Living an Asymmetrical Life:The Pandemic Years
Born in the Pause
During the global pandemic, while the world locked down, Ed Reif, Sarah Kennedy, and their Scottish Terrier Skyelark did something no one could have predicted: they moved to Fair Isle — Britain’s most remote inhabited island, 24 miles from the nearest land, population 45 — and stayed.
Two Books Came Out of the Lockdown
The world stopped. We kept going — north of everywhere. These are the field reports.
Skyelark MacDoglet: Wisdom on Four Legs
She was born during a pandemic and grew up to be something no one expected: a working dog, a weather prophet, a diplomat, and — in the eyes of her Andalusian neighbors — a queen. Five years of transformation across eight countries, through the eyes of an extraordinary Scottish Terrier. Part canine cognition, part travel philosophy, part memoir. Written by Ed Reif with Scottish Terrier breeder Sarah Kennedy, this book will rearrange the furniture in your head. And then it will invite you to sit down and pay attention.
Get it on Amazon
Share Fair Isle
Fair Isle is a lyrical reminder to break the momentum of busyness that fuels the sadness of never understanding ourselves. It makes a place to sit down. So: sit down. Be quiet. The impulse to create begins in a tunnel of silence — and this book is what came out the other side. Off-grid life at the edge of the map, where weather rules, light shapes the day, and the seasons keep the only calendar that matters.
Get it on AmazonThe Pandemic Playlist
Five dispatches from the pause. Best with headphones and a window you can stare out of.
- 01 Skyelark’s Puppy Passport Wisdom on Four Legs
- 02 Skyelark’s Cognition Wisdom on Four Legs
- 03 Charting Love A Nautical Journey
- 04 How Remote Is Remote? Off Grid in Shetland
- 05 Luck Is Just Strategy in Disguise Luck Is Probability Taken Personally
I, the Land
Because of salt water and clearings for sheep, there are no trees on Fair Isle. There is another kind of ecosystem here, and it works — a solitude but not loneliness, and a general unwinding of the worlds we have known. The only thing standing guard between the solitude and me is two defiant rocky mountains in the distance, as I look out our kitchen window. Yet these rocks rock. I have a saying: I haven’t been everywhere, but it’s on my list. Well — Fair Isle is North of Everywhere.
I was asked today, “Who is the most important person you ever met?” I answered: “That mountain.”
Gathering Moss
Paying attention to life here at all scales: I can see the big mountains, obviously, but it’s the little moss growing on them that fascinates too. Mosses were among the first plants to leave the ocean and conquer the land — the amphibians of vegetation. This humble moss covers the whole island. The sheep eat it, we walk on it, and the mountains are clothed in it. Walking on its soft sponginess is like walking on a bouncy conveyor belt. I look at all this vastness and return to all this smallness — an extraordinary celebration of the grandeur of life at every scale.
A Feast, a View, and a Reel Good Time
Nine frames from a year at the edge of the map. The weather changes faster than the shutter.
Featured Film
The island, moving. Weather rules, light shapes the day, and the camera just tries to keep up.
The Dog Who Rearranged the Furniture
There’s a photograph of me standing on the cliffs of Fair Isle. Behind me: a blur of heather, sea, and sheep. At my feet: Skyelark MacDoglet — black as basalt, proud as a queen. She’s looking out across the North Sea, ears twitching in the wind, sniffing truths I’ll never know. It hits me: she belongs here. Not as a pet. As a being. A presence.
I used to think I was the traveler. The one with the books, the languages, the miles. But it turns out the smallest member of our family might be the most evolved. Skyelark reads the world through molecules. She sees what’s invisible. She herds sheep without training. She senses storms before satellites do. And somehow, she still has time to remind me to breathe.
Sarah — Scottie breeder, soul companion, the woman dogs trust — calls her “La Reina.” The Queen. And she is. What can a dog teach us about cognition, culture, and connection? As it turns out: everything.
She never asked where we were going next. She simply walked, trusted, and sniffed — and in doing so, reminded us that arrival is a myth. Presence is the real destination.
Two books. One pause. The world called it lockdown; we called it a recalibration. If you want the whole voyage — the storms, the moss, the queen with the imperfect tail — both logbooks are open.
Travel well. And prosper.