Influences of Childhood Wonder: Transition into Womanhood in A White Heron

Sarah Orne Jewett’s nineteenth century tale “A White Heron” explores a temporary hindrance of a young girl’s relationship to nature. Sylvia, the nine-year-old heroine, maintains a simple life in the New England woodlands with her grandmother. With little to remember of her urban way of life, Sylvia immerses herself in pastoral care. The introduction of a charismatic male hunter complicates her actions; she must decide the placement of her companionship, whether in the new, alluring stranger or her consistent animal allies. Issues of morality and responsibility combat the urge to please Sylvia’s newfound friend. Punctured with inner conflict, Jewett’s protagonist of “A

White Heron” ultimately devotes herself to the protection of nature as opposed to the complicity of its destruction, marking a subset of her transition into womanhood.

In the beginning, Sylvia’s childhood innocence is firmly associated with her environment and culture. Jewett’s introductory descriptions of Sylvia construct an image of childlike wonder and simplicity with her surroundings, searching for her cow with “childish patience” and having “all the time there was, and very little use to make of it” (Jewett 137). These details are utilized to portray her age and overall purity, untainted by the city she lived in prior. Other than her grandmother and animal companions, Sylvia’s lack of social interaction isolates her further into her space. She has her own basis of independence, for there “never was such a child for straying about out-of-doors since the world was made!” (Jewett 138). Similarly to her Uncle Dan, Sylvia needed to leave the bustle of the city to gather new experiences. Her innocence preserves itself in a harmonious setting and, as the result suggests, she thrives in her new atmosphere with little recollection of the clamorous city she lived in before.

Meeting the hunter is Sylvia’s first step in her rite of passage, a separation from her previously held beliefs and transition of thought into possibly accommodating the young man’s needs. The young hunter is immediately painted as a villainous character from his whistle, which is “[not] a bird’s whistle, which would have a sort of friendliness to it, but a boy’s whistle, determined, and somewhat aggressive” (Jewett 139). The inclusion of this detail emphasizes a contrast between Sylvia’s natural environment and the boisterous city she left a year ago. While this is an implication of the hunter’s intentions, it “also sets up the sexual tension that will complicate, even threaten, Sylvia’s relationship with her home in the woods” (Brault). There is no prior suggestion of a love interest in Sylvia’s life—this is most likely her first exposure to the feeling of love toward a crush. Especially in the context of her “heart [giving] a wild beat” when asked about the heron’s whereabouts, there is a sense of excitement at the potential cost of her animal companions (Jewett 141). This is a sign of growth from her youth, breaking the bounds of her innocence by gaining this experience. However, the ornithologist’s intentions need closer examination.

The hunter is a manipulative character, positively reinforcing Sylvia to help him for personal gain. He manages to persuade his image in the tale, not just to Sylvia and her grandmother, but to the reader as well. Initially, he poses as the persuasive, gun-toting enemy, symbolic of destruction to her once undisturbed land. After she discloses her name, however, the hunter characterizes himself as a “companion” to her, a word used exclusively throughout the story to describe Sylvia’s animal friends (Jewett 139). The hunter’s classification as a “companion” to Sylvia illustrate her conflicting ideals; he takes on the role of temptation away from the surrounding wildlife she’s grown so fond of in her innocence. His interest in Sylvia stems purely for “exploitative reasons… his intent is to colonize nature and ultimately the female sanctuary that Sylvia thrives in” (Donovan 2). He has a profound effect on her youthful wonder and curiosity. His desires inspire her to seek out the heron, exemplifying the instability inherit in their relationship with one another.

Sylvia’s youthful admiration of the hunter influences her, resulting in her conflict of whether or not to help him. Her age is a major contributing factor to her manipulation by the ornithologist. The ornithologist only recognizes the value of Sylvia’s relationship with the animals as a means to fulfill his desires (Brault). Sylvia is processing her feelings in real time—watching the hunter with “loving admiration” and realizing how “the woman’s heart, asleep in the child, was vaguely thrilled by a dream of love” (Jewett 142). Admittedly, it would be unsettling to find that the hunter shared the same affection for a nine-year-old girl; however, the hunter’s gestures show no sympathy for her relationship to innocence and nature. Bypassing her “family sorrows” (Jewett 141), gifting her a jack-knife (Jewett 142), and his request for Sylvia to expose the heron’s location are exemplary of his exploitative attempts. The climactic moment of Sylvia’s rite of passage blossoms from her refusal of disclosing the heron’s location to the hunter.

