and without a second thought.

“How can I be praying for you, daily?”

He didn’t hesitate. He asked me to pray for his family. He said, “You know, this has all been quite crazy for them. I’d really appreciate your prayers for each of them.”

Turns out I’m not the only one he’s asked this of. Near the end of this six-minute video (below), he asks the same of his audience. He actually did not discuss a lot about his personal faith at the town hall meeting we attended in February. He was asked about his faith at the first Town Hall meeting we had attended, days earlier, and he gave an answer that included a few of the points he mentions in the video below. (By the way, this was one big difference I felt between Rubio and Cruz: the way they expressed their faith. If asked about a particular aspect of his religious beliefs, Rubio was eager to answer and expressive with details, but he didn’t bombard us with his faith, unlike Cruz who peppered his memorized speech with Bible verses for emphasis. After meeting both, I remember being impressed that Rubio’s faith is an integral part of him, while Cruz wears his faith on his denim-clad shoulders as almost a badge of honor or mark of an outsider. Not that one is more sincere, but they definitely express their faith differently.)

Oh, and in this video (below), Senator Rubio gives a detailed explanation of his faith and his background in the Catholic church, Mormonism, and the Baptist denomination:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXZq3QvXq6c

I am proud to say that in the NH primaries I placed my vote very eagerly and confidently for Marco Rubio. Given his low number of delegate votes at this stage of the game, if I was voting in the next primaries, I would be placing my vote for Ted Cruz. Unless I was a Florida resident, where I would wholeheartedly vote for Rubio, hoping he keeps Trump from winning Florida’s winner-takes-all delegate votes. Although I realize his bid for the white house might be an impossibility in a few weeks, depending on upcoming primary results, I sincerely hope I can someday refer to him as “President Rubio.” He would be a godly, sincere, passionately patriotic President.

But if you’d like to see more about my homesteading, homeschooling life in rural New England–what I’m usually writing about–find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest, as well as following my blog.

p.s. On a side note, neither my daughter nor I talked with the senator about his views on homeschooling, but had researched in many sources and listened to his own debates on the topic and knew his stance is very pro-homeschooling. A fellow homeschool friend DID talk to him about the topic and assured me he was extremely positive and supportive about it, explaining that his own family was homeschooling while the children were on his campaign tour with him.

Other Related Posts

My other posts in this series on the NH presidential primaries:

One about the different venues in the NH primary where one can meet the candidates.

And one about why NH holds the first primaries and a history lesson about the constitution.

Tomorrow’s post will be about the press and politics.

The post When I Met Marco Rubio first appeared on Souly Rested.

The presidential primaries in NH are a snapshot into a government by the people, for the people. They, and the caucuses in Iowa, allow “we the people” to meet our future president in an intimate way not possible anywhere else–not possible in large, urban towns; not possible after the national excitement builds and crowds grow exponentially. The NH primaries are a time that we can bare our national, and personal, concerns to a potential president–one on one. And they are a time that we can hear his personal convictions and decide for ourselves if he is genuine.*

John Adams said, “You will never know how much it has cost my generation to preserve your freedom. I hope you will make good use of it.” In honor of John, I decided last month to see candidates in a variety of venues, from a quiet meet-and-greet to a packed rally, and make an informed choice.

New to the Granite State (home of the nation’s first presidential primary), I was dizzy with excitement these last few weeks.  Born and raised in Delaware, I am a native First-Stater; I’ve always liked being first. The thought that as a Granite Stater I get to truly be one of the first voters in the nation to make my choice heard, well, that was exhilarating.

Add some picturesque snow to the mix…

… and really, who wouldn’t want to live in New Hampshire in an election-year January?

The Nation’s First Presidential Primaries

My first presidential primary election as a New Hampshirite I was a lucky lady in an amazing candy store where the options were many, the variety profound, and the choice all mine. For a 3-week period in January and early February, I was giddy with the notion that in roughly one hour or less drive north or south, on any given day, I could see almost any one of the presidential candidates who were vying for my vote.

I became hooked on the excitement after my first meet and greet last month, when I realized that the next POTUS was not only within an hour’s drive on any given day, but I very well might be able to get up close and personal and talk to him. The whole experience has been so exciting, I thought I’d share some details. Some insight into life in the state of the nation’s first primaries in January of a presidential election year. Insight into our democracy at work, on the ground. Insight into a month’s worth of hundreds of Town Hall meetings held by more than a dozen candidates, and filled with real people… talking to real candidates… about real issues.

