This blog is starting to look suspiciously like a love letter to New Hampshire—with a few passive-aggressive footnotes about the weather. It’s a far cry from other places I’ve lived: Houston, Phoenix, Santa Monica, San Francisco, London, Boston… and Anchorage (which, to be fair, is the closest match—minus the volcanic ash, wandering moose, salmon runs, and the deeply questionable concept of a midnight-sun tee time at 2:00 a.m.). March in New Hampshire means one thing: Town Meeting . For the uninitiated, this is a centuries-old New England tradition where residents gather to govern themselves directly. Yes, really. No filters, no middlemen—just your neighbors, a microphone, and a strong opinion. I used to think Texas politics had a flair for the dramatic. Then I attended Town Meeting. Picture a room full of people, with seriously opposing viewpoints, debating municipal budgets and whether the town should build much-needed infrastructure (tax funding required). Now add just enough unpr...