Sunday morning: glorious sunshine filters through ever present fluffy whites as we toddle along the two lane to North Gate Church, an abandoned white clapboard whose stunning cross tops a slender tower, which casst a shadow over the border to Canada. Yes, we were that close, only feet from the international border dividing Canada and North Dakota. The small community, home to the oat grain elevators along the rail road tracks owned by Kelloggs, is now a ghost town. Not quite: three families still live on lands visited on frequent summer evenings by coyotes and fox. Dogs no longer live in town and the church is unattended, unbishoped most of the year. Twice yearly, once in June and once again in late September, the Lutherans from all round the countryside bring their picnic lunches, their children, their grandmothers and fathers to a mid-morning service complete with organ music, a choir, and a properly attired minister. All of these folks attend in an attempt to delay the ghost of prairie winters from destroying the now mostly unvisited house of God.