At the Democratic caucus in Augusta, I shared a table with two first-time attendees. One was in her 20s. The other was probably 60.

It’s been that kind of an election year.

I do enjoy a good caucus, but I haven’t had that much experience. I was living in Massachusetts or Rhode Island for my first three presidential elections. Both states have primaries. My political whereabouts in 1988 remain a mystery; surely I would remember standing for Michael Dukakis if I had attended the Maine caucus. Maybe I felt I shouldn’t go because I was working full time as a journalist at the time.

In 1992 I supported another former Massachusetts politician, Paul Tsongas, at the caucus. Maine had primaries in 1996 and 2000, but it had reverted to caucuses by 2004.

That nominating cycle was exciting, with up to 11 candidates vying for support. I am chagrined to think that I supported the now-disgraced former senator from North Carolina, John Edwards.

In 2008, I thought I would vote for Hillary Clinton, but changed my mind in the weeks leading up to the caucus. This was an interesting gathering because the resentment from the Clinton camp was palpable. How dare we go over — literally, as we needed to walk to our “spot” — to the side of an upstart?

I skipped 2012 because a caucus is no fun without some suspense.

Now here we are in 2016. I told my newbie acquaintances that I felt something was different. I’m not sure of the logistics, but it looked like the Bernie Sanders supporters had cornered the prime real estate in the Cony High School food court. (The Obama folks were shunted off to a corridor in 2008.) There were even “Bernie” signs posted on the school library, where I work. Quite a few people were registering to join the party, never mind the long lines of members checking in.

Another thing: We were all sitting down. I didn’t see anyone who looked as though they were contemplating crossing over to the Hillary camp. Their only movement was reaching across their table to scoop up as much Bernie booty (badges, bumper stickers, etc.) as they could.

I delighted in seeing neighbors, friends and colleagues. But my favorite glimpses were of students — mostly former, but at least one current. Wow. The only young people I knew at the 2008 caucus were with their parents. They were not eligible to vote. And the pundits thought Obama had a youth movement behind him.

Did Obama have two elementary-age girls offering hand-drawn mini-posters proclaiming the Obama equivalent of “Bernie for ME”? No.

By the way, there were plenty of 40-plus Augustans in Bernie’s corner. We liked the drawings.

The lines continued to snake through the front doors of the school. The start of the caucus was delayed. More people arrived. The speechifying began nonetheless. Finally, we were ready to get down to business.

Then came a moment I believe I will remember for the rest of my life, even though I can’t recall where I was in 1988. The supporters were instructed to take their corners. I mentally shrugged. It looked to me as though we already had. But then a wave of people came over to the Bernie side. The three remaining seats at my table were quickly filled. I knew then we had to win, even though I couldn’t see the Hillary group through all the bodies.

The rest is history.

I was excited. The Bernie people were excited. But underlying their enthusiasm was a kind of weariness. I’m not talking about the political die-hards, or old political science majors like me, whose favorite form of March Madness happens every four years.

Nor do I mean the kiddos, who are rightly inspired by a candidate who speaks the truth.

I am talking about the people who have been left behind. Just at the moment when it seemed there was no turning back from our inexorable march to complete and total income inequality, along came a man willing to suggest that this is a bad idea.

Hearing the results was a good moment. An excellent moment. But it may have been topped days later when, in the halls of Cony, I ran into a student I’d seen at the caucus. I said her name, and added, “Feelin’ the Bern!”

She smiled; but even better, she took out her earbuds to hear me.

Liz Soares welcomes e-mail at lsoares@gwi.net

Copy the Story Link