Birthday Flowers

A heart-warming Birthday surprise for someone you truly care about!

Funeral Service

Funeral Service Flowers for a well-lived life is the most cherished. Be that open heart for that special someone in grief.

Sympathy

Create that sense of peace and tranquility in their life with a gentle token of deepest affections.

Flowers

Select from variety of flower arrangements with bright flowers and vibrant blossoms! Same Day Delivery Available!

Roses

Classically beautiful and elegant, assortment of roses is a timeless and thoughtful gift!

Plants

Blooming and Green Plants.

Florists in Lambton, QC

Find local Lambton, Quebec florists below that deliver beautiful flowers to residences, business, funeral homes and hospitals in Lambton and surrounding areas. Choose from roses, lilies, tulips, orchids, carnations and more from the variety of flower arrangements in a vase, container or basket. Place your flower delivery order online of call.

Lambton Flower Shops

Lambton QC News

Nov 9, 2016

TV host, nonprofit volunteer to overhaul Evanston nursing home garden

Hydrangeas. Azaleas. Those are just some of the elements that landscaper and television personality Chris Lambton, 39, had in mind last week for Dobson Plaza, a nursing home with 100 residents in Evanston. Along with bringing colors, smells and honeybees to the nursing home's side yard, "it's healthy for the residents to be outside, to get their hands dirty and then eat what they grow," Lambton said. Lambton, of Cape Cod, Mass., appears with his wife, Peyton, on the HGTV show "Going Yard," where the duo transforms neglected backyards into enjoyable space. On Nov. 3, he was at Dobson Plaza volunteering with Random Acts of Flowers before speaking at a fundraiser for the nonprofit that evening. The group brings donated flowers — often slightly damaged blooms from florists or bouquets left over from events — to those in hospitals, nursing homes and elsewhere. Along with delivering flowers to residents, Lambton volunteered to draft a landscaping plan for the nursing home, which serves mainly Medicare and Medicaid patients. Then residents will look out the window to see color instead of concrete, supporters said. "We thought, 'How can we best utiliz... (Chicago Tribune)

Aug 29, 2016

The Monday extract: 'Bearded ladies' by Ashleigh Young

As I studied my moustache, I thought about why it was that my father’s observation had made it this far with me – all the way down Lambton Quay, up the hill via cable car, through the playground, into my room – because it was really no different from the kinds of things he would usually say. His way was to drop incongruous statements into the middle of long silences and no one could ever be prepared. “That boyfriend of yours seems a bit glum.” “Those trousers look like something out of Ghostbusters.” “That music is hideous.” He would follow these statements with more silence, so you would be left upended. Most of the remarks were easy to brush away; with neither of us meeting the other’s eye, I could pretend he was confused, that he didn’t know what he was talking about. Yet somehow that old rebuff – You don’t know anything about me – couldn’t carry the weight for me this time. This time he knew exactly what he was talking about. The moustache could not be denied. The truth was I already had a preoccupation with body hair. It had begun early. I was aware of hair, because compared with other girls, even some boys, I was very obviously hairy. I had hairy arms, especially. “You’re a wee monkey,” said my mother. There was affection in her voice. I didn’t mind being her monkey. It was when a boy in my class saw my arms and called me Wolf Man that my feelings about hairiness changed. In the 1941 film The Wolf Man, the eponymous monster is an oddly sheep-like werewolf, with bristly facial fur and a mostly sheepish expression. I didn’t want to be a monster. I didn’t want to be a wolf. Most of all, I didn’t want to be a man. After that, whenever it was too hot to wear a jumper I tried to hide my arms. But at school it always seemed to be too hot. The rugby field was parched and prickly. Wet togs and towels heated up in the plastic bags we carried back from the pool. The asphalt was scorching, the Mangaokewa River was flattened by the heat. When sitting, I folded my arms behind me, sat on them, twisted them so that only the undersides, the less hairy parts, could be seen. I wonder now if this is the reason why today I can bend my arms at horrible angles. Self-consciousness can make people contort themselves in incredible ways. The contortions become more than habits; they grow into us, become us. “Why don’t you shave your arms?” my friend suggested. “Then you wouldn’t look like such a freak.” That seemed an easy way to untangle myself, so one afternoon I did. Sheaves of blond hair clogged the basin, my mother’s leg razor overcome. My arms slowly emerged. They were weirdly soft, as if newborn. I blotted them dry and stretched them out in front of me. I hardly believed that they were mine. For a few days I loved my new arms. I studied the moles, elevated after so long undercover. I loved being able to feel towels, sheets, and polar fleece on my skin. This was how a girl’s arms should be, as long and smooth as pieces of bamboo. But only a few days passed before the hair came back. A dark wave of stubble began to rise. “Your arms are prickling me,” another of my friends complained. “It’s like you’ve got thorns.” We were sitting together on the wall between our school and the road. In the hollows of the wall on either side of us, there was a garden filled with pink, red and yellow roses. Often we buried our faces in the petals. It was almost too much, the smell of school roses; they were more potent than the roses that grew in our garden at home. When we got tired of smelling the school roses, we played Rhinoceros, snapping off the thorns and sticking them onto our noses. As far as I could see, thorns had only one purpose and that was Rhinoceros, the ... (The Spinoff)

Feb 3, 2016

Hyatt, Gordon Fenwick, (Jan. 29, 2016)

In lieu of flowers, memorial donations may be made to the Sarnia-Lambton Humane Society (www.sarniahumanesociety.com) in honour of Gordon’s love of animals. Memories, pictures, and condolences may be shared online at www.needhamjay.com or on Facebook on Gordon Hyatt’s page. (Lambton Shield)

Dec 30, 2015

Mooresville High School semester honor roll

Hannah Fulkerson, Justin Gilbert, Ryan Hall, Ian Hartung, Alisa Heavrin, Joshua Hertel, Dallas Jenkins, Ashton Johnson, Chance Justus, Parker Lambton, Amanda Lawson, Hannah Linthicum, Abigail Mann, Clinton Morris, Makayla Morris, Kierstyn Murley, Emilio Navarro, Danielle Neace, Dustin Nokes, Emma Pedigo, Jacob Perkins, Allison Powell, Kyle Prather, Camille Roloff, Garrett Scott, JayCee Shelton, Madison Thompson, Jaylin Tracy, Colin Vaughan, Madison Vauters, Aden Walters, Christina Wilson. Grade 12: Austin Arthur, Johnathan Benge, Tyce Bush, Cassie Cannon, Alexis Carlton, Caleb Clements, Kristina Crumpacker, Kaitlin Darlington, Chantielle Cavee, KC Earls, Shelby Endicott, Madison Fishero, Samuel Foutch, Kirstin Franklin, Anee Frechette-Houchens, Joseph Hansel, Logen Harris, Jacob Hawkins, Seth Heitmann, Macy Hohlt, Sena Hornsby, McKenzie Hughes, Holly Littell, Ross McDonough, Claire McElhaney, Dakota McMurray, Clint Moore, Austin Morrow, Karley Napier, Kaleb Owens, Kimberly Parsons, Shelby Parsons, Caleb Pepple, Patrick Quyle, Malea Schoonover, Lucas Schweinsberg, Jacob Shrum, Hanah Smith, Mackenzie Spears, Amy Taylor, Daniel VanHook, Grant West, Nathan Wilson. (Mooresville-Decatur Times)