They have no mouths, ears, or nervous systems. Nonetheless, somehow, plant communication makes it seem like plants “talk.” Forests share nutrients underground, trees warn each other of danger, and flowers appear to respond to touch and sound.
What was once dismissed as poetic fantasy is now a serious field of research. Scientists are discovering that plants are far more connected and communicative than we ever imagined.
The question isn’t whether plants communicate, but how and what that means for our understanding of life itself.
The “Wood Wide Web”
In the 1990s, ecologist Suzanne Simard made a groundbreaking discovery: trees use underground fungal networks to exchange nutrients and information. Through these mycorrhizal fungi, forests form vast, cooperative systems where plants share carbon, nitrogen, and chemical signals. Older “mother trees” even send extra resources to their offspring or weakened neighbors.
This network, nicknamed the Wood Wide Web, functions like a biological internet. When insects attack one tree, it releases distress chemicals that travel through fungal filaments, prompting nearby trees to produce protective compounds. The result is a form of plant communication that allows forests to collaborate, almost like a single organism.
While the idea of trees “talking” might sound mystical, it’s rooted in measurable biochemistry. Plants transmit messages via electrical impulses, hormonal signals, and volatile gases, utilizing language without words, spoken through chemistry and soil.
Explore How Algorithms Decide What You’ll See Next for another invisible network shaping behavior.
Chemical Conversations and Airborne Warnings
Plants also communicate through the air. When a caterpillar bites a leaf, the plant releases volatile organic compounds (VOCs) that drift to neighboring plants. Those nearby “eavesdrop” on the warning and boost their own defenses, producing bitter or toxic chemicals that make them less appetizing to herbivores.
Some plants even call for help. Corn and tobacco, for example, emit scents that attract parasitic wasps, the natural enemies of the insects attacking them. In essence, they outsource their defense strategy to the animal kingdom.
Researchers have found that these chemical cues are surprisingly specific. A plant can distinguish between mechanical damage (such as wind) and biological attack (such as chewing), adjusting its response accordingly. It’s a form of sensory intelligence, one that blurs the line between instinct and awareness.
See The Tiny Computers Inside Everyday Objects to compare how signals travel through systems
The Sounds and Signals of the Silent World
Beyond chemistry, scientists are exploring whether plants also respond to sound. Studies have shown that roots grow toward specific frequencies and that some flowers, such as evening primrose, increase nectar sugar levels when they detect bees buzzing. Meanwhile, ultrasonic vibrations—tiny “clicks” emitted by stressed plants—have been recorded, suggesting another layer of communication we’re only beginning to understand.
Electrical signaling adds yet another dimension. Within each plant, tiny voltage changes travel through tissues in ways similar to neurons in animals. When a leaf is touched or wounded, these impulses ripple through the organism, triggering responses far from the original site. In plants like Venus flytraps, this bioelectric activity is what makes them move.
To some researchers, this doesn’t mean plants are conscious, but it does mean they are perceptive. They sense, respond, and adapt through a network of signals that parallels nervous systems in surprising ways.
For perspective on how frames of reference change what we notice, read How Maps Shape the Way We See the World.
Rethinking Intelligence in Nature
Plant communication challenges our definitions of intelligence and community. It suggests that cooperation, not competition, is a key driver of life. A forest is not a collection of individual trees. It’s a connected ecosystem that shares information for collective survival.
Philosophers and biologists alike argue that acknowledging this complexity could reshape how we treat nature. If plants interact, protect, and nurture one another, then our relationship with the natural world deserves a new kind of respect—one based on dialogue, not domination.
The next time you walk through a forest, consider that you might not be alone in the conversation. Beneath your feet, roots and fungi are whispering, and sustaining a language that predates humanity by millions of years.