Sylvia goes through a mental and physical transformation throughout her ordeal. She betrays her loyalty to the forest in search of the heron’s hiding spot. Her acknowledgment of the betrayal strikes her as well, wherein “the great wave of human interest which flooded for the first time this dull little life should sweep away the satisfactions of an existence…with nature and the dumb life of the forest!” (Jewett 142). Sylvia recognizes the effect that the hunter has on her perspective of nature. Her mindset skews by the draw of human interaction, and her willingness to search for the rare bird’s hiding place suggests this further. The extent by which she travels is somewhat gruesome—where dry twigs scrape her legs “like angry talons” as she climbs the white oak tree with “clumsy and stiff” fingers (Jewett 144). This is not easy; in fact, she finds it a more difficult journey than anticipated. However, she reaps the reward of her excursion once she finds the heron’s hiding spot. She gains an experience in witnessing the beauty of the natural world, one that keeps her from betraying the heron. There is a grittiness to her appearance after the climb down from the oak tree, “her worn old frock is torn and tattered, and smeared with pine pitch” (Jewett 146). Sylvia took strides to reach her decision; demonstrated by her rugged look, gaining the knowledge from her experience is a process. She underwent a physical transformation through her transition.

The valuation Sylvia places in her environment informs her decision, setting a foundational lesson for her early life. A twinge of regret compliments her change of heart for disappointing her newfound human companion. Sylvia notices the opportunity she misses once she questions herself, in how “…she [is] nine years growing and now, when the great world for the first time puts out a hand to her, must she thrust it aside for a bird’s sake?” (Jewett 146). The hunter could provide money and human interaction for her and her grandmother. This makes her refusal to help him even more impactful on the potential of her future, and “[in] choosing the heron over the young man, Sylvia thus reinforces her relationship to the natural world” (Nagel). The hunter is a desire, a darker alternative to the loss of her innocence. Though she loses a childlike innocence to the benefit of experience, she doesn’t sacrifice all her familiar life for it. She is alone in her early-morning hunt for the heron as well, suggesting that one may find it necessary to leave home (and what is considered familiar) to gain wisdom from different experiences. The narrator calls out to loyalty in the end, “that [which] suffered a sharp pang as the guest went away disappointed later in the day, that could have served and followed him and loved him as a dog loves!” (Jewett 146).

Sylvia’s youthful outlook on love prior shows the unbalanced, ‘puppy love’ devotion she would have given, demonstrating further the instability in their relationship for one another. As a nonpreferred outcome, however, Sylvia still hears “the echo of his whistle haunting the pasture path…” expressing the partial regret she feels in disappointing the hunter’s wishes (Jewett 146). She continues to reflect on her choice long after the hunter leaves. The decision will continue to haunt her, made evident when “she forgot even her sorrow at the sharp report of his gun and the piteous sight of thrushes and sparrows dropping silent to he ground…” (Jewett 146). This detail conveys the regret inherent in Sylvia’s current and future decisions—either route will lead to the bitterness of what could have been. Luckily in this case, she has the comfort of nature to console her in heartache.

Sylvia’s experience triumphs her naivete in keeping the heron’s secret from the allure of the young hunter, signifying her growth into womanhood. The composite nature surrounding Sylvia’s transition haunt her with regret, as she copes with mild heartbreak and the thought of what could have been if she chose the hunter’s path. Sylvia’s innocence is not necessarily corrupted but tailored to maturity and loyalty in saving the white heron’s life. Jewett’s emphasis on Sylvia’s decision and whether she will regret her choice to help the heron later demonstrates a changed mindset—one of developing responsibility. Rather than preserve her temporary adoration for the hunter, Sylvia is, overall, satiated with her faithful relationship to the natural world; one that won’t require her complete loss of innocence nor her abandonment of the nurturing woodlands.