I love my Shack.
But I love my Shack even more when it is covered with snow, the stovepipe belching smoke, the heat of the wood stove penetrating my spine as I sit with my back to the fire, the webbing in my snowshoe rocker letting heat pass through without so much as a by your leave.
I also love run-on sentences.
My old Coleman lamp hisses and gives off a faint tangy odor that, while evocative of youthful camping trips, still says "Don't get too used to this smell." With a window cracked and a door left slightly ajar, I'm more concerned about falling asleep from the peaceful meditative state exacerbated by the smell of pine car siding than I am from carbon monoxide.
Hanging Christmas lights on my Shack (and the Japanese Maple in front of it) started a few years ago, when I realized that I can actually look out my kitchen picture window and see my Shack in all her holiday glory. My house is decorated too, but that is for the neighbors across the street...I can't see them, except for the colors reflected onto the thick quilt of snow tucking the grass in for the winter.