I'm not sure how the tiny, flowering native vine we call Partridgeberry got its common name—incidentally, there's a divide among experts as to whether it's one word or two; I've always used one word—since we don't have partridges in the avian cast of characters around here... except, perhaps, in the occasional pear tree. (Partridges are European and Asian natives.) But I'm guessing that the locals somehow lumped grouse and quail, which used to be found around here, into the partridge mix and guessed that our birds must have enjoyed the red berries that these gorgeous furry blossoms will eventually produce, assuming, of course, that the bumblebees, flies, and other pollinators find the blooms and do their jobs. It would be easy to miss the flowers, which are only about a half-inch tall and very low to the ground. They are, however, wonderfully scented, and I can usually find a patch by my nose alone. Other species clearly have that talent as well, since, when I'm photographing a patch of Patridgeberries, I often have insect company. They do their work; I do mine.