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The Mount Compass hills have always been my home. I still live on the farm I was raised on, and nothing much about it has changed. Our front yard has a fig tree, a cherry plum tree and a tyre swing under an enormous oak. Sheep are dotted on distant green pastures like dandelions in a field, and birds sing at all times of the day.

I probably didn’t realise how special this quiet little corner of the world was to me, until last year,