NORTH CONWAY, N.H. -- New year, new campaign, new questions.

The first phase of the fight for the White House is over. The early money has been raised, the early commitments have been made, the early lines have been drawn, the early line has been written. Some of it matters (the early money), some of it doesn't (the early line, some of which has been typed at this keyboard).

Here's the story line thus far: Obscure governor of tiny, faraway state adopts an angry-middle-aged-man persona, abandons relentlessly moderate gubernatorial record to assume a raging liberal posture, stirs deep emotions in people who have seldom voted and never contributed money, taps profound frustration of activists who believe they wuz robbed in Florida in 2000, wins endorsement of the tragic figure who won the popular vote three years ago and, by New Year's, nearly clinches the Democratic presidential nomination.

One more thing: In the background, the Republicans cheer. The only one who wants Howard Dean nominated more than Joe Trippi, his Svengali, is Karl Rove, President Bush's Rasputin.

If you've read this far, you know that almost all of this is nonsense and, if you've paid attention to insurgencies before, you know that a lot can happen in 19 days, which is exactly the amount of time before the real beginning of campaign 2004 and the Iowa caucuses. A lot more can happen in 27 days, which is the amount of time before the New Hampshire primary.

Some of what has happened in the past several months matters, some of it a lot. Iowa is a classic organization state; you win Iowa by getting people to get in their cars after dark on a cold Monday evening in January, driving to a community center or church basement or even someone's home, listening to a lot of procedural mumbo-jumbo and then, before their neighbors and sometimes under unbearable pressure, declare their intentions by actually moving to the Gephardt corner of the room, or the Kerry area behind the dining-room table, or the Edwards claque out in the parlor.

It's a classic Iowa mix of the ridiculous and the romantic. The people who are willing to engage in this process -- a cattle call with cat-calls -- aren't the faint of heart, or the faintly Dean. They are the committed.

They are people who are used to responding to organizational calls (which is why Rep. Richard A. Gephardt of Missouri, with enormous labor support, won the 1988 caucuses in Iowa) and who identify with causes bigger than themselves (which is why the Rev. Pat Robertson placed second in Iowa that very year, ahead of George Bush's father). Moral: Dean (as the frontrunner) and Gephardt (as Organization Man) have the most to win, and also the most to lose, in Iowa, and if Sen. John F. Kerry of Massachusetts comes in first or second, then he is the man to watch in New Hampshire.

Up here the dynamic is different. Voting takes a moment, not an evening. You go to the polls, you vote, you go home. No nasty stares from anyone, no windy speeches. Also no pre-caucus servings of leftover Christmas fruitcakes and sickeningly sweet fruit punch. Plus there are two candidates who are neighbors, Dean and Kerry.

New Hampshire has given its heart (and its measly pot of delegates, much overrated) three times to Massachusetts politicians -- Sen. John F. Kennedy in 1960, Gov. Michael S. Dukakis in 1988, former Sen. Paul E. Tsongas in 1992. But the Granite State didn't support Sen. Edward M. Kennedy in 1980 and its endorsement of Sen. Edmund S. Muskie of Maine in 1972 was so lukewarm that, in the public folklore, Muskie left New Hampshire the loser and Sen. George S. McGovern of South Dakota the winner.

So now -- before Iowa has caucused, mind you -- the struggle here is between Dean and Kerry. This is a tiny state, and if you live in the west you are accustomed to hopping over the border to Vermont (better coffee) and if you live in the south you are accustomed to dodging into Massachusetts (that's where Fenway Park is). So you know both of these guys. You have plenty of reason to be suspicious of both. Operative truth: Familiarity breeds contempt.

The innards of the latest Washington Post-ABC News poll reveal a fascinating aspect of this campaign -- the notion that Dean's support is heavily dependent on Democrats with what political scientists call low-intensity party identification. In short, they're Democrats, but a bit squeamish about it. Maybe they're independents at heart. But that's OK; real independents can vote in the New Hampshire primary, too. Moral: Pay almost no attention to Democratic candidates who, in the final days, are concentrating on Democratic audiences and constituencies. Independents will provide the margin of victory in this primary.

It's eerily quiet up here now. The other night I took a spin in skates around the softball field in the middle of town, flooded to make a dreamy park for a hearty few who, amid the twinkle of the Main Street lights, might be forgiven if they thought they were gray figures in an antique postcard with a 1-cent stamp. There were no politics to be seen, no politicians to be heard. The only candidate who has been around this week is Kerry, and the hotels that in a few days will be filled with journalists are instead filled with skiers who, unlike news reporters, actually welcome a snow job. They're still hoping. New Hampshire is a place for optimists this time of the year.

Right now (and here comes a sports metaphor) presidential politics is much like the early days of the baseball season. A lot can happen. A lot of phenoms can suffer phenomenal flame-outs, too. The whole thing is fraught with uncertainty. Uncertainty -- but with one unavoidable certainty. Whatever happens, the commentators will tell you it was inevitable. It wasn't.