As I flew into Manchester airport Sunday afternoon I was positively ecstatic: above freezing temperatures and rain! What more could a Minnesotan want in January?

But I knew my time in 50-degree weather would be short lived. Over the course of Sunday night the temperature in Manchester dipped to below freezing-- the result treacherous.

On Monday afternoon nine of my classmates and I were dropped off at our new home for the next month, the Hillary Clinton campaign office. With the primary race in New Hampshire being so close, upon arrival our arrival my colleagues and I were trained on how to canvass and briefed about the operations at the office. Within the hour we were sent out to canvass for the last hour of sunlight. What I did not know before volunteering myself to canvass was how the pleasant weather I enjoyed the day before would come back to haunt me.

My canvassing partner and I were dropped off in the Manchester suburb Hooksett, a beautiful tucked away neighborhood of vibrant colonial style homes surrounded by woods, very much like what we experience in Minnesota (except more hills here). 

Despite the previous day’s rain, Hooksett still had snow. But unlike the light, fluffy snow one imagines, the remaining snow was hard and icy. Apparently New Hampshirites do not believe in shoveling their sidewalks, on multiple occasions the steps were completely iced over or completely inaccessible. One house in particular had a slight slope on their steps up to the front door and created something along the lines of a sloped ice rink. Since it was our first day working for the campaign no one had expected to be canvassing, so there I was wearing my fashionable booties with absolutely no traction, light winter gloves, and a thin headband. Attempting to climb up the slippery slopes proved difficult, resulting in my canvassing partner falling down and scraping her hand so badly blood began to ooze out.

Eventually, after three or four attempts I made it to the top of the steps with a sigh of relief, walking straight to the door. And of course, after battling the icy steps no one answered. So it goes in the life of a New Hampshire canvasser.