This political season seems to be long on popularity and short on, well, other things. Though plants can’t be political, if there was an election the popular vote would go to azaleas, a species which isn’t on my landscape list. The reasons aren’t personal, as there is much to admire in the over 10,000 varieties of azaleas. In other words, there are 10 grand varieties.

Issues are not distinguishable between varieties, though color is one of the distinctions for which azaleas are renowned. As early bloomers, these flowers have lately been eye-catching focal points in this spring’s mostly gray — but slowly greening — Island landscape. Though you might not have selected a shade with intent, the color of your azaleas could be telling us all something.

White azaleas are said to designate purity, restraint and civility, and at one time were also a temperance symbol. Victorians were known to carry blooms of white azaleas if they supported prohibition. More uninhibited fans may prefer red or dark pink azaleas, which represent romance and passion. Purple flowers are for the jovial folks, while yellow signifies friendships and family relationships.

Colors notwithstanding, the structure of azaleas connotes other sentiments. Their delicate petals, which can fall off due to merely a breeze or gentle touch, hint of their (and maybe your) fragile nature. One Chinese translation of the word for this plant suggested that these flowers were a “sweet reminder of time spent at home.”

Azaleas also are believed to allude to “great talents and abilities born from adversity.” This is perhaps due to a story of the flower’s genesis. A wicked widow had two sons, one being her birth child and the other a stepchild, and each she treated very differently. The two brothers were very close, and when the widow tried to banish the stepson by giving him an impossible task, the other brother took on the task instead, failed, and ran away.

The widow, devastated at the loss of her favorite son, sent the stepchild to find his brother. He was turned into a cuckoo bird so he could cover more ground by flying to try to find his brother. He failed to find his sibling and cried tears of blood that grew into azaleas after he died.

Despite such a sad origin story, this shrub has still been called the “royalty of the garden.” It is not known as a difficult plant to grow — thriving in shade and in poor soils, it is even happy under trees. That explains its name, since the word “azalea” is derived from a Greek phrase meaning “dry plant.”

Its absence in my garden has a lot to do with taste. For my part, I aspire to plant only flora edible to humans. Azaleas, beautiful as they are, don’t qualify, since they are toxic to humans and some animals.

Consider the story of “mad honey.” During the first century B.C.E., Roman troops were poisoned after eating honey that was made from the nectar of a variety of rhododendrons. This cautioned the Romans to be much more careful when harvesting honey. Azaleas, being in the Rhododendron genus, are similarly toxic.

So, please learn at least one lesson from the Romans: the leaves, flowers, and even nectar of the azalea contain andromedotoxins, and can cause illness and even death.

Don’t think you are safe if you stick to bee honey, either. Honey made from bees nectaring on azalea flowers, too, can be fatal. This might explain why in some cultures receiving a bouquet of azaleas in a black vase is considered a death threat.

It is clear that people or plants can be both popular and flawed, so one must wisely choose and vote (or plant) their conscience. Orson Welles’s politics didn’t include botanizing when he observed: “Popularity should be no scale for the election of politicians. If it would depend on popularity, Donald Duck and The Muppets would take seats in Senate.”  Or perhaps, a seat in the Oval Office? 

Suzan Bellincampi is director of the Felix Neck Wildlife Sanctuary in Edgartown, and author of Martha’s Vineyard: A Field Guide to Island Nature.