So stick with me. Over the next few weeks, in between breaking ice on water tubs and mucking stalls…

I’ll give you a little glimpse into the first presidential nomination primaries in the nation. A little glimpse into the interactions I had with presidential hopefuls that lead up to the day I could step into my town hall, confident of which candidate’s circle I would color in with confidence.

Up Close and Personal

Coming from diminutive Delaware, with three puny electoral votes, I am not accustomed to presidential visits in my state. The closet I’d ever been to a candidate was when he and six of his body guards brushed past me in one of his crowded casinos in Jersey. He was barking out orders over the sounds of slot machines, and it was decades before the casino billionaire got the notion to run for the highest office in the land.

Having never had an opportunity to shake a presidential hand, I was shocked when I found a link to an online campaign tracker that listed every single stop of every single candidate who was in New Hampshire in the weeks leading up to the state’s primary.

I grabbed scrap paper and scribbled an itinerary.

One daughter stated a desire to meet every one of the five candidates, both Republican and Democrat, whom she felt had any chance of being our next President, because then she could say, with certainty, that she had talked with a United States President. Life got in the way of reaching that goal. In the end, I attended six events in all, for a total of four different types of venue (a Meet-and-Greet, three Town Hall meetings, one rally, and one voting-night celebration that turned out to not be much of a celebration), seeing three different candidates.

My 6 Presidential-ish Experiences

For today, I thought I’d paint a picture of the types of venues the presidential hopefuls offer during NH’s primary season. In upcoming posts, I’ll share more details about the candidates, their actions, their words, and their impression they made on me.

–A Meet-and-Greet–

When I heard that a presidential hopeful was planning on hanging out at a little country store 5 miles from our home, I knew my daughters and I were going. You see, pretty much nothing is 5 miles from our home. Heck, the nearest traffic light is 11 miles away. A presidential hopeful was coming to our little corner of nowhere to talk to a  handful of people to find out what issues were important to us. I confirmed on the little store’s Facebook page. We and 18 others were definitely attending. Yes, 18. Parking was filled when we arrived. But parking at the White Buffalo consists of 6 spaces squeezed beside their propane tanks and under their sign proclaiming the number of delicious fudge flavors they make every day. I parked across the street, in a field. Our snowy boots stepped onto the wide-planked, smooth-worn floorboards in the country store, walked past the counter where we’ve purchased mint chocolate chip fudge many times before, walked around the canned goods and the cereals, and stood near the Pepsi display, waiting. We recognized a few faces from the softball fields. Talked with others, many also clad in muck boots and Carhartt jackets, about the day’s bitter wind and frozen hen eggs in our coops. My daughters and I were surprised that we couldn’t see the mic where the candidate would be speaking, because more than a dozen different news channels were represented by more than two dozen people and all their paraphernalia, and they were stationed at the bottleneck area of the small store, at the top of the two steps that lead to a small platform usually filled with 3 or 4 tables, for sitting and enjoying a piece of pizza.

We realized later, after the candidate and press had left, that a few dozen people were seated in folding chairs, lined up where the dinner tables usually stand, facing the back wall of the store, where the temporary sign declared we could trust this candidate. But until then, all we could see of that area was through the small screens on the cameras in front of us.

But from our vantage point, we did see the large bus pull up outside the front windows. Within minutes, the candidate was down the main aisle, past the chip display and milk and soda refrigerators, removing his layers of scarf, hat, and gloves as he shook hands with a few people and neared the back platform. He  spoke for about 20 minutes then explained, jokingly, he would answer–or dodge–as many questions as he could before his bus had to move on to the next town meeting.

He left the way he had entered, stopping to shake both my daughters’ hands and pause for me to get their picture. We talked briefly, then enjoyed watching how he interacted with others on his path as he made his way back toward the fudge counter and eventually on to another stop.

–Town Hall Meeting–

The past month, we sat in on town hall meetings in an American Legion lodge, a banquet facility, and a refurbished mill. There were certainly differences among the candidates as to how the meeting was run, but overall the format was the same. People arrived early, hoping to snag seats near the candidate so they could get a good picture or shake his hand.

But long before the candidate arrived, those who had seats at all, even in the back row, were happy they were not one of a hundred or more people who were standing around the edges and back of the room.

