by Leo El-Qawas

1st April 2026

The figure of the trickster is ubiquitous in folklore globally, and no less in the lore of these lands.

Throughout Britain and Ireland, Fairies were the most renowned of tricksters, with humans of all pieties and professions subject to their caprices and whims. The cross-cultural figure of the Pooka or Púca (Ireland)/Pwca (Wales)/Puck (England) was a notorious shapeshifter, often appearing in other guises to bewilder humans.¹ In Southwest England, Pixies/Piskies were known for their love of mischief, with habits of leading persons astray by means of mists, changing landscapes, disappearing exits and appearing pisky-paths.² The Devil also often plays a trickster role in folklore, making bets and posing riddles in exchange for souls. And then there’s ‘Jack’ of innumerable folktales – not dissimilar to the Fool archetype of the Tarot – who, despite characteristic haplessness or laziness, gets by somehow on wits and imagination, typically managing to outsmart his naysayers through clever tricks and shortcuts to emerge victorious in some way.³

Although some beings lived alongside humans in their homes (Brownies, Bogarts and Hobs were house sprites, whose help could turn to hinderance should they feel underappreciated),⁴ for the most part it was beyond the threshold of the home, in the woodlands, hills, hedgerows and holes, that otherworldly tricksters tended to dwell, and many plants have folkloric associations with them. 

The Pixies of Devon and Cornwall were particularly precious of Stitchwort (Stellaria holostea), the picking of which could easily result in the misdoer becoming ‘pixie-led’,⁵ and the visually similar Fairy Flax (Linum catharticum) was a plant of the Fae in Scotland.⁶ Foxgloves, of course, were a particular Fairy favourite – stories tell of their being gifted to foxes (another notorious trickster) for both stealth raiding and for protection against hunters⁷ – and it also had the power to prevent or reveal Fairy tricks, including changelings.⁸ Hawthorn is infamous for its relationship with the Fairies; often the site of otherworld portals by which persons resting their heads beneath its boughs might be spirited away for human-years that pass in fairy hours.⁹ Bluebells (and sometimes Harebells) are another favourite; the bells rung to call fairy meetings, which chimes spelled death or enchantment for any mortal unlucky enough to hear them.¹⁰ And many yet besides: Elder, Blackthorn, Wood Anemones, Primroses and Cowslips, Bramble and Honeysuckle are all plants with traditional associations with the Fae.

Many of these – Foxgloves, Bluebells, Wood Anemones, Elder, Blackthorn, Stitchwort, Fairy Flax, Honeysuckle (most with visually striking flowers) – have elements of toxicity, their historical usage (all were folk medicines) requiring intimate knowledge, and their trickster associations likely reflect this.

The same is true of many Devil-associated plants, whilst of course Hawthorn and Bramble both juxtapose their generosity with thorns.

Ivy is another plant of paradox, another medicine-poision, and sacred to the equally unpredictable god of riotous merriment, Dionysus (“Jesus was the true vine, but Dionysus kept the wild ivy”),¹¹ which was grounds for its outlawing by the church as a pagan plant. Although it is often misperceived as a parasite, it doesn’t harm the trees that it grows on, though it may shade out others plants. Having an ‘ace of spades’ shape when young,¹² its leaves typically morph to a broad palmate (five-lobed) shape as the plant grows.  Ivy growing on other trees can be hard to distinguish from the living tree (or sometimes be itself mistaken for a strange tree when growing on dead trees) and it is often associated with concealment. Experiential plant scholar Dale Pendell wrote that:

an astounding list of herbal properties are ascribed to ivy, many of them contradictory, such as being both a vasoconstrictor and a vasodilator. Ivy leaves were drunk to alleviate drunkenness, and ivy has been used on several continents as a narcotic. It is called a stimulant and also a sedative.¹³

Image credit: Leo El-Qawas, CC 4.0

Other plants express wilful spirits in other ways. The delicate flowers and foliage of Jack-by-the-hedge (Allaria petiolata) perhaps belie its strong sulphurous smell (and taste), and often the name ‘Jack’ is interpreted as a nod to this pungency, understood as a reference to the Devil. I’m more inclined to see the guile of the folktale ‘Jack’ in the plant’s habits of allelopathy, emitting phytochemicals into the soil that hinder other plants’ growth.¹⁴ That is, where most plants rely on strength and vigour of growth in their bids for space and sunlight, the Jack-by-the-hedge outcompetes them all (it is vilified as ‘invasive’ in many places) by means of a cunning shortcut.

