May 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for May in Huntington is the Be Bold Bouquet by Better Homes and Gardens

Introducing the Be Bold Bouquet by Better Homes and Gardens floral arrangement! Blooming with bright colors to boldly express your every emotion, this exquisite flower bouquet is set to celebrate. Hot pink roses, purple Peruvian Lilies, lavender mini carnations, green hypericum berries, lily grass blades, and lush greens are brought together to create an incredible flower arrangement.

The flowers are artfully arranged in a clear glass cube vase, allowing their natural beauty to shine through. The lucky recipient will feel like you have just picked the flowers yourself from a beautiful garden!

Whether you're celebrating an anniversary, sending get well wishes or simply saying 'I love you', the Be Bold Bouquet is always appropriate. This floral selection has timeless appeal and will be cherished by anyone who is lucky enough to receive it.

Better Homes and Gardens has truly outdone themselves with this incredible creation. Their attention to detail shines through in every petal and leaf - creating an arrangement that not only looks stunning but also feels incredibly luxurious.

If you're looking for a captivating floral arrangement that brings joy wherever it goes, the Be Bold Bouquet by Better Homes and Gardens is the perfect choice. The stunning colors, long-lasting blooms, delightful fragrance and affordable price make it a true winner in every way. Get ready to add a touch of boldness and beauty to someone's life - you won't regret it!

Consider the heliconia ... that tropical anarchist of the floral world, its blooms less flowers than avant-garde sculptures forged in some botanical fever dream. Picture a flower that didn’t so much evolve as erupt—bracts like lobster claws dipped in molten wax, petals jutting at angles geometry textbooks would call “impossible,” stems thick enough to double as curtain rods. You’ve seen them in hotel lobbies maybe, or dripping from jungle canopies, their neon hues and architectural swagger making orchids look prissy, birds of paradise seem derivative. Snip one stalk and suddenly your dining table becomes a stage ... the heliconia isn’t decor. It’s theater.

What makes heliconias revolutionary isn’t their size—though let’s pause here to note that some varieties tower at six feet—but their refusal to play by floral rules. These aren’t delicate blossoms begging for admiration. They’re ecosystems. Each waxy bract cradles tiny true flowers like secrets, offering nectar to hummingbirds while daring you to look closer. Their colors? Imagine a sunset got into a fistfight with a rainbow. Reds that glow like stoplights. Yellows so electric they hum. Pinks that make bubblegum look muted. Pair them with palm fronds and you’ve built a jungle. Add them to a vase of anthuriums and the anthuriums become backup dancers.

Their structure defies logic. The ‘Lobster Claw’ variety curls like a crustacean’s pincer frozen mid-snap. The ‘Parrot’s Beak’ arcs skyward as if trying to escape its own stem. The ‘Golden Torch’ stands rigid, a gilded sceptre for some floral monarch. Each variety isn’t just a flower but a conversation—about boldness, about form, about why we ever settled for roses. And the leaves ... oh, the leaves. Broad, banana-like plates that shimmer with rainwater long after storms pass, their veins mapping some ancient botanical code.

Here’s the kicker: heliconias are marathoners in a world of sprinters. While hibiscus blooms last a day and peonies sulk after three, heliconias persist for weeks, their waxy bracts refusing to wilt even as the rest of your arrangement turns to compost. This isn’t longevity. It’s stubbornness. A middle finger to entropy. Leave one in a vase and it’ll outlast your interest, becoming a fixture, a roommate, a pet that doesn’t need feeding.

Their cultural resume reads like an adventurer’s passport. Native to Central and South America but adopted by Hawaii as a state symbol. Named after Mount Helicon, home of the Greek muses—a fitting nod to their mythic presence. In arrangements, they’re shape-shifters. Lean one against a wall and it’s modern art. Cluster five in a ceramic urn and you’ve summoned a rainforest. Float a single bract in a shallow bowl and your mantel becomes a Zen koan.

Care for them like you’d handle a flamboyant aunt—give them space, don’t crowd them, and never, ever put them in a narrow vase. Their stems thirst like marathoners. Recut them underwater to keep the water highway flowing. Strip lower leaves to avoid swampiness. Do this, and they’ll reward you by lasting so long you’ll forget they’re cut ... until guests arrive and ask, breathlessly, What are those?

