How Buoys are made-(Art deVries)

Hi folks,

 I am a plastic barrel, or rather I was a plastic barrel. I was manufactured in 1996 and for several years I was used to supply vegetable oil to large restaurants. About six years ago I was declared too old and decrepit to be seen in fancy restaurant storage rooms and I was retired to a huge yard with thousands of my relatives. I was there for over a year when a “grumpy old man” loaded me and three of my buddies in a little red pick-up truck and drove us to another yard full of sailboats on cradles. It is there that my life changed for the better. I became a St Lawrence Valley Yacht Racing Association racing buoy. Come to think, of it I was very lucky. You see I could have become a rain barrel, a flower pot, a garbage can or heaven forbid a container for used motor oil. Instead I am now a racing mark on Lake St Louis along with about sixteen others just like me. I hold a position of importance. The “grumpy old man” cleaned me up, sealed and tightened my bung holes, drilled three evenly spaced holes in the rim around my top, which by the way is now my bottom. He bolted three short lengths of chain to these holes. Shackled the ends of these chains together and weighted them with a ten pound piece of lead. He then attached a long piece of chain with a heavier weight at the end and grumbled that I was ready for painting. He painted me a bright orange, he calls it safety orange, and the next day painted two large black 44’s on my sides. He finished the job by writing “Privé- S.L.V.Y.R.A” about six to eight inches above my bottom edge.

When the weather turned nice in early May the “grumpy old man” put me in a very noisy boat. I think I heard him call it a stink-potter and put me in a specific location. It must have been specific because he used an electronic gadget and kept referring to a sheet of paper with a series of longitudes and latitudes on it. My location is about a half mile east-south-east of a place called Dowker’s Island, where I stay all summer. In late October I get hauled out and spend my winter with 4 of my relatives huddled next to some old jetties. Every spring “the grumpy old guy” gives me a fresh coat of safety orange paint and plunks me back in the exact same place just east of that island.

During the sailing season “Grumpy” visits me every week or two. He checks if I’ve moved and if I’m in good shape. He always comes by in a dark blue sailboat and when the wind is up to around 15 knots he actually has a smile on his face. He’s down right jolly when he comes by with his grandson on board. Maybe next time I’ll tell you about some of the things I see and hear during my summers. Right now I have to watch out for that big Herring Gull that likes to sit on me. ---- I said sit!!