Finding meditation in (monotonous) motion

Temperatures are starting to drop here in New England (well, overnight, anyway), and I'm thinking not about the end of summer and the start of pumpkin-everything season, but the end of exterior painting and start of wood stacking. I've found that even the most tiresome tasks give me a sense of quiet peace when I can slip into a meditative mindset. Having a place in the country brings breathtaking views ... as well as huffing and puffing from the never-ending farm chores.

This year especially, the house painting has seemed endless. And just like every important job out there (cooking, gardening, restoring furniture, etc.), the prep takes longer--and is almost more important than--the task itself:

Tarp~scrape~prime~paint~paint again~

~with numerous tarp moves, brush clean ups, and ladder adjustments in between~

~all while keeping a close eye on the forecast

I bribed myself early in the spring with my iPhone full of podcasts. But it wasn't long before I found myself well into the job one day, balanced on the ladder and the first errant paint drips on my hands, when I realized my earbuds weren't in and I could hear the sounds of the world around me. I soon slipped into an easy rhythm with my brush, not looking ahead to gauge how much I had left, and thinking about ... nothing. Dare I say it? Yup: It was enjoyable.

My husband raking out the crusher run base for the new barn "floor" (those old wooden floorboards I cleaned last year weren't worthy of another season).

With so many picture-perfect days this summer it's nearly impossible to remember what January will feel like. Although I distinctly recall the pleasure I felt one chilly morning last fall while doing that unpleasant task of farm animal owners everywhere: mucking out stalls. Bundled up against the cold, I slid the shovel along the ancient wooden floor and--one at a time--deposited the goods on the manure pile with a satisfying thwack. Between working on areas that had frozen solid, I stood in the doorway to the field, watching the cows munch their hay while the rising sun evaporated the frost into the sky. I hated to see that chore end. There'll be more where that came from, of course--they hardly ever stop eating ;)

You don't need to adopt cows to experience these brief glimpses of spontaneous samadhi, or meditative absorption. I've found it while washing dishes, vacuuming and doing other tasks I previously avoided. And I usually notice that it finds me, when I least expect it. An hour may have passed and the job may be complete, though to me it's felt like mere moments. 

Where have you experienced times of pure awareness?