June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Summit is the Beyond Blue Bouquet

The Beyond Blue Bouquet from Bloom Central is the perfect floral arrangement to brighten up any room in your home. This bouquet features a stunning combination of lilies, roses and statice, creating a soothing and calming vibe.

The soft pastel colors of the Beyond Blue Bouquet make it versatile for any occasion - whether you want to celebrate a birthday or just show someone that you care. Its peaceful aura also makes it an ideal gift for those going through tough times or needing some emotional support.

What sets this arrangement apart is not only its beauty but also its longevity. The flowers are hand-selected with great care so they last longer than average bouquets. You can enjoy their vibrant colors and sweet fragrance for days on end!

One thing worth mentioning about the Beyond Blue Bouquet is how easy it is to maintain. All you need to do is trim the stems every few days and change out the water regularly to ensure maximum freshness.

If you're searching for something special yet affordable, look no further than this lovely floral creation from Bloom Central! Not only will it bring joy into your own life, but it's also sure to put a smile on anyone else's face.

So go ahead and treat yourself or surprise someone dear with the delightful Beyond Blue Bouquet today! With its simplicity, elegance, long-lasting blooms, and effortless maintenance - what more could one ask for?

Lilies don’t simply bloom—they perform. One day, the bud is a closed fist, tight and secretive. The next, it’s a firework frozen mid-explosion, petals peeling back with theatrical flair, revealing filaments that curve like question marks, anthers dusted in pollen so thick it stains your fingertips. Other flowers whisper. Lilies ... they announce.

Their scale is all wrong, and that’s what makes them perfect. A single stem can dominate a room, not through aggression but sheer presence. The flowers are too large, the stems too tall, the leaves too glossy. Put them in an arrangement, and everything else becomes a supporting actor. Pair them with something delicate—baby’s breath, say, or ferns—and the contrast feels intentional, like a mountain towering over a meadow. Or embrace the drama: cluster lilies alone in a tall vase, stems staggered at different heights, and suddenly you’ve created a skyline.

The scent is its own phenomenon. Not all lilies have it, but the ones that do don’t bother with subtlety. It’s a fragrance that doesn’t drift so much as march, filling the air with something between spice and sugar. One stem can colonize an entire house, turning hallways into olfactory events. Some people find it overwhelming. Those people are missing the point. A lily’s scent isn’t background noise. It’s the main attraction.

Then there’s the longevity. Most cut flowers surrender after a week, petals drooping in defeat. Lilies? They persist. Buds open in sequence, each flower taking its turn, stretching the performance over days. Even as the first blooms fade, new ones emerge, ensuring the arrangement never feels static. It’s a slow-motion ballet, a lesson in patience and payoff.

And the colors. White lilies aren’t just white—they’re luminous, as if lit from within. The orange ones burn like embers. Pink lilies blush, gradients shifting from stem to tip, while the deep red varieties seem to absorb light, turning velvety in shadow. Mix them, and the effect is symphonic, a chromatic argument where every shade wins.

The pollen is a hazard, sure. Those rust-colored grains cling to fabric, skin, tabletops, leaving traces like tiny accusations. But that’s part of the deal. Lilies aren’t meant to be tidy. They’re meant to be vivid, excessive, unignorable. Pluck the anthers if you must, but know you’re dulling the spectacle.

When they finally wilt, they do it with dignity. Petals curl inward, retreating rather than collapsing, as if the flower is bowing out gracefully after a standing ovation. Even then, they’re photogenic, their decay more like a slow exhale than a collapse.

So yes, you could choose flowers that behave, that stay where you put them, that don’t shed or dominate or demand. But why would you? Lilies don’t decorate. They transform. An arrangement with lilies isn’t just a collection of plants in water. It’s an event.

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

In Summit, Illinois, the railroad tracks don’t just bisect the town; they hum with a kind of low-grade insistence, a reminder that this is a place where motion meets rootedness. The trains barrel through daily, hauling freight or commuters, their horns slicing the air like a conductor’s baton keeping time for a community that has, for over a century, thrived in the interstices of transit and stillness. Summit sits southwest of Chicago, a village so unassuming you might miss it if you blink, but to blink would be to overlook a nexus of quiet American resilience, a town that wears its history like a well-stitched quilt, frayed at the edges but warm, functional, alive.

The streets here curve under canopies of oak and maple, their leaves in autumn blazing with a fervor that feels almost liturgical. Kids pedal bikes past brick bungalows with stoops swept clean, past the post office where Mrs. Ruiz still hands out lollipops to anyone under four feet tall, past the library whose aging copy of The Poky Little Puppy has been checked out 317 times since 1989. At the center of it all, Summit Park sprawls with a generosity of space, a green lung where teenagers flirt by the swings, where retirees argue over chessboards, where the annual Fourth of July parade marshals fire trucks and trombones and a Shriners’ mini-car squadron that wobbles heroically around the perimeter.

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

What anchors Summit, though, isn’t just its geography or its trees. It’s the Argo Plant, a starch factory that’s been puffing steam into the sky since 1908. The plant towers like an industrial cathedral, its silos gleaming in the sun, its parking lot a mosaic of shift workers’ cars arriving and departing with the precision of tides. The factory smells of corn, sweet, earthy, pervasive, a scent that seeps into the town’s pores, into lunchboxes and laundry lines, into the collective memory of generations who’ve clocked in there. To live in Summit is to know someone who knows someone at Argo, to understand that labor here is both legacy and lifeline.

Then there’s the Des Plaines River, which threads the village’s western edge like a loose suture. In summer, kayaks dot its surface, and fishermen cast lines for bluegill while herons stalk the shallows. The river floods every few years, as if to remind everyone that nature writes its own rules, but locals respond with sandbags and shrugged humor. It’s just water, they say, mopping basements, sharing pumps, showing up with casseroles for whoever got hit worst. The floods don’t define Summit; the cleanup does.

On Saturdays, the farmers’ market blooms in the VFW parking lot. Vendors hawk honey and heirloom tomatoes. Mr. Kapoor sells samosas next to the O’Connells’ apple butter stand, and the air fills with a collage of accents, Polish, Spanish, Filipino, a testament to a town that’s absorbed waves of immigrants without erasing their stories. Summit doesn’t melt pots; it arranges them on a shared shelf, each vessel’s shape honored.

You notice, after a while, how many front doors stay unlocked here. How the high school’s trophy case gleams with decades of volleyball championships. How the diner on Archer Avenue still serves pie à la mode for $3.50 and lets you linger over coffee. How the train station’s platform, at dawn, holds a scatter of briefcases and backpacks, everyone heading somewhere else but always coming back.

There’s a particular beauty in towns like Summit, places that persist without pretense, that refuse to vanish into Chicago’s shadow or the 21st century’s frenzy. To walk its streets is to feel the quiet pulse of a community that understands itself as a verb, not a noun: a thing sustained, worked on, held together by small kindnesses and the stubborn belief that staying put can be its own kind of adventure. The trains keep passing through. The corn scent lingers. Somewhere, a kid pedals home, cheeks flushed, and the park’s merry-go-round spins just fast enough to feel like flying.