June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Washington is the Birthday Smiles Floral Cake

The Birthday Smiles Floral Cake floral arrangement from Bloom Central is sure to bring joy and happiness on any special occasion. This charming creation is like a sweet treat for the eyes.

The arrangement itself resembles a delectable cake - but not just any cake! It's a whimsical floral interpretation that captures all the fun and excitement of blowing out candles on a birthday cake. The round shape adds an element of surprise and intrigue.

Gorgeous blooms are artfully arranged to resemble layers upon layers of frosting. Each flower has been hand-selected for its beauty and freshness, ensuring the Birthday Smiles Floral Cake arrangement will last long after the celebration ends. From the collection of bright sunflowers, yellow button pompons, white daisy pompons and white carnations, every petal contributes to this stunning masterpiece.

And oh my goodness, those adorable little candles! They add such a playful touch to the overall design. These miniature wonders truly make you feel as if you're about to sing Happy Birthday surrounded by loved ones.

But let's not forget about fragrance because what is better than a bouquet that smells as amazing as it looks? As soon as you approach this captivating creation, your senses are greeted with an enchanting aroma that fills the room with pure delight.

This lovely floral cake makes for an ideal centerpiece at any birthday party. The simple elegance of this floral arrangement creates an inviting ambiance that encourages laughter and good times among friends and family alike. Plus, it pairs perfectly with both formal gatherings or more relaxed affairs - versatility at its finest.

Bloom Central has truly outdone themselves with their Birthday Smiles Floral Cake floral arrangement; it encapsulates everything there is to love about birthdays - joyfulness, beauty and togetherness. A delightful reminder that life is meant to be celebrated and every day can feel like a special occasion with the right touch of floral magic.

So go ahead, indulge in this sweet treat for the eyes because nothing brings more smiles on a birthday than this stunning floral creation from Bloom Central.

Consider the Nigella ... a flower that seems spun from the raw material of fairy tales, all tendrils and mystery, its blooms hovering like sapphire satellites in a nest of fennel-green lace. You’ve seen them in cottage gardens, maybe, or poking through cracks in stone walls, their foliage a froth of threadlike leaves that dissolve into the background until the flowers erupt—delicate, yes, but fierce in their refusal to be ignored. Pluck one stem, and you’ll find it’s not a single flower but a constellation: petals like tissue paper, stamens like minuscule lightning rods, and below it all, that intricate cage of bracts, as if the plant itself is trying to hold its breath.

What makes Nigellas—call them Love-in-a-Mist if you’re feeling romantic, Devil-in-a-Bush if you’re not—so singular is their refusal to settle. They’re shape-shifters. One day, a five-petaled bloom the color of a twilight sky, soft as a bruise. The next, a swollen seed pod, striped and veined like some exotic reptile’s egg, rising from the wreckage of spent petals. Florists who dismiss them as filler haven’t been paying attention. Drop a handful into a vase of tulips, and the tulips snap into focus, their bold cups suddenly part of a narrative. Pair them with peonies, and the peonies shed their prima donna vibe, their blousy heads balanced by Nigellas’ wiry grace.

Their stems are the stuff of contortionists—thin, yes, but preternaturally strong, capable of looping and arching without breaking, as if they’ve internalized the logic of cursive script. Arrange them in a tight bundle, and they’ll jostle for space like commuters. Let them sprawl, and they become a landscape, all negative space and whispers. And the colors. The classic blue, so intense it seems to vibrate. The white varieties, like snowflakes caught mid-melt. The deep maroons that swallow light. Each hue comes with its own mood, its own reason to lean closer.

But here’s the kicker: Nigellas are time travelers. They bloom, fade, and then—just when you think the show’s over—their pods steal the scene. These husks, papery and ornate, persist for weeks, turning from green to parchment to gold, their geometry so precise they could’ve been drafted by a mathematician with a poetry habit. Dry them, and they become heirlooms. Toss them into a winter arrangement, and they’ll outshine the holly, their skeletal beauty a rebuke to the season’s gloom.

They’re also anarchists. Plant them once, and they’ll reseed with the enthusiasm of a rumor, popping up in sidewalk cracks, between patio stones, in the shadow of your rose bush. They thrive on benign neglect, their roots gripping poor soil like they prefer it, their faces tilting toward the sun as if to say, Is that all you’ve got? This isn’t fragility. It’s strategy. A survivalist’s charm wrapped in lace.

And the names. ‘Miss Jekyll’ for the classicists. ‘Persian Jewels’ for the magpies. ‘Delft Blue’ for those who like their flowers with a side of delftware. Each variety insists on its own mythology, but all share that Nigella knack for blurring lines—between wild and cultivated, between flower and sculpture, between ephemeral and eternal.

