I was at Gwen Walz’s cozy campaign event in Pennsylvania. Not far away I saw something else.

In the home stretch of the 2024 presidential election, both candidates are trying to reach as many swing-state voters as possible — and Gwen Walz, wife of vice presidential candidate Tim Walz, took her turn this week with a series of events in Pennsylvania.

On Monday, the Harris campaign organized a “Commit to Vote” party at a private home in Easton – a blue-collar town in notoriously unpredictable Northampton County, whose residents have voted in almost every election cycle for the candidate who ultimately wins the state and the white one A house. Four years ago, President Joe Biden won Northampton County by about 1,200 votes — less than a percentage point — while Hillary Clinton lost by about 5,500 votes. The Harris campaign is reportedly spending $315 million in Pennsylvania, and that money is being used hard in Northampton, where giant Harris billboards are scattered across highways, plastered on buildings and taped to street corners.

When you imagine a typical American single-family home, you probably imagine something like John Williamson and Sue Spaziani’s house, with its shingled roof and wrap-around porch. Williamson and Spaziani are both retired teachers who also happen to be lifelong Democrats, and when I arrived at their house on Monday afternoon, about an hour before Gwen Walz was scheduled to arrive, there was a huge camouflage “Harris Walz” flag draped one side of the porch (a nod to the viral Democratic campaign merch).

Spaziani greeted the handful of reporters who showed up — mostly from local Pennsylvania affiliates — in the couple’s cozy living room, which featured a jumble of mismatched frames on the walls and red woven rugs on the creaky, warm wood floors.

Spaziani and Williamson both wore T-shirts that read “I’m voting for Gus’ dad,” a reference to Walz’s 18-year-old son Gus, who went viral this summer after he became visibly emotional during his father’s speech at the Democratic National was convention.

Guests arrived carrying food with them, which they placed on the growing buffet table, which was loaded with cookies, cakes, a fruit and vegetable tray, a small charcuterie board, and woven baskets of potato chips, biscuits, etc. Chex Mix. As the house began to fill with strangers, the family dog ​​anxiously made his rounds in the foyer.

Those in attendance were retired teachers and family friends, mostly white, college-educated Democrats. Some of them were invited because they are members of Spaziani’s book club — and there was real book club energy as Williamson offered wine to guests and people milled around the interconnecting rooms downstairs, grabbing food and making small talk. Through the dining room window I could see a row of signs in the neighbor’s yard advocating voting for Democrats.

About an hour into the party, Harris’ campaign staff said Walz would arrive any moment and led attendees into the foyer, where the stairs had been converted into a makeshift lectern. Lady Gaga’s “The Edge of Glory” began playing from a small speaker, and Walz walked in, wearing a suffragette white blazer and a red lip, looking through glasses perched on the tip of her nose. Had she not been the center of attention, Walz, herself a former public school teacher, could have easily blended in with the other guests.

“I know we have a lot of different people here, but we have some Easton Democrats, don’t we?” Walz joked as the crowd giggled on cue. It was clear that this would be a receptive group, a group of voters who needed little convincing to vote blue in November. Still, Walz played hype man here, encouraging people to get their friends and family to vote for her husband and Harris in a few weeks. “I heard that Trump is also in the collar counties today, peddling his old grievances and grievances, and that’s just exhausting, isn’t it?” Walz asked, and the crowd booed loudly.

She promised that a Harris-Walz ticket would prioritize middle-class families by cutting taxes, reducing health care costs and helping families afford housing. She contrasted this with what voters might expect from a future Trump-Vance administration. “We cannot imagine anyone being denied the chance to become parents. But that’s exactly what Trump will do: jeopardize fertility treatments nationwide,” Walz said. “Like you’re going to tip over roe “It wasn’t bad enough.”

At the end of her roughly 15-minute speech, Walz held up a small cellophane bag full of cookies. “Made in Minnesota! “This is my great-grandmother’s recipe for gingerbread cookies,” Walz said. “When we have a party at the Minnesota Governor’s Mansion, I serve it warm at the very end as they walk out into the cold Minnesota night.”

Then Harris’ campaign team suddenly stormed the journalists in the room outside, announced that the party was closed to the press, and left us standing awkwardly on the sidewalk. A few minutes passed in confused silence as we watched a teenager walk up to the house, take a photo of the giant Harris Walz camouflage flag, and run away.

Fortunately, some attendees decided to leave the event, and I was able to speak with Melissa Killian, a retired 71-year-old who formerly ran a pediatric pulmonary function lab and is a member of Spaziani’s book club. A “Harris Walz” button was fastened to the lapel of her baby blue wool coat. “I loved it,” she said of Walz’s speech with a big smile on her face. “It was invigorating, so nice to be here.” She told me she had no doubt that she voted for Harris and Walz because she considers herself a lifelong Democrat. Her grandfather was even a former Democratic congressman. “I can’t believe anyone is trying to tell me – young women – what to do with their bodies,” she said. “It’s sick.”

Her daughter, Emily Killian, a 43-year-old public school teacher, was there as her asset. Emily told me that she thought Walz was “wonderful” and that women’s rights were a top priority for her because she had a young daughter. “It’s very important to me that she has the freedom to make her own decisions and autonomy over her body,” she said. She recently moved to Pennsylvania from Austin, Texas, and now feels the added pressure of being a swing state voter. “It was pretty intense – it feels really close, closer than I would have liked,” Emily said. “But I’m doing what I can to make a difference and I will definitely be voting for Kamala on election day.”

Of course, the crowd of committed Democrats in the House of Spaziani and Williamson made Walz a safe bet. About a mile away, in downtown Easton, the story was different. I met a 26-year-old waitress at a local restaurant who said she was born and raised in Pennsylvania. The server, who asked me not to use her name, told me she didn’t notice many political ads and only saw a few commercials on her Hulu streaming account. “Honestly, it feels like no one is talking about the issues I care about,” she told me, namely U.S. food quality standards and the economy. (The economy was an important issue for both campaigns, although getting their message across to voters who will determine whether they win or fail is clearly still a challenge.) The server said she also wants lawmakers to work to To eliminate chemicals forever and ban food additives.

She told me that she voted for Donald Trump in 2020. This time, she said, she would likely make her decision on Election Day, while driving to the polls Sales stand.