I nudged the carton of eggnog aside to get at a can of soda in the refrigerator and it occurred to me, rather jarringly, how misplaced that carton was.

In time, not in place.

The refrigerator is of course the proper spot to store eggnog, presuming you prefer the smooth rather than the chunky version of that luxurious liquid.

I like the former.

Indeed I feel the same about most dairy products, cottage cheese being an obvious exception, albeit one that acquires its texture intentionally.

What prompted this minor epiphany, as I stood there letting expensively chilled air spill out, was the reality that if I took a few steps and looked at my backyard, what I would see covering the grass was not snow but rather the leaves of our ash and willow trees.

Christmas, the holiday most associated with eggnog, was on that day more than 2 months away — far enough that I hadn’t even started thinking about the best place to get stuck while searching for this year’s tree.

And yet here was this half-gallon carton, its pale yellow surface decorated with renderings of green sprigs of holly, wedged in between the milk and the soda.

We hadn’t even pulled the pumpkin decorations from the closet, much less begun to ponder turkey and dressing, but already we were adulterating our morning coffee as though the yule season were nigh.

It happens that I relish a dollop of sweet, decadent eggnog in my coffee.

But I also know, from experience, that long before the first Christmas gift has been wrapped, I’ll tire of the taste, blissful though it is, and begin to feel the inexorable tug of the next season.

I don’t mean to take issue with the dairy industry.

It is, after all, merely catering to its customers. If coffee drinkers didn’t wish to start replacing regular creamer with eggnog as early as the autumnal equinox, then eggnog’s yearly run would revert to its more abbreviated duration.

It is silly for me to lament this trend when the evidence is right there in the fridge.

I’d as well complain about the brewers being heavy-handed with the hops while I’m quaffing an IPA.

Still and all, it seems to me that eggnog’s extended stay is but one symptom of an infection that’s been spreading for some years.

This is not a dangerous affliction, to be sure. And happily so, what with the microscopic challenges we’ve been dealing with in 2020.

And yet this trend toward the premature and lengthened celebration of holidays, and specifically certain of their edible accouterments, strikes me as a dismal rite, a diminution of events that are special in part because of their brevity.

I remember, and with a fondness enriched by nostalgia, the era when the flavor of spiced pumpkin was confined to pies that didn’t emerge from ovens until Thanksgiving.

Today that essence, both in flavor and aroma versions, infuses a range of products so extensive and diverse that even the most sober empiricist might be susceptible to theories about America’s marketing gurus engaging in a conspiracy.

Among the items which have been given the pumpkin spice treatment are some potentially sublime examples. Twinkies, for instance, although ambrosial in their standard form, can potentially be, if not improved, then at least have their excellence expanded.

I also endorse pumpkin spice candy corn, which are to my palate only subtly different from the traditional version.

But pumpkin spice potato chips are an abomination, an unforgivable insult to the perfection that is the relationship between thinly sliced potatoes, hot oil and a dash of salt.

And a great many of the other attempts to capitalize on this peculiar phenomenon scarcely deserve mention.

Let sparkling pumpkin spice beverage represent this litany of silliness, and have done with it.

As with most consumer fads I suspect the pumpkin spice obsession will eventually sour and shrivel. Perhaps a few items will persist, having earned their place in the pantheon of America’s processed foods. The aforementioned Twinkies, for example, ought to have staying power, even beyond their famously immense shelf life.

But I hope that when the pumpkin spice period ends, the dairies will revert to churning out eggnog only when the tamaracks have gone orange and the Halloween candy stash is, if not gone, then at least noticeably depleted.

I pine for a return of the halcyon days when my appetite for eggnog didn’t dissipate before I even had to hunt up the snow shovel from wherever it gets off to every summer.

Jayson Jacoby is editor of the Baker City Herald.