Persian silk flower. Bastard tamarind.
The other day, I had the misfortune of being volunteered to help pull Bermuda grass from an iris and sweet pea flower bed. While down there, mucking in the dirt, rolly-pollys, worms and cat poo, I was graced with an occasional whiff of something sweet and honied on the wind. I knew it wasn't the sweet peas, and the irises haven't even bloomed yet. What the hell was it?
I asked my mother, the head weed-pulling volunteer, what that scent was and she said, "That damned dripping tree over there," gesturing toward a flowering mimosa*.
I followed my nose and then filled a bag with the soft, silky, pink tipped flowers that reminded me of a bird from one of Dr. Seuss' books. Oh, but the scent. Like peaches and plums and melons with a touch of jasmine. