As with most things, if you’re in doubt about whether something may kill you if ingested, don’t eat it. If you’re not sure if something will die if planted outdoors, go ahead and plant it.

My most recent plant rant was about poinsettias, an often misunderstood and mispronounced plant that comes and goes around the holidays.

Those are two stories for you to briefly cherish, but remember the plant is native to Mexico and Guatemala. You’re welcome to try the plant in Chico soil, but don’t be bummed if your only success is a lesson learned.

I’m generally leery of plants purchased as a holiday table centerpiece. Growers take great care to provide perfect temperatures and lighting conditions, often difficult to replicate inside your home. If those plants survive they look like Lindsay Lohan before checking herself in for another round of rehab.

My research shows poinsettias will, indeed, grow in zones 9-11. (We’re in zone 8 or 9 depending on your zip code.) Yet, just because it will grow does not mean it’s the most beautiful choice for your fence line.

In their original growing grounds, poinsettias can reach 10 feet, but expect a less robust barricade in our zone 8 or 9. Or the plant could die in a cold snap.

The Garden Know How website states that the plant could die, roots and all, with sustained temperatures below 50 degrees. We’ve had mild winters the past few years, but very chilly winter nights occur more years than not.

Personally, if I’m going to have a green bush in my yard for the entire year, I want to look forward to one season with bright blooms. Pyracantha gives us red berries. Flowering quince blazes with flowers in very early spring. Fragrant rosemary blooms with subtle purple gifts to bees, and so on … Poinsettia? You’ll have a green bush.

Is it poison?

And then comes the question of whether poinsettias are poisonous. Yes. They’re not good to eat. This means don’t add decorative red bracts to your winter salads. However, on the toxicity list, poinsettia is fairly mild.

The University of Vermont Department of Plant and Soil Sciences reports authoritatively that no deaths from eating poinsettia have been recorded. The sap can cause blisters if not washed off right away. The leaves are toxic, if you consumed a lot of them. So please stop your pets and children from eating an entire plant.

While I was perusing the lists of seriously toxic plants, I came across many pictures and words about plants that could be used to concoct a deadly potion.

We’ve heard tales of nightshade, which has startlingly beautiful flowers. Roman fighters dipped their arrows in nightshade juice, and other legends tell of armies falling after passing bottles of nightshade-enhanced sweet wine.

Other plants that are toxic may be more surprising.

One poison control web list reminds us that apple seeds contain toxicants and the pits of cherries, peaches, plums and nectarines are all on the do-not-each list. Other non-nibblers include azalea, rhododendron, Caladium, elephant ear, foxglove, holly, iris, lantana, lily-of-the-valley, mistletoe, morning glory, mountain laurel, pennyroyal, philodendron (a very common houseplant) and water hemlock. Hydrangea is also toxic, but you’d need to eat a lot of pretty leaves.

From that list I could get seriously sick in my own back yard.

The bottom line, of course, is to do some research before you add something new to your salad.

Daffodils are also on the do-not-eat list, which makes sense since even squirrels and deer have learned to leave them alone.

It seems like much more than a month has gone by since the fires. It feels like we’ve been worrying about people, helping people and learning what has happened to people for a long, long, long time.

Yet, nothing will be the same in our Northern California communities for a long, long time. I keep trying to search for the bright side.

I know that there are more cars at Big Al’s Drive In because people are stacked two and three families deep in small apartments. Families who are guests are likely going out to eat more often to give their host families a little elbow room.

I love Big Al’s, one of those throw-back places you just don’t see in most towns. Maybe this boom to business (with an unfortunate origin) will mean one of my favorite places for grease will be around when my students are parents.

Where will all of these displaced people live? All of those people who are still in shelters, in tents at fairgrounds or renting RVs to park in their best friends’ driveway?

Construction workers will have work for years to come, and those workers may very well seek some grub at places like Big Al’s, which will undoubtedly be in business until the rest of my hair turns gray.

Bulbs

This is a gardening column, and I’m big into bulbs. I’ve written many times that planting bulbs is an act of hope. Its more than that, actually. It’s an act of hope with a very probable, happy outcome.

Luckily, I already have bulbs in my classroom. Hyacinths.

Last week when I spruced up my classroom before students returned, I rounded up the bulbs growing in vases of water. The roots were impressive in early November, but now they’re a watery tangle of tender white tendrils. I placed them in a circle with some of those battery-operated, tiny LED lights, atop some dark blue silk.

I like to place little surprises here and there, then say nothing.

Over time, children notice.

“Look Miss Hacking, it’s starting to grow on the top.”

I loved pretending to be surprised.

“Yes, that’s where the green shoot will soon be growing.” I can’t wait until the hyacinths bloom and some sweet child says, “Miss Hacking, something smells really, really good.”

I’ve never grown six hyacinth bulbs all at once indoors. I want to be surprised, so I’ll try not to imagine how amazing this will smell. Maybe it will mask that strange egg smell that comes from the watercolor paint.