The magic of heliconias lies in their transformative power. Drop one into a bouquet of carnations and the carnations stiffen, suddenly aware they’re extras in a blockbuster. Pair them with proteas and the arrangement becomes a dialogue between titans. Even alone, in a too-tall vase, they command attention like a soloist hitting a high C. They’re not flowers. They’re statements. Exclamation points with roots.

Here’s the thing: heliconias make timidity obsolete. They don’t whisper. They declaim. They don’t complement. They dominate. And yet ... their boldness feels generous, like they’re showing other flowers how to be brave. Next time you see them—strapped to a florist’s truck maybe, or sweating in a greenhouse—grab a stem. Take it home. Let it lean, slouch, erupt in your foyer. Days later, when everything else has faded, your heliconia will still be there, still glowing, still reminding you that nature doesn’t do demure. It does spectacular.

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

Huntington, New York, on Long Island’s North Shore, greets its mornings with a kind of suburban orchestration that feels both unremarkable and quietly profound. Commuters stream toward the train station under sycamore shadows, briefcases swinging like pendulums synced to some larger, invisible clock. Yet just blocks away, mothers push strollers past storefronts where 19th-century clapboard leans against glassy modern facades, and the air smells of salt from the harbor and fresh coffee from corner bakeries. This is a town that wears its history without ostentation, its colonial roots visible in the way sunlight angles off the Old Burial Ground’s weathered stones, its present alive in the hum of skateboards clattering down Main Street.

The soul of the place reveals itself in contradictions. Heckscher Park, a 19-acre sprawl of green, hosts summer concerts where toddlers wobble-dance to jazz as retirees fan themselves under oak trees. Across the street, the Paramount Theater’s marquee flickers with indie bands and comedians whose names you vaguely recognize from podcasts. The park’s pond glints at dusk, its surface puckered by ducks, while inside the adjacent art museum, a docent explains the brushstrokes of a Hudson River School painting to a group of fifth graders. You get the sense that Huntington knows itself, not in a self-congratulatory way, but with the ease of a community that has decided, collectively, to care about what endures.

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

Down at the harbor, sailboats bob in their slips like horses tethered before a ride. Kayakers slice through water that mirrors the sky, and on weekends, the farmer’s market erupts with heirloom tomatoes, honey jars, and a man playing Leonard Cohen covers on a dented guitar. Teenagers lugging surfboards nod to fishermen mending nets, a wordless exchange that bridges generations. The sand at Gold Star Battalion Beach stays cool underfoot even in August, and you’ll find people there at dawn, sipping tea from thermoses, watching the fog lift as if the day itself were a curtain rising.

What’s striking is how the town resists the pull of nearby Manhattan, not with defiance, but by offering a different rhythm. The same lawyers and execs who sprint through Penn Station at 8 a.m. return evenings to jog shaded lanes where colonial-era homes nestle beside community gardens. There’s a yoga studio above a vintage toy shop, a bookstore that hosts poetry nights, a library where teens cluster at laptops under murals of whaling ships. You notice the absence of frenzy, the way people here still stop to read historical plaques or let pedestrians cross mid-block without honking.

In Huntington, even the infrastructure feels humane. The train tracks sink below street level as they approach downtown, so the heart of the village isn’t severed by crossings. Instead, brick sidewalks wind past family-owned pharmacies and ice cream parlors, and every December, the lampposts twinkle with wreaths. The public pool, a Depression-era project, still draws crowds on muggy July afternoons, its diving board echoing with cannonballs. You could call it quaint, but that undersells the intentionality, the way the town hall prioritizes green space, how the high school’s sustainability club rallies neighbors to plant milkweed for monarch butterflies.

This is a place where the mundane accrues meaning. A barber remembers your kid’s first haircut. The librarian hands your mother large-print mysteries without being asked. At the diner off Route 110, the waitress calls everyone “hon,” and the regulars’ coffee mugs have their names written in Sharpie on the sides. It’s not utopia, property taxes are brutal, and the CVS parking lot still floods when it rains, but there’s a fabric here, a sense that belonging isn’t about pedigree but participation.

To visit Huntington is to witness a quiet argument against the idea that progress requires erasure. The old and new coexist without cannibalizing each other. The past isn’t enshrined behind velvet ropes but woven into daily life, a continuity that feels increasingly rare. You leave wondering why more towns haven’t figured this out, how something so simple as a well-tended sidewalk garden or a free concert series can become a kind of glue. Then again, maybe it’s not simple at all. Maybe it takes work, the kind this place has chosen, again and again, to do.