June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Towamensing 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!

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

Towamensing sits quiet in the way a held breath isn’t, less a pause than a kind of insistence. This is a township that refuses the adjective “sleepy,” because sleep implies a eventual waking, and waking implies rush, and rush here is a rumor that loses steam somewhere east of the Lehigh Gap. The land buckles gently. Hills roll like the backs of old farm dogs rising to greet you. Roads bend not to accommodate the terrain but to mimic it, as if asphalt, too, could learn the ease of a creek’s path. You’ll drive through and see cornfields that stretch with the patience of monks, rows of stalks practicing their silent mantra: grow, bend, grow. The soil here is the color of strong coffee, the kind your grandfather might’ve spilled into a saucer to cool, and it smells like something that predates the word “dirt.”

People move through Towamensing with the deliberate slowness of those who trust time. At the lone intersection where Route 209 brushes against the township’s spine, a man in a frayed Eagles cap might wave at your car not because he mistakes you for someone he knows but because waving is what one does here when eyes meet. The post office doubles as a bulletin board for civic life: a handwritten note about a lost tabby shares pushpin space with a flyer for the fire company’s pancake breakfast. In the parking lot, two women discuss zucchini yields while their toddlers poke at dandelions, and the conversation feels less like small talk than a daily referendum on what it means to belong to a place.

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

The woods here are dense with the kind of quiet that amplifies sound. Walk a trail in October, and the crunch of leaves underfoot becomes a symphony. A red-tailed hawk’s cry doesn’t startle so much as clarify the air. Kids still climb the same oak trees their parents did, scuffing sneakers on bark polished smooth by decades of sneakers. There’s a baseball field off a gravel lane where the bases are repurposed tractor tires, and the chain-link backstop wears a corsage of wild vines. On summer evenings, the thwack of a well-hit whiffle ball mixes with the cicadas’ buzz, and the game’s outcome matters less than the fact that everyone stays until the last firefly blinks on.

You could call Towamensing “quaint,” but that would miss the point. Quaintness is a performance. This place isn’t curated, it persists. The diner on 443 serves pie without irony. The waitress calls you “hon” without quotation marks. At the hardware store, a clerk will spend 20 minutes explaining how to fix a leaky faucet even though selling you the wrench would’ve been faster. It’s a town where the word “neighbor” functions as both noun and verb. When a barn’s roof collapses under February snow, the solution isn’t an insurance claim but a Saturday spent hammering alongside the guy who bags your groceries.

There’s a particular light here just before dusk. The sun dips behind the ridge, and the valley fills with a gold that seems less to fade than to settle, like pollen on a windowsill. Porch lights flicker on. Windows glow. Somewhere, a screen door slams in a way that sounds like a punchline to a joke everyone knows. You could argue it’s nostalgia, but that’s too easy. Nostalgia requires a sense of loss. Towamensing, in its unassuming way, sidesteps that ache. It isn’t a relic. It’s an argument: that a place can stay soft in a world that’s hard, that community isn’t an abstraction but a thing you patch together over years of showing up. Drive through and you’ll see it. Or maybe you won’t. The town doesn’t mind. It’s too busy being itself.