Image credit: Peter MacDonald, CC 2.0

Alongside plant-trickster associations then, there are plants who are themselves active tricksters.

Butterworts or ‘Bog Violets’ (Pinguicula vulgaris), traditionally used for wound healing, and Sundews (Drosera spp.), historically valued for tuberculosis and respiratory ailments (and both for curdling milk), are plants of the boglands, subsisting in acidic peat soils where certain nutrients are scarce. Both make visual appeals to insects, intimating nectar with tall purple flowers and sparkling droplets respectively. But the allure is an enchantment – any insects landing on the plant find themselves held fast by sticky secretions as the leaves curl around to entrap them and digestive enzymes dissolve their bodies, so that the plant may slowly absorb their nitrogen.

Sundew, Dirk Wallace, CC 2.0

Lords and Ladies (Arum maculatum), also often called Cuckoo-Pint along with many other folk names (including a few ‘Jack’s and ‘Devil’s) and also associated with the Fairies, is another plant that attracts insects with the seeming of a promise that doesn’t quite materialise as such. The seeming is that of warm, fresh fecal matter, represented through the release of volatile scent compounds and pulsating waves of heat from the spadix, which heat and aroma attracts Owl Midges (Psychoda phalaenoides) looking to lay their eggs. Again the insect is entrapped, this time inside a flower chamber whose walls are smooth with secretions, but only long enough (18-24 hours) for it to bustle about a while and deposit/pick up enough pollen that the now-pollinated flower will release it back to the air (to carry pollen to the next flower in heat).¹⁵ In its relationship with humans, this plant also presented the complexity of both offering some elements of medicinal/edible possibility and at the same time being highly toxic. Noting its historical import as “as an abortifacient, as a purgative, and as a burner away of growths, tumours and stagnations”, Lynden Swift also characterises the medicinal role of Arum through “the paradox of the trickster; useful to humanity but also dangerous”.¹⁶

In biological terms, this kind of plant self presentation as another sort of thing is labelled ‘mimicry’. There are various different kinds of botanical and zoological mimicry, most named after ‘discoverer’ men (which names I will not use). A folkloric reading might instead conceive them as plant shape-shiftings.

Additional scientific labels describe the triangle of relationship involved, between the ‘mimic’, the ‘model’, and the ‘dupe’. In the case of Lords and Ladies, the ‘mimic’ would be the Arum itself; the ‘model’ would be warm shit, and the ‘dupe’ would be the pregnant Psychoda flies that are attracted to it.

Image credit: Jean Guérin, CC 2.0

For dioecious figs (i.e figs that have two differentially sexed kinds of tree), the ‘model’ is simply the flowers on the kind of tree that is more attractive to pollinators. These figs are pollinated by wasps that are entirely particular to them as a species, and they need their wasps to visit (and pollinate) both sexes of flower (the flower is that part – the fig – that we commonly class as a fruit and which is widely used medicinally as a laxative; essentially an inverted inflorescence). However for the wasps looking to lay their eggs, only one of the two sexes of fig-flower will support their reproductive needs. In the other, the wasp pollinates the fig, but dies there without having laid its eggs. To make sure that the wasps do visit and pollinate both types of fig, both sexes emit the exact same combination of Volatile Oil Compounds. That is, the non-supportive figs representing themselves as supportive ones, such that the wasp cannot distinguish between them. Biology calls this mechanism ‘intersexual chemical mimicry’.¹⁷

The most famous example of plant mimicry is that of the Bee-Orchids (Ophrys spp.), traditionally consumed as a nutritive – and reputedly aphrodisiac – drink, whose lower flower parts look like the nether-portions of a bee. Bee Orchids also release scent compounds that mimic the bee’s pheromones. The story is something of comedy: bees come anticipating a good time, have a good “nuzzle” in the process of discovering that the orchid is not, in fact, another bee after all; get stuck with two little anthers of pollen on their head in the process (coincidentally resembling cuckold horns), and flies off to (deposit them on and) repeat the process with another Orchid.¹⁸

Image credit: Bjorn S., CC 2.0

In all of the above, the self-representations offered by the plant are shaped towards likely insect interpretations, which interpretations differ from the reality. Insect desires exploited for plant-ends.