Or maybe they won’t notice. Over the break from school I scrounged a set of storage cubbies from a stack of salvage furniture at my school.

I couldn’t wait for the kids to notice them. But for some reason, hidden in plain view, they walked right past them until Tuesday.

Hope all year

Alas, I have still not planted bulbs in my actual yard. I’ve procrastinated in the past and placed bulbs in outdoor pots in mid- to late December. However, I wouldn’t recommend waiting any longer.

If you don’t have bulbs, go buy some right now. We all need bulbs in the spring, when we’re driving past scorched earth and the parking lot is still packed at Big Al’s.

The good thing about bulbs, is that there are many that you can grow all year-round. Gardeners.com, notes that amaryllis and paperwhites do not need to be chilled in the refrigerator. This can be especially beneficial if you haveur families sharing the same fridge. The indoor plants on the must-chill list include tulips, daffodils, hyacinth, crocus, Dutch iris and scilla. If you have room, plant them all.

I’ve had great fun with small dollar store fish bowls with dollar store pebbles in the bottom. Just don’t forget to add water.

I would use small glass food jars as well, but we’re using all that I can find for painting projects in my classroom.

The easiest indoor bulbs, according to the website, are crocus, hyacinth, muscari and mini-daffodils.

I made the mistake once of buying a giant bag of paperwhites at a big box store, and learned they were the giant variety. They were lovely, but grew so tall (and in my case long), that they sprawled over most of my kitchen table.

If you plant bulbs indoors, let me know how it goes. I’d love if you sent a few digital pictures. These days I’ll take all the little jolts of cheer I can get.

Since you asked … Yes, my students are learning about plants. Some days I am reminded that my enthusiasm is contagious. Weeks ago, I brought a hyacinth vase into the classroom with a dull, gray bulb perched just above the waterline. When I toured the room with the vase, even I was not impressed. The glass container went atop a high shelf, away from the reach of curiosity.

We’re learning about months of the year, days of the week, etc. I couldn’t help but give an overview of the crops that grow in this area and the work farmers do each season.

I spent 17 years writing about local farming, and I’ve toured most local crops during most seasons. It would feel like a shame to let all of that information go to waste.

When I described spring, I talked about the small planes twirling through the sky, flying low above six inches of water. Ripples spread across the smooth surface of the flooded fields; rice scattered like a hard rain. The descriptions of autumn included trees shaken by vehicles that looked like they should be on the moon. I described the lobster-like claw and how nearly every nut falls to the ground in seconds. These kids may not have seen local farming in action, but they certainly saw it in their imaginations.

When we worked on an art project — the life cycle of a sunflower — it was hardly a stretch to revisit the hyacinth bulb, still unimpressive, but now with roots growing into the water.

The children appeared mildly interested, and I tucked the vase away, again in plain view.

One day, one of the boys tugged at my arm with excitement.

“Miss Hacking, Miss Hacking. At lunch you should walk around the room with your vase. The roots have grown!”

I am not certain that any of the other children were impressed, but he and I knew the moment was magical.

If you’re thinking about what to buy me for Christmas … I would like a Costco-sized bag of miniature paperwhite bulbs, and perhaps an amaryllis or two. Throw in several bags of clean pebbles from the dollar store and some shallow planting containers, I might add you to my list of Valentines.

Planting winter veggies

I always try to time the planting of winter greens for the days right before a good rain. Sadly, the rains should have been here by now. Instead, we’ve had days that reached 80 degrees. If I had known the weather would hold, I would have continued to water the mystery squash growing along my fence line.

I still recommend placing seeds of spinach and kale in the ground right about now. The garden books also recommend planting broccoli. However, I’ve had nothing but mediocre luck with this cruciferous vegetable. Broccoli sits in the ground all winter, growing imperceptibly. Then it bolts and makes flowers. Last year I learned you can eat the leaves. This is nice, I suppose. However, I would far prefer to eat Tuscan baby Kale.

This particular seed packet is worth the investigation. If you harvest often in the early spring the leaves keep coming, small and not stringy like the kale you now and hate. When the plants get larger and woody you can go through the rigmarole of massaging the leaves so that the more mature kale is edible.

Two weeks ago, we planted spinach and kale in our school garden. I checked Monday and the sprouts were about an inch high, just in time for our lessons on measurement.

A long time ago, I had a short conversation with a friend. She was walking toward a blue time of the year, the season when someone in her life had died. I know now that she was sharing because she hoped for a little extra kindness in the days that followed.

But I was the wrong person, at least at that time.

“How many years has it been since he died,” I felt the need to ask.

Years. More than a decade.

She likely read the confusion in my face. That was a very long time ago, and certainly did not merit melancholy each and every winter.

A few weeks ago, Facebook sent me a friendly reminder that it is time to hold my own sadness in my hand.

