June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Plymouth is the Dream in Pink Dishgarden

Bloom Central's Dream in Pink Dishgarden floral arrangement from is an absolute delight. It's like a burst of joy and beauty all wrapped up in one adorable package and is perfect for adding a touch of elegance to any home.

With a cheerful blend of blooms, the Dream in Pink Dishgarden brings warmth and happiness wherever it goes. This arrangement is focused on an azalea plant blossoming with ruffled pink blooms and a polka dot plant which flaunts speckled pink leaves. What makes this arrangement even more captivating is the variety of lush green plants, including an ivy plant and a peace lily plant that accompany the vibrant flowers. These leafy wonders not only add texture and depth but also symbolize growth and renewal - making them ideal for sending messages of positivity and beauty.

And let's talk about the container! The Dream in Pink Dishgarden is presented in a dark round woodchip woven basket that allows it to fit into any decor with ease.

One thing worth mentioning is how easy it is to care for this beautiful dish garden. With just a little bit of water here and there, these resilient plants will continue blooming with love for weeks on end - truly low-maintenance gardening at its finest!

Whether you're looking to surprise someone special or simply treat yourself to some natural beauty, the Dream in Pink Dishgarden won't disappoint. Imagine waking up every morning greeted by such loveliness. This arrangement is sure to put a smile on everyone's face!

So go ahead, embrace your inner gardening enthusiast (even if you don't have much time) with this fabulous floral masterpiece from Bloom Central. Let yourself be transported into a world full of pink dreams where everything seems just perfect - because sometimes we could all use some extra dose of sweetness in our lives!

The Chocolate Cosmos doesn’t just sit in a vase—it lingers. It hovers there, radiating a scent so improbably rich, so decadently specific, that your brain short-circuits for a second trying to reconcile flower and food. The name isn’t hyperbole. These blooms—small, velvety, the color of dark cocoa powder dusted with cinnamon—actually smell like chocolate. Not the cloying artificiality of candy, but the deep, earthy aroma of baker’s chocolate melting in a double boiler. It’s olfactory sleight of hand. It’s witchcraft with petals.

Visually, they’re understudies at first glance. Their petals, slightly ruffled, form cups no wider than a silver dollar, their maroon so dark it reads as black in low light. But this is their trick. In a bouquet of shouters—peonies, sunflowers, anything begging for attention—the Chocolate Cosmos works in whispers. It doesn’t compete. It complicates. Pair it with blush roses, and suddenly the roses smell sweeter by proximity. Tuck it among sprigs of mint or lavender, and the whole arrangement becomes a sensory paradox: garden meets patisserie.

Then there’s the texture. Unlike the plasticky sheen of many cultivated flowers, these blooms have a tactile depth—a velveteen nap that begs fingertips. Brushing one is like touching the inside of an antique jewelry box ... that somehow exudes the scent of a Viennese chocolatier. This duality—visual subtlety, sensory extravagance—makes them irresistible to arrangers who prize nuance over noise.

But the real magic is their rarity. True Chocolate Cosmoses (Cosmos atrosanguineus, if you’re feeling clinical) no longer exist in the wild. Every plant today is a clone of the original, propagated through careful division like some botanical heirloom. This gives them an aura of exclusivity, a sense that you’re not just buying flowers but curating an experience. Their blooming season, mid-to-late summer, aligns with outdoor dinners, twilight gatherings, moments when scent and memory intertwine.

In arrangements, they serve as olfactory anchors. A single stem on a dinner table becomes a conversation piece. "No, you’re not imagining it ... yes, it really does smell like dessert." Cluster them in a low centerpiece, and the scent pools like invisible mist, transforming a meal into theater. Even after cutting, they last longer than expected—their perfume lingering like a guest who knows exactly when to leave.

To call them decorative feels reductive. They’re mood pieces. They’re scent sculptures. In a world where most flowers shout their virtues, the Chocolate Cosmos waits. It lets you lean in. And when you do—when that first whiff of cocoa hits—it rewires your understanding of what a flower can be. Not just beauty. Not just fragrance. But alchemy.

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

Plymouth, Minnesota, exists in the kind of quiet harmony that makes you wonder why more places don’t. The city’s streets curve like cautious afterthoughts around lakes named for old medicines and older glaciers. Trees here grow with a civic pride, their branches arching over sidewalks in a way that suggests they’ve read the zoning codes and enthusiastically approved. Residents traverse these streets with a gait that splits the difference between urgency and leisure, as if perpetually aware that the lake they’re jogging toward isn’t going anywhere, but also that the light’s about to change.

The city’s center defies the concept of a center. Instead, Plymouth offers a series of hubs, each a solar system unto itself. There’s the labyrinth of shops at Plymouth Creek, where the parking lot hums with minivans and the hopeful clink of reusable grocery bags. A mile north, the Hilde Performance Center stages concerts under summer skies, the music slipping through the air to mix with the scent of grills firing in backyards. Families spread blankets, children orbit parents in widening loops, and the whole scene feels less like a performance than a collective exhale.

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

Parks here are not mere amenities but civic scripture. The French Regional Park wraps around Medicine Lake, a body of water so insistently picturesque it could make a postcard feel redundant. Kayakers paddle past fishermen, their waves intersecting in a geometry that vanishes almost as soon as it forms. Trails wind through woods so dense with oak and maple that autumn doesn’t so much arrive as ignite. People speak of these trails in the reverent tones usually reserved for old friends, noting which bends reveal the best views, which clearings host the tamest deer.

What’s easy to miss, though, is how deliberately all this ease is made. Plymouth’s planners wield green space like composers, arranging playgrounds and ponds into a symphony of accessibility. Community gardens bloom in plots tended by retirees and teenagers, their tomatoes and zinnias testifying to a shared belief that growth requires tending. Even the public art, abstract sculptures near the library, mosaics at the rec center, seems less about statement than invitation, saying: Look here, then look closer.

The city’s annual Ice Festival is less a festival than a pact. Each January, residents gather to carve and slide and marvel at frozen water as if they’ve never seen it before. Kids spin on skates until their cheeks match the sunset, while adults sip cocoa and debate the merits of this year’s snow sculpture contest. The cold could be a burden, but in Plymouth it becomes a canvas, a reason to come together and pretend, just for an afternoon, that winter is something you can outlast by sheer collective will.

Newcomers sometimes mistake Plymouth’s calm for complacency, but this is a place that knows its velocity. Tech campuses rise near wetlands, their glass facades reflecting the same skies that hang over the Nature Center’s bird feeders. The high school’s robotics team competes nationally, their trophies gleaming in cases down the hall from state championship volleyball banners. There’s a quiet intensity here, a sense that progress and preservation aren’t foes but dance partners, each stepping forward only when the other nods.

To live in Plymouth is to understand the luxury of unremarkable days. It’s biking the Luce Line Trail at golden hour, the path dappled with shadows that flicker like silent films. It’s the farmer’s market vendor who remembers your preference for honeycrisp over haralson. It’s the way the library’s windows frame the trees outside, turning November’s bare branches into a kind of art. The city doesn’t shout its virtues. It suggests them, gently, the way a neighbor waves across a cul-de-sac, not demanding anything, just saying: I see you’re here. I’m here too.