Fern Glen Essays
The Living Corpse
by Judy Sullivan

Accustomed as we are to thinking of flowering plants as essentially green, we are little prepared to encounter one that isn't. The pallid specters of the forest, we assume, are the fungi.

What a surprise, then, to discover Monotropa uniflora. Literally "one turning" "one flower." We find the corpse plant, also known as "Indian pipe," as a cluster of diminutive ghosts that haunt the forest floor.

"In shining groups, each stem a pearly ray,
Weird flecks of light within the shadowed wood,
They dwell aloof, a spotless sisterhood."
                    Mary Thacher Higginson

Centuries of life as a parasite have divested the corpse plant of not only its healthful green glow, but anatomical parts, as well. Without the need to photosynthesize, chlorophyll becomes nothing more than vanity, while leaves and roots are mere flakes and stubs. The plant was long thought to be a saprophyte, that is, something that derives its nutrition from decaying organic matter. It is, more accurately, a parasite, obtaining nutrients from the tree near which it grows, with one more addition.

What could be simple dependence on a tree host as a source of nutrition becomes a more complex relationship by the addition of a soil fungus that joins the two plants together, transporting carbohydrates and sugars from tree to flower, via fungus. If, while out on a casual hike, you found some Monotropa, and decided to inject the nearest suitable tree with radioactive carbon and phosphorus, you'd later find that same radioactive material in the corpse plant. This would show you the source of the nutrient flow - from tree, through the fungus that binds them together, coating the stubby roots of the corpse plant with slender threads, to the living corpse.

The one part of the plant that has not been atrophied is its ability to reproduce. For a "dead" plant, it reproductive capacity is staggering. One tiny flower can disperse thousands of dust-sized seeds. There should be plants everywhere, yet the corpse plant is limited by association with the species of two specific fungi (Russula and Lactarius).

This strikes us as most unusual because when contemplating the ways of the natural world, we can't avoid observing that nature generally abhors entitlement...and the corpse plant is an unabashed freeloader. It has nothing to give to the tree, or the fungus, in exchange for the nutrients that it receives. It's never done a lick of work. And it shows. As members of a society that spends an ever-increasing amount of time in sedentary pursuits (there's something of an oxymoron for you...), we can have still more idle amusement contemplating how our own anatomy could change to suit.

Questions, comments, or other feedback to Judy Sullivan.