June 1, 2025

The Bloom Central flower delivery of the month for June in Yakima 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 lilac ... that olfactory time machine, that purple explosion of nostalgia that hijacks your senses every May with the subtlety of a freight train made of perfume. Its clusters of tiny florets—each one a miniature trumpet blaring spring’s arrival—don’t so much sit on their stems as erupt from them, like fireworks frozen mid-burst. You’ve walked past them in suburban yards, these shrubs that look nine months of the year like unremarkable green lumps, until suddenly ... bam ... they’re dripping with color and scent so potent it can stop pedestrians mid-stride, triggering Proustian flashbacks of grandmothers’ gardens and childhood front walks where the air itself turned sweet for two glorious weeks.

What makes lilacs the heavyweight champions of floral arrangements isn’t just their scent—though let’s be clear, that scent is the botanical equivalent of a symphony’s crescendo—but their sheer architectural audacity. Unlike the predictable symmetry of roses or the orderly ranks of tulips, lilac blooms are democratic chaos. Hundreds of tiny flowers form conical panicles that lean and jostle like commuters in a Tokyo subway, each micro-floret contributing to a whole that’s somehow both messy and perfect. Snap off a single stem and you’re not holding a flower so much as an event, a happening, a living sculpture that refuses to behave.

Their color spectrum reads like a poet’s mood ring. The classic lavender that launched a thousand paint chips. The white varieties so pristine they make gardenias look dingy. The deep purples that flirt with black at dusk. The rare magenta cultivars that seem to vibrate with their own internal light. And here’s the thing about lilac hues ... they change. What looks violet at noon turns blue-gray by twilight, the colors shifting like weather systems across those dense flower heads. Pair them with peonies and you’ve created a still life that Impressionists would mug each other to paint. Tuck them behind sprigs of lily-of-the-valley and suddenly you’ve composed a fragrance so potent it could be bottled and sold as happiness.

But lilacs have secrets. Their woody stems, if not properly crushed and watered immediately, will sulk and refuse to drink, collapsing in a dramatic swoon worthy of Victorian literature. Their bloom time is heartbreakingly brief—two weeks of glory before they brown at the edges like overdone croissants. And yet ... when handled by someone who knows to split the stems vertically and plunge them into warm water, when arranged in a heavy vase that can handle their top-heavy exuberance, they become immortal. A single lilac stem in a milk glass vase doesn’t just decorate a room—it colonizes it, pumping out scent molecules that adhere to memory with superglue tenacity.

The varieties read like a cast of characters. ‘Sensation’ with its purple flowers edged in white, like tiny galaxies. ‘Beauty of Moscow’ with double blooms so pale they glow in moonlight. The dwarf ‘Miss Kim’ that packs all the fragrance into half the space. Each brings its own personality, but all share that essential lilacness—the way they demand attention without trying, the manner in which their scent seems to physically alter the air’s density.

Here’s what happens when you add lilacs to an arrangement: everything else becomes supporting cast. Carnations? Backup singers. Baby’s breath? Set dressing. Even other heavy-hitters like hydrangeas will suddenly look like they’re posing for a portrait with a celebrity. But the magic trick is this—lilacs make this hierarchy shift feel natural, even generous, as if they’re not dominating the vase so much as elevating everything around them through sheer charisma.

Cut them at dusk when their scent peaks. Recut their stems underwater to prevent embolisms (yes, flowers get them too). Strip the lower leaves unless you enjoy the aroma of rotting vegetation. Do these things, and you’ll be rewarded with blooms that don’t just sit prettily in a corner but actively transform the space around them, turning kitchens into French courtyards, coffee tables into altars of spring.

The tragedy of lilacs is their ephemerality. The joy of lilacs is that this ephemerality forces you to pay attention, to inhale deeply while you can, to notice how the late afternoon sun turns their petals translucent. They’re not flowers so much as annual reminders—that beauty is fleeting, that memory has a scent, that sometimes the most ordinary shrubs hide the most extraordinary gifts. Next time you pass a lilac in bloom, don’t just walk by. Bury your face in it. Steal a stem. Take it home. For those few precious days while it lasts, you’ll be living in a poem.

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

Yakima sits in the valley’s cradle like a well-kept secret, the kind of place where the sun doesn’t so much rise as stride over the Cascades to announce, with theatrical flair, that today will be bright and uncomplicated. The light here has a quality that photographers and poets fail to capture, sharp but generous, illuminating rows of orchards that stretch toward the horizon in tidy, undulating lines. These orchards are Yakima’s silent orchestra. Apples, cherries, pears: their branches bend under the weight of fruit that arrives each season with a reliability that feels almost heroic. Workers move through the fields at dawn, their hands swift and practiced, as if the trees themselves trust them. The soil here is more than dirt. It’s a collaborator.

Drive east on any two-lane road and the landscape shifts from lush green to scrubby brown, the kind of stark contrast that makes you wonder how one valley holds such contradictions. The Yakima River carves its path with the confidence of something ancient, its waters a thread stitching together patches of farmland and clusters of modest homes. Kids float on inner tubes in summer, their laughter bouncing off the banks, while old men cast lines for trout, their rituals unbroken by decades. The air smells like sage and irrigation, a scent that lingers in your clothes like a memory.

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

Downtown Yakima wears its history without pretension. Brick buildings house family-owned shops where the proprietors know your name by the second visit. The Capitol Theatre’s marquee glows on Friday nights, its art deco curves a reminder that grandeur can thrive in unexpected places. At the farmers’ market, tables groan under peaches so ripe their juice runs down your wrist, and the woman selling them will tell you about the storm that nearly took her crop last spring, her voice tinged with pride at having outlasted it. You notice how often people here mention the weather, not as small talk but as a character in their shared story.

What’s easy to miss, unless you linger, is the way the community moves. High school soccer games draw crowds that cheer in two languages. Murals on the sides of warehouses depict farmworkers and musicians and children, their colors bold against the beige backdrop of the hills. At the library, a retired teacher reads picture books to toddlers in Spanish and English, her voice a bridge. There’s a rhythm to life here, a cadence shaped by harvests and holidays and the steady return of the seasons.

Stand on Randall Park’s hill at dusk, and the valley unfolds below like a quilt. Lights flicker on in distant houses, each one a small defiance against the gathering dark. The mountains loom to the west, their peaks still holding snow in June, and you realize Yakima’s beauty isn’t the kind that shouts. It’s in the way the ordinary becomes indelible, the glint of a sprinkler’s arc across a field, the warmth of a stranger’s nod outside the corner store, the sound of wind chimes on a porch where someone has taken the time to plant flowers. It’s a town that understands itself not as a destination but as a home, a place where the act of tending, to land, to tradition, to one another, is its own kind of art.

You leave wondering why anyone would ever want to keep this secret. Then you realize they don’t. They’re just too busy living it.