Music was playing; each candidate having their own soundtrack they would repeat at each meeting. (When I noticed candidates were playing certain songs multiple times, I looked some up and learned that candidates actually pick theme songs. Somehow I never knew this.) Depending on his time crunch, some politicians worked the room, entering through an opening in the crowd that their campaign workers had cleared as he arrived. Other times, they would simply appear in the front of the room and start in on their speech. Some had supporters who seemed to travel with them and deliver the same testimonials about the candidates pre-meeting, others just played their soundtracks while the room anticipated their entrance.

When it was time for questions, I was always pleasantly surprised at not only the variety of questions but also the personal nature of each one. One man was disabled and felt crushed by the medicare system and wanted to know how Senator Cruz would help him have a job and become self-sufficient. Another gentleman shared the first name of an illegal immigrant he has had in his employment for years who was one of the best employees he ever had and a man whose family was relying on his paycheck; he wanted to know if Senator Rubio would want to see his friend deported and his family left without a provider.

It was obvious that the NH residents came out to meet these candidates to not only hear the candidates’ views on important subjects, but also voice their own concerns as well, doing their part to leave these candidates with some snapshots of down-home American concerns and daily worries, hoping that if he becomes president he will remember the plights of the average American and long to make a difference.

–Rally–

Of all the venues available to us, we enjoyed the rally the least. The one we attended did nothing to shed light on the candidate’s detailed plans, but served as an hour-plus live commercial filled with meaningless rhetoric. I should admit, though, that many in attendance seemed to enjoy the experience, almost like fans at a rock concert, waving signs instead of lighters and cheering instead of singing. I’m glad we went, to have a comparison to the smaller meet-and-greets and town hall meetings, but beyond that I was tired and ready to go home before it ended.

–After-the-Polls-Closed Celebration–

Our final primary week activity, after waiting in an unusually busy town hall to place our votes, was to attend a post-election celebration. Turned out to not be much of a “celebration,” since our choice candidate placed 5th in the state primary, but we were glad we went. It turned out to be a capstone on our first ever NH presidential primary. But more about that in a future post.

I Prefer Muck Boots to Political Shoes

I’ll share a few more upcoming posts about my presidential experiences this past month. I’ll share about my conversations with Ted Cruz and Marco Rubio, up close and personal, and my overall impression of the two men that ultimately led to my voting decision. Then I will gladly step out of my political shoes and back into my muck boots and get back to sharing about business-as-usual around the farm.

*While it was pretty amazing to have not one but two possible 2016 presidential nominees who were female, I, sadly, didn’t get to meet Carly or Hillary. To avoid the awkward he/she construction, I intentionally chose to refer to all candidates as male in this post.

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“When one rules justly over men, ruling in the fear of God, he dawns on them like the morning light, like the sun shining forth on a cloudless morning, like rain that makes grass to sprout from the earth. ” 2 Samuel 23:3-4

The post A Look at the Presidential Primaries (the venues) first appeared on Souly Rested.

an exciting addition to our farm…

and presidential candidates to our little neck of the woods. . .

But the fervor of the country’s first 2016 Presidential Primary was extra special for me. Why? Two reasons. You see, two is the total number of states I’ve lived in in my 46 years (Delaware and New Hampshire). Two is also the number of states that played the most pivotal roles in the ratification of the U.S. Constitution: the unhesitating first and the deciding ninth. Those states–the ones so important in the life of our Constitution–happen to be the two states important in my own life: Delaware and New Hampshire.

I’m quite proud of my connection to the supreme document of fundamental principles that makes our nation great. And the past few months I’ve been more intrigued with our Constitution than ever, as I’ve been analyzing how well I believe the presidential candidates will ensure that the document’s original intentions are upheld.

Growing up in my native state, I learned to dig for sand crabs, appreciate blue hens, and develop a snobbery for Capriotti subs. I also learned to be proud that I grew up in the state that was home to the penman of the Revolution (John Dickinson), the first log cabins (brought by the Finnish settlers), and the infamous fighting Blue Hens (who accompanied Delaware’s brave soldiers to Revolutionary War battle lines). Yes, my native Delaware (along with its fiery fighting birds) is near and dear to my heart, and its slogan lets no one forget that it is indeed “The First State.” Back in 1787, the diminutive Delaware needed to see the Constitution ratified quickly or it was threatened to be devoured by nearby, larger, stronger states.*

The Granite State—the state I’ve just recently had the privilege to call “home”—is where I’ve learned to recognize the sound of “r” as an “ah” and appreciate that every way is the “long way” when you’re driving in the Lakes Region, but at least the long way includes a lakeside view.

