In a barn. A large turkey follows me around, though the bird is wary and keeps its distance. I go to a sort of bin, as I know that, on top of this bin, is a square, shallow pan (about 2 1/2 feet square -- i.e., 2 1/2 feet each side) containing cracked hickory nuts. I then call "turk," "turk," "turk," "turk," many times. It is now clear that the .... (not mother) to a small, downy, apparently recently hatched turkey. The small one is yellowish, the large one the normal blackish-bronze of adult bird. The baby turkey has no fear of me and greedily eats from my hand. Soon a large turkey (not the nurse, but probably the mother) walks up and likewise eats from my hand. They peck vigorously without hurting my hand. I marvel at their skill in picking out small pieces of nutmeat from a mass of shells and debris.