Although they lack chlorophyll, ghost pipes are bona-fide plants. Their roots draw nourishment from nearby fungi in the soil and their nodding flowers are pollinated by bees, flies and ants.
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Until a few years ago, most people who knew what a ghost pipe was had a degree in botany. The spindly stems of the parasitic species - which appear bleach-white because they lack chlorophyll - emerge each summer in remote shady patches of forests across much of the United States.
The plant was at one time popular with Native Americans, who used it to treat health conditions including fevers and epileptic convulsions. But the harvest and medicinal consumption of the plant had long ago fallen out of favor. Fast forward to 2025 and - thanks to a boom in foraging and alternative health content on social media - the ethereal plant is enjoying a cultlike following, with videos of how to collect and use ghost pipe racking up millions of views.
“Probably the strongest pain killer you’re going to find out here in the woods,” says one TikTok user who posts about survivalism and outdoor skills.
“Ghost pipe is the bee’s knees for anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, migraines, muscle spasms and just all the things,” says a popular forager on the platform. “It makes you feel very Zen and grounded.”
“Basically, it will solve all your problems,” a user whose account is dedicated to holistic healing says in a video that has been watched more than 17 million times.
“Everybody is talking about it,” says Savannah Anez, a doctoral student studying plant biology at Penn State. Anez recently conducted the first scientific survey of ghost pipe use in North America, published this spring in the journal Economic Botany. Its 489 respondents reported learning about ghost pipe largely through social media and said they consume it to relieve pain, depression, and even symptoms of drug and alcohol withdrawal.
But during her investigation, Anez turned up another notable finding: a growing and acrimonious division among foragers about the clinical effectiveness of ghost pipe and the ethics of digging it up.
“Ghost pipe starts an absolute war,” one administrator of a foraging Facebook group told her. Community members argue over the scientific evidence (or lack thereof) for the plant’s therapeutic value and whether the plant can withstand its moment in the internet spotlight.
Sometimes called “ice plant,” “convulsion root” or “Indian pipe,” Monotropa uniflora is a holoparasite, meaning it derives its nutrients not from photosynthesis, but through underground connections to mycorrhizal fungi in the soil. The plant has a long history of medicinal use in North America; Indigenous groups including the Cree, Cherokee and Potawatomi used the powdered root of the plant to treat epileptic seizures, skin sores and other conditions.
Ghost pipe became widely popular in the mid-19th century, thanks to a group of physicians known as the Eclectics, who rejected the punishing medical practices of their day - such as bloodletting and mercury-induced purging - in favor of botanical remedies. Eclectic doctors administered ghost pipe as a tonic, sedative and antispasmodic. The odd flower also blossomed in the popular imagination. In 1890, the cover of Emily Dickinson’s debut book of poetry featured a painting of the plant; the poet called ghost pipe “the preferred flower of life.”
But in the early 20th century, as the American medical system became increasingly regulated and research-based, the Eclectics and their beloved ghost pipe faded from memory. A resurgence in herbal medicine in the 1960s and ’70s - spearheaded by hippies and back-to-the-landers - led to a brief revival of the plant’s use, but ghost pipe remained “very obscure before the internet got a hold of it,” according to Anez.
Ghost pipe’s current popularity can be traced to a few influential herbalists who promoted the pallid plant in now-removed blog posts during the early 2000s. Drawing on scant written records and little scientific research, these bloggers suggested that ghost pipe might be used to treat a wide range of physical symptoms and even psychiatric disturbances when consumed in a tincture form.
Suddenly, “it became edgy to talk about the cool white plant in the forest that’s kind of magical,” says Renee Davis, a former forager who studies soil ecology at the University of Washington and has written extensively about ghost pipe. Doing so, she says, was a good way to “get all the clicks.”
Soon, all those clicks gave way to controversy.
While most foraging influencers encouraged responsible harvesting of ghost pipe, comment sections devolved into heated debates over the plant’s medicinal value and sustainability.
“Some people say this is a miracle drug, that it can transform someone’s life,” Anez says. “Other people say this plant is sacred. We shouldn’t be harvesting it.”
Calyx Liddick, a clinical herbalist and founding director of the Northern Appalachia School, an education program devoted to regional herbalism, has used ghost pipe tinctures to treat grief and acute pain in herself and a few of her clients. She says plants like ginseng and echinacea have been victims of their own social media popularity, and she rarely introduces ghost pipe in beginners courses, in part, to protect it. “There’s always a fear you’ll lose plants to overharvesting,” she says.
Ghost pipe is not considered endangered, but, owing to its remoteness and periodic dormancy, scientists have never conducted a comprehensive population survey of the plant. And because it relies on a complex network of fungi and other plants to thrive, it’s unlikely humans would have much luck cultivating Monotropa uniflora.
Those concerned with ghost pipe’s conservation can take comfort in Anez’s survey, which found that most respondents only pick ghost pipe once a year if they harvest it at all.
“We are absolutely concerned about sustainability, but there is plenty of ghost pipe in North America,” says Eric Burkhart, a Penn State botanist and co-author on the paper.
As for how safe and clinically effective it is, ghost pipe remains a scientific mystery. “It’s a biochemical black box,” Anez says.
Scientists have yet to identify the active compounds in ghost pipe or analyze how it interacts with the body; one of the only published papers on the plant’s chemistry came out in 1889.
Liddick says the plant causes a “fairly intense emotional and psychological reaction,” but that she and other herbalists are concerned by the lack of information about it in scientific literature. “There does seem to be a little hesitation, like, is it safe?”
That’s the question Anez hopes to answer next.
She recently began a study funded by the National Institutes of Health that will investigate ghost pipe as a potential pain reliever. Anez hopes that research can bridge the gap between herbalism and modern medicine. Early trials in mice, she says, have shown “exciting preliminary results,” but definitive conclusions will take years.
In the meantime, ghost pipe admirers like Davis hope the uncertainty might inspire a different kind of relationship with the weird white plant - one that, for now, values education over extraction.
“People’s first question is always: What is it good for, and can I eat it?” Davis says. It’s an impulse she appreciates.
“It’s a hard time to be a human being. I empathize with people looking for a remedy,” she says, alluding to the political and environmental anxiety of the moment. “But maybe healing is not going to be found in a bottle sold on Etsy. Maybe healing is going to be found tending to a plant like ghost pipe and understanding its intrinsic value.”