Personal Narrative: Moving To America

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Growing up in England by the Peak District my Dad would often take us on short walks through the heather to look at the rolling hills; I fondly remember falling into the heather on an autumn day or seeing mounds of snow over the embankments on the sides of the roads. My Mum lived across from a wooded area that sprawled for miles, it started as a slope leading to trees and the small stream that I would walk along in my Wellies, during the winter my brother and I would trek out there for hours of sledding and fun to return to hot chocolate made for us. Since moving to America, I have witnessed nature but never to the raw extent that I did as a child. This past summer I found myself backpacking, the type where you put a third of your body weight

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