It’s the thirty-fourth day. The government is closed. The doors are locked. The lights flicker in offices that once processed food benefits, health subsidies, and the quiet paperwork of survival. In New Hampshire, the chill has settled early. November’s breath is sharp. And for nearly 75,000 households, the question is not political. It’s not rhetorical. It’s: will the card still work?
SNAP, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, is not a headline. It’s a pantry. A lunchbox. A breakfast bowl. It’s the hum of a refrigerator that still holds milk. It’s the quiet dignity of a parent who can say yes to cereal. But now, with federal funding suspended, that hum is quieter. That yes is harder. And the uncertainty is louder than ever.
In Strafford County, a new food pantry opens. Not with fanfare, but with need. Shelves are stocked with canned beans, rice, powdered milk. Volunteers sort donations with gloved hands. Outside, a line forms. It’s not long, not yet. But it’s growing. The state has pledged $2 million to mobile pantries, a stopgap measure. A bandage. Officials say it will take a week to roll out. A week is a long time when dinner is tonight.
Governor Kelly Ayotte’s plan to partner with the New Hampshire Food Bank is in motion. Trucks will drive. Boxes will be packed. But the math is fragile. The timing is tight. And the people waiting are not numbers. They are families. They are children in Head Start programs who still receive breakfast, lunch, and a snack. For now. Those programs have grant money through February. February feels far away. February feels close.
On Friday, two federal judges ruled that food aid cannot be suspended. One in Rhode Island. One in Massachusetts. The ruling is a breath of relief. But it’s not a meal. President Trump’s legal team is seeking clarity. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent says it could be resolved by Wednesday. Could be. Could be. The words echo. They do not feed.
In the studio, news anchors speak in measured tones. QR codes flash on screens. Resources are listed. EBT cards still work, for now. If benefits were loaded before the shutdown, they remain accessible. But no one knows when the next deposit will come. Or if it will. The process is unclear. The politics are tangled. The hunger is not.
Community Action Partnerships across the state brace for impact. They open doors. They extend hours. They prepare for the wave. In Manchester, in Concord, in the quiet corners of the Upper Valley, the question repeats: what happens next? The longest government shutdown in history lasted thirty-five days. This one is close. The stakes are different. The stakes are the same.
Health care subsidies are at the center of the dispute. Democrats want to extend them. Republicans want a spending bill first. The cost: $35 billion a year. The cost: a missed meal. A skipped prescription. A child who goes to school with an empty stomach. Numbers clash in Washington. Realities unfold in New Hampshire.
In homes across the state, the rhythm of daily life stutters. Grocery lists shrink. Recipes change. Parents stretch ingredients. Children ask questions. The answers are soft. The answers are hopeful. The answers are not always enough. In kitchens lit by morning sun, in apartments warmed by space heaters, the shutdown is not a headline. It is a presence.
And yet, there is movement. There is response. There is resilience. The food bank mobilizes. Volunteers show up. Head Start holds steady. The state acts. The community listens. The rhythm continues. It is slower. It is strained. But it is there. In the music of care. In the art of survival. In the quiet strength of those who keep going.
When the card stops swiping, the story begins. Not in Washington. Not in courtrooms. But in the lives of those who wait. Who cook. Who feed. Who hope. The shutdown is a pause. But hunger does not wait. And neither do the people who refuse to be forgotten.