As well as mimicry for attraction, some plants might represent themselves as other than they are to be left alone.

As the name recognises, Dead Nettles (Lamium spp.) look like Stinging Nettles – their serrated leaves even covered in tiny hairs – but they lack the sting. Like Stinging Nettles, they are mineral rich and they also share some other medicinal qualities in common (Lamium purpureum is anti-histamine, anti-inflammatory and anti-oxidant,¹⁹ and Lamium alba is diuretic and mildly expectorant²⁰), although their profile is of course as unique as any other herb. It is generally thought likely that this similarity is an intentional strategy of confusion, protecting the Dead Nettles from being over-consumed.

Another very well known example is that of certain species of Passionflower (Passiflora spp.) growing small yellow bumps on their leaves which resemble the eggs of Longwing butterflies (Heliconius spp.); the butterflies are disinclined to lay their eggs on leaves already host to other larvae.²¹ Some Passionflowers are also able to vary their leaf shape to resemble other plants, also confusing the butterflies.²²

Although folklore and the Doctrine of Signatures both have other notions, it has been speculated that the characteristic white splodges on the leaves of Lungwort (Pulmonaria officinalis), resembling bird droppings, might be a self representation to herbivores as ‘spoiled’ and not good to eat.²³ And the beautiful young furry leaves of Coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara) have been proposed to mimic spiders webs (and thus imply their being inhabited by a predator).²⁴

Image credit: Leo El-Qawas, CC 4.0

Perhaps my favourite plant trick though, is that pulled by the ancient Oats that are the ancestors of domesticated Oats. Now widely beloved and culturally celebrated, ancient Oats were much maligned as a persistent weed of cereal crops (Pliny, entirely misunderstanding plant reproduction cycles, asserted that “the first of all forms of disease in wheat is the oats. Barley also degenerates into oats”).²⁵  Subject to persistent weeding-out at the seed stage, Avena sterilis evolved seeds that resemble wheat seeds, making it difficult for cultivators to separate the two. Unwitting farmers became instruments of the plants’ camoflauge strategy, as they failed to winnow out those seeds that looked the most like grain seeds, thus effectively breeding this resemblance into the Oat. Thus Oats were able to take advantage of humans’ proactive antagonism to recreate them as the dupe.²⁶

Image credit: Dmitry Goriev, CC 2.0

Plant trickery is a mode of plant relationship with others. And plant tricks are a form of plant communication, reliant upon an interpreter, whose misreading (a misreading based in desire and anticipation) is exploited by the plant. Imaginative expressions within a varied lexicon.

Plant communications being based, however, not in wasteful words, but in energetically costly processes of growth and form, plant tricks happen at the speed of evolutionary intervals. The same trick over and over again; an entire species of trickster Arums, duping endless generations of tiny midges.

That said, it’s always worth being wary of the narratives of competition (of ‘evolutionary arms races’ and all the rest) that tend to dominate contemporary non-indigenous framings of all the infinitely manifold diversity of more-than-human lives and relationships. Arum maculatum may have based its reproductive strategy on re-presenting itself as warm dung. But is the Owl Midge still fooled every time? Or has this trick perhaps mellowed a little over the ages into something more like a mutualism, where the warmth and nectar offered the pregnant midge during its stay is a moment of welcome respite and replenishment from the search for a suitable egg-laying site? Who’s to say that the Bee doesn’t enjoy its part in the endless charade with the Orchid? And certainly, if Oats once duped frustrated farmers who viewed it as a weed, the Oats-human relationship, in some places at least, has now progressed to a more mutually appreciative place.

I called these plant tricks ‘imaginative expressions’. And although the very idea of imagination in a Western ideological framework is reserved for humans-with-central-brains, I don’t shy from using it to describe what biology calls ‘mimicry’ – “best understood as an unconscious adaptive resemblance that simply evolves by natural selection” (emphasis in original).²⁷ After all, in representing itself as another thing (the ‘model’), the plant puts forward an image of itself that is other than how things are, image-ining itself as something else. Painting pictures, of interpreted realities that do not come to pass.

