"Who can stand before his cold?" Psalm 147:17   The forest is stripped bare.   Every leaf is gone. The branches of the oak trees are skeletal against a gray sky, and the ground is frozen into an unforgiving crust of frost. There is no fruit to pick, no shade to rest under, no color anywhere. To someone passing through this landscape for the first time, it looks like death. Everything is static. Everything is silent.   But a farmer knows something a stranger doesn't. &nbs...