You know who I mean: Old Witch Winter, the scary old Yule ogress, the one with the tail, and six or eight horns sticking out of her head. The Hag with the Bag. Like it says in the song:

She carries a sack

made out of a skin:

she dumps the toys out,

she stuffs the kids in.

Around here, we usually call her Mother Berchta. (That's a CH as in Achtung!, and don't you forget it.) For some reason, it's customary hereabouts—though not, of course, obligatory—for her personifier to be a priest of Auld Hornie. (I don't know why; maybe it's the horns.) Hey, I've done it myself, on more than one occasion, and even now reprise the role every so often.

Down the decades, I've gathered many darkly shining Berchta moments, but let me tell you about one of my favorites.

A few days before the Minnesota Church of the Wicca Yule ritual that year, word went around that everyone should bring a wrapped gift: don't spend more than $5.

“Gifts go under the Yule tree,” everyone was told as they arrived. By the time things got underway, a colorful mound of gifts had accumulated there.

After the ritual, Berchta came storming into the room.

Direct your attention to the floor beneath the Yule tree, she commanded.

(I boldface her words because pretty much everything about Berchta is big.)

Naturally, we all obeyed.

Note that there is nothing under the Yule tree, nothing at all.

Naturally, no one saw anything. (You don't when Berchta is involved. She's something of a force of Nature.)

Then she got personal.

Does anyone see anything under the Yule tree? Do you? (Points.) Anything? Anything at all?

Oh, no, Mother Berchta, we all hastily assured her. Nothing at all.

Then watch!...Alla-ka-ZAM!

She raised her arms and zapped.

The collective gasp of amazement that followed must have been audible across the River in St. Paul. Suddenly, the floor beneath the Yule tree was heaped with gifts. Everyone burst into cheers and applause.

Good old Berchta.

Now, at this point you may be wondering: So, what would have happened if someone had dissented?

(Not, of course, that anyone ever would. When Mother Berchta tells you something, you tend to believe it; it's not safe not to.)

But if someone had, what would She have done?

Well, as it happens, I can tell you exactly what would have happened in that unlikely scenario. I can tell you this because, as it happens, I myself personified for Berchta that year, and (let me tell you) Berchta always has a Plan B (as well as a Plan C, D, E, and F) in mind.

Berchta: So: does anyone see anything under the Yule tree? Anything at all?

Alder: I do, Mother Berchta!

Berchta (gets in face): Oh you do, do you now, Alder? (Turns away; to crowd) Newbies. They're so tasty.

(Laughter.)

Berchta (pivots): Rowan, do you see anything under the Yule tree?

Rowan: No, Mother Berchta!

Berchta: Bertrand, do you see anything under the Yule tree?

Bertrand: No, Mother Berchta, absolutely not.

Berchta: Does anyone see anything under the Yule tree?

Crowd: No, Mother Berhta, no!

Berchta: Then watch this!...Alla-ka-ZAM!

(Collective gasp of astonishment.)

Berchta (to Alder): Well, Alder: welcome to consensus reality!

Way down yonder along the creek,

I saw Berchta washin' her feet.

Berchta come, Berchta gone,

breakin' old Yule up, right along!

“Breakin' Old Yule Up”

(Appalachian traditional)