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There is a twenty-acre patch of land on the outskirts of Fredericksburg, Texas that remembers a family named Prehn. Remembers a young farmer and the woman who loved him. Remembers first a little girl, then another, then a boy child, and one more girl child. Remembers bare feet running through grassy waterways and the soft warm furrows of freshly plowed fields. Remembers quite easily, does that dear small piece of earth -- because when they all went away, they left behind in its heart, their hearts.
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