Daily Photo – Mokotua

So, I drove on from the small settlement of Tokanui to the even smaller Mokotua. Smaller by 33%, to be precise. The drive lasted under 30 minutes, I passed rivers and streams that dissected the farmland on either side of the long, straight roads. Passing through an area called Gorge Road (about halfway between Tokanui and Mokotua), I realised I had the road to myself. I tried to think of the last time I’d seen a vehicle. Tokanui, perhaps? I couldn’t for the life of me remember! Out here, there was no need to worry about following distances or getting stuck behind someone who treats the accelerator like a suspicious red button not to be pushed. Not that I’m impatient, of course, I just prefer not to grow old waiting for someone to reach the speed limit.

Since I had the road to myself, to fill the time, I switched from listening to music to a podcast that I’d downloaded earlier to keep me company. I’d been following the trial of Erin Paterson, a lady from East Gippsland, Victoria, Australia, who had been accused of murdering her in-laws after they died eating death-cap mushrooms that were found in the Beef Wellington. She’d recently been found guilty of murder, and in the wave of media coverage that had followed in the preceding days, I’d fallen behind in my listening. Of all the things mentioned in the trial, the one thing I found strange was this: guilt or innocence aside, if you had ‘explosive diarrhoea,’ would you wear white pants? If my lower half had declared independence and were having less of a bowel movement and more of a plumbing crisis, white certainly wouldn’t be my first choice in colour.

After that thought, I decided mushrooms (and anything wrapped in pastry) might be off the menu for a while. The road ahead lifted and dipped like a lazy rollercoaster, disappearing over each rise before spilling into the next stretch of farmland. Power lines marched beside me, the only company apart from the occasional flock of sheep. Mokotua flickered past almost unnoticed, a scatter of paddocks and a store before vanishing behind me. Beyond each crest, I felt closer to Bluff, New Zealand’s southernmost town, one of the country’s oldest European settlements, home to the iconic Stirling Point signpost and the world-famous Bluff oysters.