Roadside Maine: Now that's using your headstone

This time of year brings the leaf peepers in droves. Maine roads are congested with distracted drivers and swerving vehicles. And I don't blame them. Heck, I think I'm one of them.

But even after the leaves let go and the trees stand naked and cold across the state, there's still plenty to see on Maine's roadsides.

There are still the oddities: The random displays, the signs, the artwork, the woodwork, the painted houses, the junk made into something other than junk.

My coworker Wendy introduced me to Long Island's curiosities this summer, which include a parade of Barbie cars, a row of branch people sporting swimsuits and a large tree decorated with hanging bicycles.

And there's the roadside traffic jam, instigated by lady duck. Looks like somebody spent the night flashing her breasts for beads and is having trouble dealing with the shame and the hangover. You're angry at yourself, duck, stop deflecting your hostilities on other drivers.

[Wendy's Raising Maine entry on Long Island]

I appreciate homeowners who go out of their way to create some front-yard spectacle simply to entertain passersby.

Of course, then there are the roadside oddities that aren't intended to be roadside oddities. But there they are, on the road, being odd.

Like this innocuous monument company in Sanford. If you drive by, your peripheral vision might only register an array of granite and marble headstones, statues and the like. Things you won't (hopefully) need anytime soon.

But if your eyes are trained to spot the strange...or if you have a bad habit of not watching the road when you're driving (because houses and trees and signs are honestly way more entertaining than asphalt)...then you might notice something interesting.

A headstone. A loveseat. Both.

It makes sense, after all, that while you take the ultimate, eternal rest, your friends and family should be able to take a temporary load off too.

Maybe it's a ploy to encourage people to visit, like that kid in grade school who no one wanted to play with until the summer his parents installed a swimming pool.

I pondered what unique headstone I'd choose if I were trying to lure my friends and family to hang out at my grave site more often.

Marble ottoman? Maybe a granite sundae bar. Or a prehistoric pool table cut from stone.

I'm not coming up with anything too extraordinary yet. Let's hope it's a decision I won't have to make for a good, long time.