In a toolbox, where it smelled of wood and metal, lived a nail named Spike. He wasn't just any nail. He was new, straight, and shone like a little mirror. When the light from the workshop window fell upon him, he cast shimmering reflections in all directions. Spike was immensely proud of his appearance.
"Look at me!" he often called out to the other tools. "I am the smoothest and shiniest of all. Not a speck of dirt, not a single scratch."
The old pliers just sighed wearily, and the hammer pretended not to hear him. Only Whirly the wise Screw, who already had a few small grooves from a screwdriver on her, smiled at him. "Shine is a fine thing, Spike, but what you are for is more important."
But Spike didn't want to hear about being useful. It was enough for him to be beautiful.
One day, the workshop doors opened and in came the Big Hands. They lifted Spike and carried him out to the garden. They placed him on a wooden table next to a blooming geranium box. Spike was delighted. "Finally, everyone will see me! The sunshine will polish me, and the bees will admire my beauty!"
All morning he preened, turning his shiny little head to the sunbeams. He watched the colourful butterflies and listened to the buzz of the busy bees. It was the most beautiful day of his life so far.
In the afternoon, however, the sky grew dark. The sun hid behind grey clouds that looked like large clumps of wet cotton wool. The wind picked up and shook the leaves on the trees.
"Brrr, it's so cold," Spike frowned. "And where is my sunshine?"
Suddenly, he felt something cold on his little head. Drip! Then another. Drip, drop! It began to rain. At first, just a few hesitant drops, which rolled nicely on his shiny surface. Spike even liked it. It looked like a little slide for water pearls.
But the rain grew stronger. The drops turned into thick streams of water that poured all over him. He huddled on the cold wood, waiting for it to stop. But the Big Hands did not return. They had forgotten him. It rained all night.
In the morning, Spike woke up to a sunny day. Everything was fresh and clean. He took a deep breath of the fragrant air after the rain. He wanted to shine again as he had before, but something was different. He felt strange, as if he were wearing a rough sweater.
He tried to move. A brownish smudge remained on the table where he had been. He was frightened. Right next to him lay a large dewdrop, as clear as glass. He leaned over it to see his reflection.
"No! That… that can't be me!" he cried in horror.
Instead of his beautiful, silver body, he saw something blotchy in the reflection. Ugly, reddish-brown spots had appeared on his surface. They looked like a rash. He tried to wipe them off, rubbing himself against the rough wood of the table, but the spots wouldn't disappear. They were a part of him. He was desperate. He hid under a geranium leaf and cried rusty tears.
Just then, something clattered beside him. It was the Big Hands again, placing the familiar old Whirly the Screw on the table. They had come to fix a loose leg on a wooden garden gnome.
Whirly looked around and immediately noticed the sad nail hidden in the shadows.
"Spike? What happened to you? You look as if your whole body aches," she said kindly.
"I'm sick! Look at me!" Spike sobbed, showing her his spots. "Yesterday I was the most beautiful nail in the world, and today I'm ugly and blotchy. The nasty rain has ruined me!"
Whirly looked at him closely. She gently touched him with her thread. "But you're not sick, Spike. Nor are you ruined. You've just made a friend."
"Made a friend? With whom? With these horrid spots?" the nail wondered.
"Not quite," Whirly smiled. "When you were left outside yesterday, you weren't alone. The rainwater was here with you, and there was air all around, wasn't there?"
Spike nodded. "The water was wet and the air was cold."
"Exactly. And you are made of iron. And iron loves to work together with the oxygen that's in the air. Especially when water helps. When the three of you combine—you, water, and the oxygen from the air—you create something new together. And that new thing is this reddish-brown coating. It's called rust."
Spike stopped crying and listened. Rust? The word sounded strange.
"This whole process, this great friendship between iron and oxygen, is scientifically called oxidation," Whirly continued. "It's a completely natural change. It's not a sickness. Look around you."
She pointed to an old metal watering can by the fence. It, too, had rusty patches on it. The hinges on the garden gate were also completely brown.
"See? They've made friends with the rain and the air, too. You are not alone in this. Everything made of iron that isn't protected will eventually rust outside. That's why we tools are always put away in a dry toolbox. So that we don't make friends with the water and air too often."
Spike looked at his spots with new eyes. So it wasn't a sickness. It was... chemistry. The result of teamwork. He still didn't like that he was no longer perfectly shiny, but at least he understood what had happened. He wasn't ugly, he was just... changed.
Just then, the Big Hands bent down towards them again. They were looking for something to attach the loose leg of the wooden gnome. At first, they were about to take a new, shiny nail from their pocket, but then they noticed Spike.
"Ah, look," the Hands said to themselves. "This one fits in much better here. Its colour matches the old wood."
They picked Spike up, placed him against the gnome's leg, and with a few precise taps of a hammer, knocked him into place. He fit perfectly. The gnome stood firmly again, and Spike's rusty little head almost blended in with the surface of the wood.
Spike suddenly felt a new kind of pride. He was no longer just pretty to look at. He was useful! He was holding the gnome up so it wouldn't fall. His new, rusty colour gave him a purpose.
From that day on, Spike no longer boasted about his shine. He boasted about being a sturdy support for the garden gnome. And whenever a young, shiny nail lamented over its first spot of rust, Spike would just smile wisely and say, "Don't worry about it. You're just making friends with the air and the water."
And what about you, children? Have you ever noticed rust on a bicycle, a fence, or an old swing set? On your next walk, try to look around and see where you can find the result of this great friendship between iron, water, and air.