June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Dunmore is the Happy Day Bouquet

The Happy Day Bouquet from Bloom Central is simply adorable. This charming floral arrangement is perfect for brightening up any room in your home. It features a delightful mix of vibrant flowers that will instantly bring joy to anyone who sees them.

With cheery colors and a playful design the Happy Day Bouquet is sure to put a smile on anyone's face. The bouquet includes a collection of yellow roses and luminous bupleurum plus white daisy pompon and green button pompon. These blooms are expertly arranged in a clear cylindrical glass vase with green foliage accents.

The size of this bouquet is just right - not too big and not too small. It is the perfect centerpiece for your dining table or coffee table, adding a pop of color without overwhelming the space. Plus, it's so easy to care for! Simply add water every few days and enjoy the beauty it brings to your home.

What makes this arrangement truly special is its versatility. Whether you're celebrating a birthday, anniversary, or simply want to brighten someone's day, the Happy Day Bouquet fits the bill perfectly. With timeless appeal makes this arrangement is suitable for recipients of all ages.

If you're looking for an affordable yet stunning gift option look no further than the Happy Day Bouquet from Bloom Central. As one of our lowest priced arrangements, the budget-friendly price allows you to spread happiness without breaking the bank.

Ordering this beautiful bouquet couldn't be easier either. With Bloom Central's convenient online ordering system you can have it delivered straight to your doorstep or directly to someone special in just a few clicks.

So why wait? Treat yourself or surprise someone dear with this delightful floral arrangement today! The Happy Day Bouquet will undoubtedly uplift spirits and create lasting memories filled with joy and love.

Holly doesn’t just sit in an arrangement—it commands it. With leaves like polished emerald shards and berries that glow like warning lights, it transforms any vase or wreath into a spectacle of contrast, a push-pull of danger and delight. Those leaves aren’t merely serrated—they’re armed, each point a tiny dagger honed by evolution. And yet, against all logic, we can’t stop touching them. Running a finger along the edge becomes a game of chicken: Will it draw blood? Maybe. But the risk is part of the thrill.

Then there are the berries. Small, spherical, almost obscenely red, they cling to stems like ornaments on some pagan tree. Their color isn’t just bright—it’s loud, a chromatic shout in the muted palette of winter. In arrangements, they function as exclamation points, drawing the eye with the insistence of a flare in the night. Pair them with white roses, and suddenly the roses look less like flowers and more like snowfall caught mid-descent. Nestle them among pine boughs, and the whole composition crackles with energy, a static charge of holiday drama.

But what makes holly truly indispensable is its durability. While other seasonal botanicals wilt or shed within days, holly scoffs at decay. Its leaves stay rigid, waxy, defiantly green long after the needles have dropped from the tree in your living room. The berries? They cling with the tenacity of burrs, refusing to shrivel until well past New Year’s. This isn’t just convenient—it’s borderline miraculous. A sprig tucked into a napkin ring on December 20 will still look sharp by January 3, a quiet rebuke to the transience of the season.

And then there’s the symbolism, heavy as fruit-laden branches. Ancient Romans sent holly boughs as gifts during Saturnalia. Christians later adopted it as a reminder of sacrifice and rebirth. Today, it’s shorthand for cheer, for nostalgia, for the kind of holiday magic that exists mostly in commercials ... until you see it glinting in candlelight on a mantelpiece, and suddenly, just for a second, you believe in it.

But forget tradition. Forget meaning. The real magic of holly is how it elevates everything around it. A single stem in a milk-glass vase turns a windowsill into a still life. Weave it through a garland, and the garland becomes a tapestry. Even when dried—those berries darkening to the color of old wine—it retains a kind of dignity, a stubborn beauty that refuses to fade.

Most decorations scream for attention. Holly doesn’t need to. It stands there, sharp and bright, and lets you come to it. And when you do, it rewards you with something rare: the sense that winter isn’t just something to endure, but to adorn.

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

Dunmore, Pennsylvania, sits just northeast of Scranton in a valley where the Allegheny Plateau’s ridges soften into something like a sigh. You notice this first in the way morning light spills over the backyards of clapboard homes, the kind with porches that sag just enough to suggest not decay but endurance, and in the way the air smells of cut grass and distant fryer oil from the diner on Drinker Street. The town clings to its history without fuss, the old coal seams now quiet, the Italian and Irish and Polish grandparents still telling stories at kitchen tables, their accents weathered but precise. There is a quiet pride here, a sense of pockets being patted to confirm that the important things remain.

The heart of Dunmore beats in its schools. On Friday nights in autumn, the high school stadium glows under halogen lights as the Bucks football team charges across the field, cleats kicking up divots, parents and siblings and retired teachers in the stands shouting plays like incantations. Teenagers cluster near the concession stand, laughing too loudly, their breath visible in the cold. It’s not that Dunmore ignores the modern world, the kids have smartphones, the cars in the ShopRite lot are hybrids, but urgency here feels different, softer, less about the next thing than about the now. A grandmother waves to a neighbor pushing a stroller past St. Mary’s Cemetery. A mail carrier pauses to scratch the ears of a basset hound named Buddy.

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

Downtown’s business district spans six blocks, each storefront a vignette. At the Family Diner, waitresses in pink aprons refill coffee cups without asking, their hands steady as they slide plates of pancakes toward regulars. The hardware store still has creaking wood floors and a proprietor who can explain how to fix a leaky faucet in three sentences or fewer. In Marino’s Bakery, the cinnamon rolls are the size of softballs, and the owner’s daughter, home from college, works the register, her calculus textbook propped open beside the till. People here make eye contact. They say “See you tomorrow” and mean it.

The parks are small but immaculate. At McDade Park, mothers push swings while toddlers shriek at the thrill of flying, and old men play chess under a pavilion, slamming down pieces with the gravity of generals. In summer, the pool fills with cannonballing kids, their voices echoing off the concrete. Dunmore’s version of wilderness is the tree-lined trail behind the elementary school, where middle-aged couples walk in the evenings, discussing grocery lists and retirement plans, their sneakers crunching gravel.

What’s easy to miss, unless you linger, is how the town’s rhythm insists on kindness as a default. The librarian remembers your name. The crossing guard waves even when no one’s crossing. At the annual Carbondale Road carnival, teenagers volunteer to spin the Ferris wheel for hours, not for community service credits but because their parents did it before them. This is a place where you can still find a penny stuck in fresh sidewalk cement, initials etched beside it, a secret handshake between generations.

Dunmore isn’t perfect. The winters are long. The potholes on Moosic Street reappear each spring. But perfection isn’t the point. The point is the way the fog settles in the valley at dawn, turning the streets into something dreamlike. The point is the high school’s jazz band practicing after school, saxophones sliding through scales, the sound drifting out open windows. The point is the way the oldest barber on Blakely Street tells the same joke every time, “You want it short or handsome?”, and the way his customers still chuckle, not out of politeness but because the ritual itself is a kind of lifeline.

To call Dunmore “quaint” would miss the mark. Quaint implies a performance, a postcard. This town is too busy living to pose. Its beauty is in the offhand way a stranger shovels your sidewalk after a snowstorm, or the fact that the bakery gives free cookies to toddlers, or the way the sunset turns the brick of the old railroad station the color of a blush. It’s a beauty that doesn’t announce itself. It waits for you to notice.