June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Tulsa is the Fuchsia Phalaenopsis Orchid

The Fuchsia Phalaenopsis Orchid floral arrangement from Bloom Central is a stunning addition to any home decor. This beautiful orchid arrangement features vibrant violet blooms that are sure to catch the eye of anyone who enters the room.

This stunning double phalaenopsis orchid displays vibrant violet blooms along each stem with gorgeous green tropical foliage at the base. The lively color adds a pop of boldness and liveliness, making it perfect for brightening up a living room or adding some flair to an entryway.

One of the best things about this floral arrangement is its longevity. Unlike other flowers that wither away after just a few days, these phalaenopsis orchids can last for many seasons if properly cared for.

Not only are these flowers long-lasting, but they also require minimal maintenance. With just a little bit of water every week and proper lighting conditions your Fuchsia Phalaenopsis Orchids will thrive and continue to bloom beautifully.

Another great feature is that this arrangement comes in an attractive, modern square wooden planter. This planter adds an extra element of style and charm to the overall look.

Whether you're looking for something to add life to your kitchen counter or wanting to surprise someone special with a unique gift, this Fuchsia Phalaenopsis Orchid floral arrangement from Bloom Central is sure not disappoint. The simplicity combined with its striking color makes it stand out among other flower arrangements.

The Fuchsia Phalaenopsis Orchid floral arrangement brings joy wherever it goes. Its vibrant blooms capture attention while its low-maintenance nature ensures continuous enjoyment without much effort required on the part of the recipient. So go ahead and treat yourself or someone you love today - you won't regret adding such elegance into your life!

Amaranthus does not behave like other flowers. It does not sit politely in a vase, standing upright, nodding gently in the direction of the other blooms. It spills. It drapes. It cascades downward in long, trailing tendrils that look more like something from a dream than something you can actually buy from a florist. It refuses to stay contained, which is exactly why it makes an arrangement feel alive.

There are two main types, though “types” doesn’t really do justice to how completely different they look. There’s the upright kind, with tall, tapering spikes that look like velvet-coated wands reaching toward the sky, adding height and texture and this weirdly ancient, almost prehistoric energy to a bouquet. And then there’s the trailing kind, the showstopper, the one that flows downward in thick ropes, soft and heavy, like some extravagant, botanical waterfall. Both versions have a weight to them, a physical presence that makes the usual rules of flower arranging feel irrelevant.

And the color. Deep, rich, impossible-to-ignore shades of burgundy, magenta, crimson, chartreuse. They look saturated, velvety, intense, like something out of an old oil painting, the kind where fruit and flowers are arranged on a wooden table with dramatic lighting and tiny beads of condensation on the grapes. Stick Amaranthus in a bouquet, and suddenly it feels more expensive, more opulent, more like it should be displayed in a room with high ceilings and heavy curtains and a kind of hushed reverence.

But what really makes Amaranthus unique is movement. Arrangements are usually about balance, about placing each stem at just the right angle to create a structured, harmonious composition. Amaranthus doesn’t care about any of that. It moves. It droops. It reaches out past the edge of the vase and pulls everything around it into a kind of organic, unplanned-looking beauty. A bouquet without Amaranthus can feel static, frozen, too aware of its own perfection. Add those long, trailing ropes, and suddenly there’s drama. There’s tension. There’s this gorgeous contrast between what is contained and what refuses to be.

And it lasts. Long after more delicate flowers have wilted, after the petals have started falling and the leaves have lost their luster, Amaranthus holds on. It dries beautifully, keeping its shape and color for weeks, sometimes months, as if it has decided that decay is simply not an option. Which makes sense, considering its name literally means “unfading” in Greek.

Amaranthus is not for the timid. It does not blend in, does not behave, does not sit quietly in the background. It transforms an arrangement, giving it depth, movement, and this strange, undeniable sense of history, like it belongs to another era but somehow ended up here. Once you start using it, once you see what it does to a bouquet, how it changes the whole mood of a space, you will not go back. Some flowers are beautiful. Amaranthus is unforgettable.

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

Tulsa sits in the green embrace of Oklahoma’s prairie like a circuit board soldered with contradictions. The city’s skyline, a jagged hymn of Art Deco spires and glassy futurism, hums with the quiet confidence of a place that knows it’s been underestimated. Morning light here doesn’t just fall, it slicks across the chrome of the Boston Avenue Methodist Church, pools in the geometric grooves of the Philcade Building, and warms the faces of early joggers tracing the Arkansas River’s newly minted trails. You can feel the city stretching. It is a living thing, still figuring out the shape it wants to occupy.

The streets whisper with the ghosts of oil barons and wildcatters who once turned dirt into empires. Their legacies are not just in the museums or the namesake parks but in the way Tulsans still approach reinvention as a civic sport. Take the Gathering Place, a 100-acre sprawl of playgrounds and wetlands where billionaire generosity and community sweat equity collide. Kids zip down slides shaped like shovels in a nod to the city’s digging-for-gold past, while kayakers paddle under bridges that mirror the arcs of Frank Lloyd Wright’s nearby Price Tower. Everything here feels deliberate, a conversation between what was and what could be.

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

Drive north on Peoria Avenue and you’ll hit the heart of the Greenwood District, where Black Wall Street once thrived, a monument to resilience wrapped in red brick and fresh murals. The air here is thick with stories of survival, of businesses resurrected and a culture that refuses abstraction. At Wanda J’s Next Generation Restaurant, collard greens simmer for hours beside cornbread that cracks open like a secret. The history isn’t shelved; it’s served on plates, folded into jazz at the Oklahoma Jazz Hall of Fame, stitched into the quilts at the Greenwood Cultural Center. This is a neighborhood that wears its heart right on its storefronts.

Art in Tulsa doesn’t just hang, it happens. At the Philbrook Museum, Van Goghs share walls with rotating installations by local artists, while the gardens outside blur the line between curated nature and wild beauty. The Brady Arts District thrums with First Friday crowds, galleries flinging doors open as if to say, “Look what we made!” Even the alleys are canvases. Murals explode in kaleidoscopic defiance: a 30-foot astronaut floats near the Woody Guthrie Center, a neon hummingbird hovers above a coffee shop, a Día de los Muertos skeleton grins beside a bike lane.

The soul of the city, though, might live in its contradictions. At the Mother Road Market, a food hall on Route 66, vegan tamales sit next to smoked brisket sandwiches, and the guy slinging Thai curry used to write software. Old-timers in cowboy hats sip espresso beside Gen Zers debating which rooftop bar has the best sunset view. Everyone seems aware they’re standing on a mythic highway, but nobody’s in a rush to leave. Why would they? Tulsa’s become the kind of place that asks you to stay awhile, to look twice.

You notice it in the small moments. A librarian recommending poetry to a teenager in the gleaming Central Library. A retired teacher leading a drum circle at Guthrie Green. The way strangers wave when you pause to admire their flower beds. It’s not performative niceness, it’s the ease of people who’ve decided to build something together. Even the weather participates. Spring storms barrel in with theatrical thunder, summer heat shimmers like a mirage, and winter light slants through bare sycamores as if the sky itself is framing the view.

By dusk, the city’s edges soften. The Gathering Place glows with string lights, the riverwalk pulses with cyclists, and the Deco District’s neon signs flicker on one by one, each a beacon for some hidden story. Tulsa knows it’s not perfect. There are cracks, sure, but that’s where the light gets in. And there’s so much light here.