If I had rented a cabin by the side of a lake (and indeed, I used to live in one in Michigan - photos attached) I could have holed up there for a year and written away in total seclusion. The thing about living here is that if you tried to live like a hermit, people would notice.
Offerings regularly appear on my doormat: the codebreakers leave newspapers (this is when they don’t want to disturb me, 'being a writer and all'); the landlady leaves plants (I almost stood on the last batch). And if I don’t seek people out, they all drop in happily unannounced - neighbours with a tape of an Armenian mass they thought I might like to hear, landlady with freshly baked cake or new fruits to try.
While the lake I used to live at had deer and waterlillies and racoons and squirrels (who ate all my strawberries), this place strikes a balance between providing the space I need to write, and the company to avoid going bat-crazy!
So very lucky :)