Orrie Hitt turns his sleazolicious talents to the subject of nudism for the succinctly titled Nudist Camp, published by Beacon Signal in 1957. We're treated to the story of an Icelandic immigrant to the U.S. named Della who finds herself needing to earn her keep due to a looming divorce, and turns her patch of rural land into a nudist resort. Problem is her partner in this scheme is secretly planning to photograph the visitors and blackmail them with the prints. When Della finds out, she's aghast, and bends her efforts toward thwarting this rude plan, leading to a scheme to steal the photos and hopefully burn them. Mixed into the intrigue is a bit of romance, and lots of waxing rhapsodic about Iceland and its beautiful women. That part Hitt actually got right. We've been there, and the women do in fact often have perfect ivory skin. Despite these factoids, and the exploration of body-free culture, Nudist Camp is a preposterous tale, uninspiringly told, signifying very little. You know what would have made it a lot better? More nudity. Go and figure. The cover art here is by Bernard Safran, and was adapted from a piece that originally appeared on the front of 1953's Male Virgin.

The other day we posted a note in our history rewind about the giant dust storms that raged across the U.S. during the Great Depression. Those storms—and the dust bowl in general—were a central feature of the pulp age, and after we saw the photos of the eruption of Eyjafjallajokull in Iceland we were reminded yet again, so we thought we’d revisit the subject today. Above and below you see assorted images of the types of Depression-era dust storms that featured prominently in the works of everyone from John Steinbeck to William Wister Haines, and remain an indelible part of American history. They also remind us that our hold over the environment is tenuous at best and, in the end, we’re but guests on a planet that will long outlast us.