June 1, 2025

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

Magnolia leaves don’t just occupy space in an arrangement—they command it. Those broad, waxy blades, thick as cardstock and just as substantial, don’t merely accompany flowers; they announce them, turning a simple vase into a stage where every petal becomes a headliner. Stroke the copper underside of one—that unexpected russet velveteen—and you’ll feel the tactile contradiction that defines them: indestructible yet luxurious, like a bank vault lined with antique silk. This isn’t foliage. It’s statement. It’s the difference between decor and drama.

What makes magnolia leaves extraordinary isn’t just their physique—though God, the physique. That architectural heft, those linebacker shoulders of the plant world—they bring structure without stiffness, weight without bulk. But here’s the twist: for all their muscular presence, they’re secretly light manipulators. Their glossy topside doesn’t merely reflect light; it curates it, bouncing back highlights like a cinematographer tweaking a key light. Pair them with delicate freesia, and suddenly those spindly blooms stand taller, their fragility transformed into intentional contrast. Surround white hydrangeas with magnolia leaves, and the hydrangeas glow like moonlight on marble.

Then there’s the longevity. While lesser greens yellow and curl within days, magnolia leaves persist with the tenacity of a Broadway understudy who knows all the leads’ lines. They don’t wilt—they endure, their waxy cuticle shrugging off water loss like a seasoned commuter ignoring subway delays. This isn’t just convenient; it’s alchemical. A single stem in a Thanksgiving centerpiece will still look pristine when you’re untangling Christmas lights.

But the real magic is their duality. Those leaves flip moods like a seasoned host reading a room. Used whole, they telegraph Southern grandeur—big, bold, dripping with antebellum elegance. Sliced into geometric fragments with floral shears? Instant modernism, their leathery edges turning into abstract green brushstrokes in a Mondrian-esque vase. And when dried, their transformation astonishes: the green deepens to hunter, the russet backs mature into the color of well-aged bourbon barrels, and suddenly you’ve got January’s answer to autumn’s crunch.

To call them supporting players is to miss their starring potential. A bundle of magnolia leaves alone in a black ceramic vessel becomes instant sculpture. Weave them into a wreath, and it exudes the gravitas of something that should hang on a cathedral door. Even their imperfections—the occasional battle scar from a passing beetle, the subtle asymmetry of growth—add character, like laugh lines on a face that’s earned its beauty.

In a world where floral design often chases trends, magnolia leaves are the evergreen sophisticates—equally at home in a Park Avenue penthouse or a porch swing wedding. They don’t shout. They don’t fade. They simply are, with the quiet confidence of something that’s been beautiful for 95 million years and knows the secret isn’t in the flash ... but in the staying power.

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

The Enoree River slides through Taylors, South Carolina, with the unhurried confidence of a local who knows every bend and ripple by heart. Morning light slants over its surface as joggers pulse along the Prisma Health Trail, sneakers crunching gravel, breath visible in the crisp air. A man in a faded Clemson hat casts a line into the current, his dog panting nearby, tail wagging at nothing in particular. This is Taylors at dawn: unpretentious, awake, already in motion.

Drive five minutes east and you’ll find the heart of the town, if a town this size can be said to have a heart rather than a series of valves and chambers. A redbrick post office. A diner where regulars order “the usual” without menus. A hardware store that has outlived two strip malls and a Walmart. The cashier here knows how to restart a water heater pilot light and will explain it to you slowly, twice, if you nod along. People wave at passing cars not because they recognize them but because it’s Tuesday, and why not.

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

The schools here have names like Taylors Elementary and Sevier Middle, buildings where generations return as teachers, coaches, volunteers. Parents park minivans in lines so orderly they resemble conveyor belts, delivering backpacks and lunchboxes into the arms of kids who sprint toward playgrounds without looking back. Soccer fields hum on weekends with the sound of sneakers skidding across dew-heavy grass. A coach shouts encouragement to a child who’s just scored their first goal; the child beams like they’ve unlocked a secret of the universe.

North Main Street curves past old churches and newer subdivisions, past front yards where plastic dinosaurs stand guard in flower beds and porch swings sway empty in the breeze. Residents here debate property taxes and bond referendums at town halls, then gather for ice cream socials where the talk shifts to high school football and the best route to avoid I-85 traffic. There’s a palpable sense of stewardship, of people who prune their azaleas and repaint their shutters not because they fear judgment but because they’ve decided it matters.

Fridays bring farmers markets to the community park. Vendors arrange heirloom tomatoes and jars of honey as if staging a still life. Retirees cluster near the kettle corn stand, swapping stories about the area before the bike trails came, before the coffee shop with the vegan muffins opened, back when the textile mill still thrummed. The conversations aren’t nostalgic, exactly, more like updates in an ongoing oral history. A teenager sells earrings made from recycled fabric nearby, explaining to a customer that her art teacher taught her the technique. The customer buys two pairs.

What’s easy to miss, if you’re just passing through, is how Taylors quietly resists the sameness creeping over so much of the Upstate. No downtown high-rises here, no corporate campuses. Instead, there’s a library where kids pile onto bean bags for story time, and a park where families picnic under oaks that were saplings when Eisenhower was president. Neighbors still borrow tools instead of renting them. The fire department hosts pancake breakfasts.

Late afternoons, the sun stretches shadows across Wade Hampton Boulevard, and the rhythm shifts. Soccer practice ends. Couples push strollers past storefronts. Someone’s grandfather tinkers with a vintage Mustang in a driveway, radio tuned to a classic rock station. The scent of charcoal smoke wafts from a backyard where friends laugh over burgers. You get the sense that people here are good at laughing, not performatively, but in a way that starts deep and radiates outward.

By night, the Enoree River still moves, reflecting stars and porch lights. Crickets chorus in the ditches. A teenager texts beneath her bedsheets, charging her phone by a window cracked open to let in the breeze. Somewhere, a parent folds laundry, clicks off a lamp, pauses to check the lock on the front door. Tomorrow will come early. Tomorrow will be ordinary. And in Taylors, that’s enough.