“Here’s a picture from 2 years ago,” Facebook notified me with cheerful nonchalance.

“You remember that night, right?”

Yes, I do.

It was our anniversary. In the photo, the Handsome Woodsman looked especially handsome as we celebrated five years from the day of our first date.

The hasty image was captured exactly two weeks before he died in the car accident that left black skid marks along Highway 99, just north of Meridian Road.

Thanks Facebook. I might have forgotten the bowl of delicately prepared vegetables at Leon’s Bistro, or the way the buckles of his suspenders reflected candlelight.

Facebook was right. That night was worth remembering.

Last week I attended an event with a guest speaker. Part of the man’s story was about being in a car accident. The man lived and three people died.

A friend texted me later that night.

“I was oblivious tonight that the details of the car accident may have been upsetting to you,” she wrote.

It wasn’t the details of the accident, I wrote in reply.

“What affected me more,” I wrote, “was seeing your boyfriend’s hand reach out to touch your knee and knowing Dave’s big paw would have been draped across my shoulder.”

Little moments of “what if …” happen all the time, and not tied to tales of tragedy. This week it was a gardenia bush. I walked by the white flowers at dusk and remembered that Dave would always, always, always, pick me a gardenia flower, even if he had to stretch his long arm into someone else’s yard.

Will picking myself a gardenia always make me smile and always make me a little bit sad?

I hope so.

Nov. 1 may always remain my personal “Day of the Dead.” This week we celebrate all Saints Day and Dia de Los Muertos. Both are days of celebration.

Two years ago, about this time, I lost someone very important to me. I’m telling you because I may need a bit of extra kindness in the days that follow.

If you have children or grandchildren, please help them grow sugar snap peas. You can fill a paper bag with hundreds of bulk seeds at Wilbur’s Seed and Feed on Meyers Street in Chico, http://wilbursfeedandseed.com. Place a few in a dish with half a tablespoon of water. Check the water each day.

In about three days the magic begins to happen. There’s nothing like a thick, perfectly obvious seedling to teach the life cycle of a plant. Bonus that they serve examples of green snap peas in the school cafeteria.

If you want to add in some reading comprehension to your garden lesson, read Jack and the Beanstalk later that night.

When I brought in the sugar snap pea seeds, my students didn’t really know what was in store for them. Neither did I. This is not the right time to plant them.

I just knew I had seeds going to waste in my cupboard and I should take them to school. When I showed the children the sprouts, they looked mildly interested. Some noticed them when they were washing their hands at the sink.

I teach at a charter school and my children eat lunch in my classroom. A few weeks ago, I announced that the first children who finished their lunch and cleaned up their desks could help plant the seedlings in soil.

Most of the children didn’t hear me. A few did hear me. Those few managed to clean up their desks at a speed for which I would not have previously believed they were capable.

I had intended to only grow five plants in the classroom. That’s because I had only five small plastic pots in a pile at the side of my shed.

A garden volunteer stopped by the class and I bragged about my seedlings. Soon more pots appeared.

Most importantly, more children learned how to clean up their lunch quickly.

Now the question is what to do with these beauties. The plants are balanced precariously on a chair in a south-facing window. It’s the wrong season to grow them. The happy tendrils are ready to grab onto something. The children still have work to do to prepare the planting area. The plants might die over the winter.

But I can’t be bothered with realistic details. The plants are beautiful just as they are.

Magic days

You remember what a magical place a garden can be when you’re looking through new eyes. Recently we had our first real work day, if you can call it that.

Three adults were ready to guide young hands in some serious weed-yanking. I had crammed in a lesson about the life cycle of a plant — from seed of life, the taking of nutrients, air, water and sun, then the full circle of seed production.

That information may or may not have been absorbed by young minds. However, I am certain that the class wanted to be outdoors to see things for themselves.

This was our first foray into the actual garden. The children were gentle at first, as if walking into a postcard. White “butterflies” glided through the air and green tomatoes clung to the tall plants. One white flying creature (a cabbage moth if you haven’t already guessed), landed on a boy’s finger and stayed there for a long time.

I think I saw this scene in a Disney cartoon, with Snow White singing in a lovely soprano voice.

Another boy yanked some weeds, but was soon digging in the soil with a stick. He kept digging because he kept finding things — a worm, a slug, an earwig. A crowd gathered to view these new wonders. I followed the lead of the garden moms, who asked children to bring snails and slugs to a bucket, where the living creatures would be removed from the garden.

Two weeks later, the garden adventure included adding heaps of fresh soil to the garden beds. We had intended to plant seeds of spinach and kale. Yet getting their hands dirty was so much fun we ran out of time.

I might need to get my kids out there sooner than our allotted garden time. Should we shave some time from a math lesson? Is gardening more important than math? I’m thinking we’ll make a point of measuring how much the plants grow and count seed-planting as part of the equation.