Indian Pipe

Kermit the Frog warbled, “It’s not easy bein’ green,” but plants find the opposite true—excepting the pale wisp of a plant called ghost plant, ghost pipe, death plant, corpse plant, and other apt aliases. Most commonly it is called Indian Pipe, a less menacing name I learned on a trip to St. Francisville to hunt for this quirky little parasitic freak; it masquerades as a fungus but is actually a perennial plant in the blueberry family—and it manages just fine without the benefit of chlorophyll.  

No chlorophyll means no photosynthesis, which means no need for sunshine, so the plant withdraws deep into the woods, cohabitating with fungi and forming colonies of pale outcasts far from perky floral showoffs dressed in lush colors. An Indian Pipe’s fleshy but frail white stem with scaly bracts pushes up from its subterranean ball of thick, fibrous roots. Reaching through fertile layers of soil enriched by decayed leaf debris, stems appear in mid to late summer, growing up to ten inches tall. On its tip, each stem sports one urn-shaped flower with four to six waxy, oblong petals of pale gray or white, sometimes with a faint blush that darkens to pink. The flowers are so sensitive that they bruise if touched and ooze a clammy liquid (ew!) if rubbed. Buds shyly hang their heads down, protecting pollen held within. At this point, the plant’s stems resemble pipe stems, and buds mimic the shape of a pipe’s bowl, giving the plant its common name.  Monotropa uniflora means “once-turned single flower,” referring to the upward turn a matured bud takes. After becoming a flower, it raises its pretty face to attract tiny pollinators as the waxy flowers and white stems glow eerily in the deep green woodsy darkness. After pollination, stems turn black as flowers form papery tan fruits snugly closed to shield tiny seeds. 

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So how does this shady character survive under cover of darkness and under the radar despite its missing botanical element and the life-sustaining photosynthesis that feeds other plants? Botanists once believed it to be a saprophyte, a consumer of dead matter, that absorbed energy from decayed leaves on the forest floor whence it sprouted, but research later exposed it as a parasite and poacher, unlike the mushrooms with which it is confused. It shares their appearance and lack of chlorophyll but not their ability to share. Mushrooms tap into tree roots to access sugary carbs packed with energy produced by photosynthesis in sunlit tree canopies. In repayment, the fungi increase trees’ root systems by creating a widespread network of their own root-like structures deep in the soil, from which they pull water and enriching nutrients to pass on to trees. As this mutually beneficial exchange takes place, the ghost plant lurks, spending most of its life underground within a hunk of root that is blanketed by fungal hyphae, the threadlike conduits through which life-giving nutrients pass between mushrooms and trees. It sneaks its shoots and roots into the point where the hyphae meet the tree’s underground root structure, simultaneously tapping into both systems without repaying either. Both trees and mushrooms seem unaware of the theft; however, some sources say Indian Pipes “fool the fungus into believing it is in a second…relationship” resembling a ménage à trois. 

The flowers are so sensitive that they bruise if touched and ooze a clammy liquid (ew!) if rubbed.

Lest you think the Indian Pipe is a perverted horticultural vampire sucking the life from helpless mushrooms, consider this: it does not weaken the fungi it parasitizes, does not starve trees, and did not purposefully delete chlorophyll. It does choose to live and has found a way to do so. It was recognized as a beneficial medicine in pre-pharmaceutical days, as Native Americans and settlers used its sap to make a lotion to treat inflamed eyes, warts, and bunions and to make a poultice for sores. Its dried leaves and stems treated a variety of ailments, including fevers and cold symptoms, and its dried roots pounded into powder for tea treated pain, convulsions, muscle spasms, epileptic fits, insomnia, nervousness, and agitation. Its extracted antibacterial fluids fought infections, and the plant itself fought hunger when cooked. Many of today’s alternative and holistic medicine practitioners turn to Monotropa to treat the same ailments, adding migraines caused by brain trauma, residual effects of mind altering experiences, post- traumatic stress disorder, and panic attacks to conditions this plant is used to treat. Many natural practitioners believe its ability to relieve intense physical pain could make it an acceptable and safer substitute for the opiates and opioids plaguing society today.

Our Native American predecessors saw the corpse plant as inspirational rather than creepy. The Cherokee Nation revered the Indian Pipe plant and told of its creation in time of strife with a neighboring tribe. Elders sat in council, smoking a peace pipe, yet quarreling for days. The Great Spirit looked down to see the old men sitting in a cloud of pipe smoke, weary heads hanging in defeat. He turned them into small gray flowers in the likeness of a peace pipe and hung the pipe smoke on the mountains as a fog. It’s a reminder of peace, and one we could use today when we seem unable to settle our quarrels peacefully.  

Dorcas Brown’s Aunt Edna took Lucile to the woods of St. Francisville on an Indian Pipes hunt after a rain when she was a child (never mind how long ago), showing her how to look at stalk and flower upside-down to see the pipe shape, making a memory that remains as crystal clear for Lucile as the day of the hunt.