Oh I'm a honey bear Yes I'm a honey bear Oh I'm a yummy, tummy, funny, lucky honey bear I'm a jelly bear Yes, I'm a honey bear Oh I'm a moving, grooving, jamming, singing honey bear. Oh Yeah (Hat tip: my eleven-year-old daughter and GUMMIBÄR)

With it being the official monsoon season here in northern New Mexico, that old advice about not feeding the bees when it's cloudy just isn't working.

So onward I go.

Despite my recent setback.

With a giant plastic container of sugar syrup in tow. And the smoker cranked up, baby.

With dark brooding clouds gathering above like in a Twilight Zone episode or a really scary B movie, I approached the hives, sans bee costume, because I apparently don't learn quick or possibly I have a taste for danger. Cracked open the top, ever so gently, to hear only contented humming inside.

And guess what was on top of the frames? Burr comb chock full of, literally oozing with, brand new honey that needed to be removed. Basic housekeeping stuff, you see. I flicked a couple of the little girls away--easy, easy, there, I was saying--with my bee brush, and used my hive tool to gently remove the comb, the ooey gooey contents of which I proceeded to enjoy, just like a GUMMIBÄR ... JELLY ... HONEY bear.

Ah the sweet taste of novice beekeeping ... success.