(Now asparagus? Blueberries, tomatoes? Those seasonal obsessions I understand. They are truly wretched out of season.)
Perhaps the autumn pumpkin fling is a way for us to pretend that we're still close to nature, that we care about the seasons God created, when really, we have separated ourselves as much as possible. Ironically, I think the people who are most into pumpkin lattes tend to live furthest away from the natural way of things: the big city hipsters who have probably never seen a cornfield or petted a pig.
Not that I dislike big cities. I also like my air conditioning, which allows me to escape seasonal heat, and my car, which allows me to drive south to the beach when it's freezing at home. But I sometimes think that living seasonally is good for us. It reminds us that we can't have everything we want, when we want it. That the world moves in a rhythm larger than our own whims.
I wish I could find a luscious peach in darkest February, though. Though I could find a peach, "luscious" would not describe it.