These representations then are also a form of plant artifice, where the artifice is indeed art-ful; forms of plant creative re-expression of themselves.

Like the archetypal tricksters of lore and myth, trickster plants are wilfully agential and creative, forging their own paths to success and fulfilment through artfulness and guile.

2. John Kruse, ‘Up Hill and Down Dale: Pixy-Led in the West Country: a study of pixy tricks’, British Fairies (5^th July 2020).

3.​ ‘Jack (hero)’, Wikipedia (n.d.).

4. Katherine Langrish, ‘House Spirits: Brownies, Nisse, Bogarts…’, Seven Miles of Steel Thistles (February 2019) 

5.​ Woodlarker, ‘Deep Warnings in the Old Names of Flowers’, Woodlarking (24^th May, 2023).

6.​ Phillippa Swann, ‘A Fairy Tale’, Wort, 3 (Ceredigion, Umbel Press, 2024).

7. Ruth Binney, Plant Lore and Legend (Hassocks, 2018), p.31. 

8. Niall McCoitir, Ireland’s Wild Plants (Cork: Collins Press, 2006), p.96.

9. The most famous story of Hawthorn-associated abduction to Fairyland is that of Thomas the Rhymer, although there is some dispute about the identity of the tree.

10. Woodlarker, ‘The Folklore of Spring’, Woodlarking (21^st May 2023).

11. Dale Pendell, Pharmako/Poeia (San Francisco: Mercury House, 1995), p. 213.

12. Roger Darlington, ‘Ivy’, Wildflower finder (2007).

13. Dale Pendell, Pharmako/Poeia (San Francisco: Mercury House, 1995), p. 220.

14. Don Cipollini, A review of garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata, Brassicaceae) as an allelopathic plant, Journal of the Torrey Botanical Society, 143:4, pp. 339-348.

15. Athayde Tonhasca, ‘A Stinking Trap or a Cosy Hideout’, Scottish Pollinators (17^th October 2022).  https://scottishpollinators.wordpress.com/2022/10/17/a-stinking-trap-or-a-cosy-hideout/

16. Lynden Swift, ‘Arum the Trickster Healer’ (book excerpt), Wild Arum: The Secret Life of Lords and Ladies (n.d.).

17. M. Hossaert-McKey et al, ‘How to be a dioecious fig: Chemical mimicry between sexes matters only when both sexes flower synchronously’, Sci Rep,  6, (2016).

See too this article from Dr. Phil Wheeler for a great account of the very particular relationship between Figs and Fig Wasps.

18. BBC Studios, ‘Wild Orchid Wasp Mimic – David Attenborough, BBC’, You Tube (9^th February 2007).

19. ‘Lamium Purpurea‘, Herbal Academy.

20. ‘Lamium album‘, Herbs 2000.

21. Simcha Lev-Yadun, ‘Butterfly Egg Mimicry. In: Defensive (anti-herbivory) Coloration in Land Plants’, Springer, Cham (2016).  

22. Denise D. Dell’Aglio, Maria E. Losada and Chris D. Jiggins, ‘Butterfly Learning and the Diversification of Plant Leaf Shape’, Front. Ecol. Evol. 4:81. (2016).

23. Edward E. Farmer, Leaf Defence (Oxford: OUP, 2014), p.39.

24. Kazuo Yamazaki and Simcha Lev-Yadun, ‘Dense white trichome production by plants as possible mimicry of arthropod silk or fungal hyphae that deter herbivory’ Journal of Theoretical Biology, 364, (7th January 2015), 1-6.

25. Stephen Harris, ‘Plant 248, Avena sativa L. (Poaceae) Common Oats’, Oxford Plants 400 (n.d.).

26. ‘Vavilovian mimicry’, Wikipedia (n.d.).

27.​ John R. Pannell, Edward E. Farmer, ‘Mimicry in Plants’, Current Biology, 26:17 (12^th September 2016) 784-5.

Leo El-Qawas is a folk herbalist, herbal scholar and hedgerow philosopher, and is the editor of Wort. She has written a Phd on herbalist-plant relationships and is deeply preoccupied with the crossings of plant and human languages.

Title image: ‘The Green Man’, by Paul Brommer