I’ve Bought Thousands of Poinsettias—Then I Learned the Plant’s Wild Origin Story

An illustrated poinsettia by William Curtis, 1836, from Curtis's botanical magazine v.63. Public Domain

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For years, Black Friday meant one thing for me: poinsettias.

While most people were chasing electronics and doorbuster deals, I was at Home Depot at 6 a.m., loading carts with bright red plants priced at $1 each. When I had five restaurants, I bought hundreds at a time—thousands over the years. They were the easiest and most inexpensive way to transform a space for Christmas—instant warmth, beauty, and holiday spirit.

There was usually a limit—five, eight, maybe ten per customer—so sometimes I brought a little squad with me just to get enough. This year was different: no limit. I walked out alone with 36 poinsettias for $36. No grill. No impulse purchases. I remain a master of walking in, getting exactly what I came for, and leaving.

What surprised me wasn’t the deal. It was the realization that after all those years—after decorating restaurants, churches, and gathering spaces—I had never really thought about where poinsettias came from.

That curiosity was sparked by an Instagram video from a creator who shares short histories of Los Angeles. It sent me down a rabbit hole into the story of a plant we use every year to bring Christmas into our homes—and it turns out the poinsettia is one of the great innovation stories of American business.

A Sacred Plant Long Before It Was Seasonal Decor

Long before poinsettias appeared at big-box stores, they grew wild in southern Mexico and Central America. The Aztecs cultivated the plant—Euphorbia pulcherrima, meaning “the most beautiful”—and called it cuetlaxōchitl. The red bracts were used to make dyes, and the white sap was used medicinally. The color red carried spiritual meaning, associated with purity and sacrifice.

When Spanish missionaries arrived in the 16th century, they began incorporating the plant into Christmas celebrations, drawn to its star-like shape and deep red color. In Mexico, poinsettias became associated with Christmas Eve.

My husband says the Spanish name roughly translates to “flower of Christmas Eve.” I always thought it meant something closer to flower of the good night—but my Spanish is that of someone who learned much later in life, so I’ll defer to him on that one.

From Cut Flower to Living Plant

The poinsettia came to the United States in the 1820s, brought back from Mexico by Joel Roberts Poinsett. For decades, it remained a curiosity.

The turning point came in the early 20th century with a German immigrant family in California: the Eckes.

Originally, poinsettias were sold as cut flowers—beautiful, but fleeting. The Ecke family transformed them into potted plants, dramatically extending their life and expanding their market. A temporary decoration became a living thing people could bring home, care for, and keep.

But innovation alone doesn’t make something iconic—marketing does.

How Poinsettias Took Over Christmas

The Ecke family didn’t just grow poinsettias—they placed them everywhere.

They sent poinsettias to television studios and morning show sets. They gifted them to magazine photographers. They filled hotel lobbies throughout Beverly Hills and Hollywood with them. If something was being filmed, photographed, or featured during the holidays, there was a poinsettia quietly glowing in the background.

They appeared on magazine covers. They sat behind anchors on morning television. Over time, they became inseparable from the visual language of Christmas.

It worked.

Today, poinsettias are the top-selling potted plant in the United States, with tens of millions sold every holiday season. What was once a little-known shrub became one of the most economically relevant plants in the ornamental industry.

Even the nursery where we buy our vegetable starts—Headstart Nursery—grows poinsettias. They make up a significant portion of their annual business. I love an innovation story, especially one that shows how observation, timing, and belief in a living system can change everything.

Seasons, Darkness, and Becoming

One of my daughters is particularly good at keeping poinsettias alive year after year. The catch? They don’t turn red again unless you understand how they work.

Poinsettias require about 14 hours of uninterrupted darkness each night to trigger their color change. That’s why they turn red naturally as the days grow shorter. Without darkness, they stay green—healthy, but unfinished.

It’s hard not to see ourselves in that.

We all have seasons like the poinsettia. Seasons of quiet growth that happen out of sight. Seasons where we’re alive and rooted, but not yet vibrant. Seasons of abundance and visibility—and seasons that are more hidden, more restrained, more inward.

Winter, with its short days and long nights, has always represented the harder chapters of life. Less light. More waiting. More trust is required. And yet, it is precisely that darkness that signals the poinsettia to become what it was always meant to be.

My neighbor in California, Patty King, has a poinsettia planted in her yard that’s more than 6 feet tall. Every year, without intervention, it turns red on its own. If you live in a subtropical climate, poinsettias can be planted outside and added permanently to the landscape.

They were never meant to be disposable.

Formed in the Dark

The poinsettia’s star-shaped leaves have long been linked to guiding stars—symbols that only appear when the sky is dark enough to reveal them. Light alone is not what makes something shine—contrast does.

The poinsettia reminds me that darkness is not punishment—it is formation. That obscurity is not failure—it is preparation. If we allow it, the quieter, harder seasons of life can forge us into something brighter than we could ever become in constant light.

I still buy poinsettias every Black Friday. I’m still grateful for the $1 plants that helped me create beauty in my restaurants for years. But now, when I see them glowing red against the dark days of winter, I see more than decor.

I see a reminder: that seasons matter, that timing is sacred, and that even in the shortest days of the year, something beautiful is always being made.

Views expressed in this article are opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.