Use them in a bouquet, and you’re not just adding texture. You’re adding plot twists. A Nigella elbowing its way between ranunculus and stock is like a stand-up comic crashing a string quartet ... unexpected, jarring, then suddenly essential. They remind us that beauty doesn’t have to shout. It can insinuate. It can unravel. It can linger long after the last petal drops.

Next time you’re at the market, skip the hydrangeas. Bypass the alstroemerias. Grab a bunch of Nigellas. Let them loose on your dining table, your desk, your windowsill. Watch how the light filigrees through their bracts. Notice how the air feels lighter, as if the room itself is breathing. You’ll wonder how you ever settled for arrangements that made sense. Nigellas don’t do sense. They do magic.

Are looking for a Washington florist because you are not local to the area? If so, here is a brief travelogue of what Washington has to offer. Who knows, perhaps you'll be intrigued enough to come visit soon, partake in some of the fun activities Washington has to offer and deliver flowers to your loved one in person!

Washington, Georgia, sits in the pine-scented cradle of Wilkes County like a well-thumbed novel left open on a porch swing, its pages worn but legible, its spine cracked by time but still holding. The town is not so much a destination as a lingering. To walk its streets is to feel the weight of centuries in the creak of a floorboard, the whisper of a breeze through magnolias, the way sunlight slants across red brick storefronts as if apologizing for the hurry of the modern world. Here, history is not a monument but a lived thing. The old courthouse, a white-columned sentinel on the square, has watched generations of lawyers and loafers debate the weather, the crops, the existential merits of pecan pie. Its clock tower chimes the hour with a sound so patient it could calm a hummingbird.

The town’s story begins in 1780, when a group of settlers decided the dense Georgia woods needed a place where people could argue about taxes and name their dogs after presidents. Washington became the first permanent settlement west of Augusta, a fact locals mention with the quiet pride of someone who knows their roots go deeper than kudzu. During the Revolution, patriots clashed with Loyalists at Kettle Creek, a battle now commemorated by a marker that stands as stoic as the men who fought there. The earth itself seems to remember. Hike the trails, and you might feel the ghostly nudge of a musket against your shoulder blade, or hear the faint echo of a fife tuning itself to the rhythm of your footsteps.

Same day service available. Order your Washington floral delivery and surprise someone today!

Architecture here is a conversation between eras. Antebellum homes line streets like graceful elders at a family reunion, their wraparound porches offering shade and a view of the 21st century shuffling past. The Robert Toombs House, with its Doric columns and lavender-trimmed garden, wears its history like a good suit, sharp but approachable. Down the block, the Washington-Wilkes Historical Museum occupies a former bank vault, its artifacts arranged with the care of a grandmother dusting her china. A child’s doll from 1862 stares glassy-eyed at a Confederate uniform, while upstairs, a quilt stitched by freedwomen hums with colors that refuse to fade.

What defines Washington isn’t its past but how its present leans into that past without collapsing under the weight. The town square thrums with a commerce both practical and quaint: a hardware store that still sells single nails, a café where the biscuits are flaky enough to make a Baptist preacher wink, a bookstore whose owner can recite the first line of every novel on the shelves. Teenagers drag Main Street in pickup trucks, waving at retirees rocking on benches. At dusk, the streetlights flicker on like fireflies, and the air fills with the scent of gardenias and fresh-cut grass.

The people here move with the unhurried certainty of those who trust the land. Farmers in John Deere caps discuss soil pH at the diner. Artisans sand woodwork in garages, their radios tuned to Braves games. Children pedal bikes past Victorian homes, their laughter bouncing off oak limbs draped in Spanish moss. Even the stray dogs amble with purpose, as if late for a meeting behind the post office.

Outside town, the landscape softens into rolling hills, pastures dotted with cows that chew with the solemnity of philosophers. The Little River curls through the county like a question mark, inviting kayakers and daydreamers to parse its currents. In autumn, the woods ignite in hues of cinnamon and gold; in spring, dogwoods bloom like suspended snowflakes. It’s easy to forget, here, that the world beyond Wilkes County spins at a frantic RPM. Washington insists on a different metric, one measured in seasons, in generations, in the time it takes to snap a green bean or tell a good story.

To visit is to wonder: Is this place an anachronism or a revelation? A museum or a mirror? The answer, perhaps, is both. Washington doesn’t just preserve history. It quietly argues that some things, community, continuity, the pleasure of a front porch on a June evening, are immune to obsolescence. The town endures, not out of stubbornness, but because it has learned the rare art of holding on by letting go.