I’ve learned that New Hampshire is more reserved than Delaware, both in its people (who never waste words, food, or time, if they can help it) and about its place in line when ratifying the Constitution. But its ninth-place status is truly just as important as Delaware’s first-place distinction. As the ninth state to jump on board, New Hampshire finalized the deal. The Constitutional Convention had called for only a 70% ratification for the document to be in effect. While the drafters knew that a full, unanimous agreement would be impossible, they also knew that time was of the essence or our nation might be fractured beyond re-piecing.

New Hampshire, true to its rebellious spirit and its promise to “Live Free or Die,” signed the final pen stroke that made our Constitution the law of our land, even though it was an extra-legal document** that had been written behind closed doors and was under severe scrutiny by the anti-federalists (which included worthy patriots like Patrick Henry I might add).

So, you see, my native state’s unanimous vote—of all 30 Delaware delegates—accurately foretold that our nation would rally to form a more perfect union, truly the best one formed on this side of heaven at least, without bloodshed. And my now-home state confirmed this fact and made the Constitution the highest law in our land, guaranteeing domestic tranquility and liberty, at least as long as we the people are willing to uphold it.

And now the Granite State continues to take its role in upholding the Constitution very seriously, as the location of the first presidential primaries. Funny, the Hawkeye State became the first location for presidential caucuses in the early 70s because of a simple lack of hotel rooms, but the hardline, stubborn Granite State voted into law in the 40s the fact that it will always be the first primary. I’d like to think that those lawmakers in 1949, thinking of New Hampshire’s stance as the state to sign the Constitution into law, wanted to make sure that New Hampshire continued to have a say in honoring the Constitution– by carefully, painstakingly considering the candidates whom it felt would uphold the Constitution–and proudly be some of the first to reveal its opinions to the watching nation.

I, a First State girl and now a Granite State woman, have been loving my first presidential primary election year as a New Hampshirite. For a 3-week period in January and early February, I have been giddy with the notion that in a roughly one-hour-or-less drive… north or south… on any given day… I can meet almost any one of the presidential candidates who are vying for my vote.

So over the course of many school days that followed, in between caring for the animals…

and working through math and grammar lessons with my daughters (and a few stray bunnies)…

We talked to some presidential candidates.

I thought others might like some insight into this process. Insight into life in the state of the first primaries in a presidential election year. Insight into our democracy at work, on the ground. Insight into a month’s worth of Town Hall meetings filled with real people… talking to real candidates… about real issues.

So stick with me over the next few days or weeks. In upcoming blog posts, I’ll give you a little glimpse into the first presidential primary. But don’t worry, I’d much rather talk about ducks that lay eggs and cows that offer milk than elephants that bicker and donkeys that lie. So soon enough I’ll be writing about the promises of a spring garden instead of the emptiness of wintered politicians.

But for this week, I’m elated that I personally got to meet some presidential candidates, and I’m elated at the prospects of a new Commander in Chief who might value and honor the Constitution. I’m elated that we the people can get to know the candidates and then have a deciding voice in determining the next President of the United States. After all, as the American author Elbert Hubbard said, “Parties who want milk should not seat themselves on a stool in the middle of the field in hopes that the cow will back up to them. ”

* For those of you looking for a history lesson, I’ve read many varied arguments as to why Delaware jumped to sign so quickly, from wanting a strong central government, to protecting their long beach line, to lowering inter-state taxes, to desiring to be first in line for federal grants. Truth is, very little documentation was kept of what went on in the short three days of deliberation in Dover, Delaware, but every one of the 30 voted-in delegates (10 from each of the state’s three counties) was a Federalist. Delawareans were obviously pretty passionate about signing the Constitution. But as a native Delawarean, I’ve always heard that we were eager to sign because we would then be official as an entity of our own and less likely to be gobbled up by nearby states who wanted to extend their boundaries.

** The Articles of Confederation had made it clear that all states must be in agreement for  ratification.

The post A Look Into the NH Presidential Primary (part 1) first appeared on Souly Rested.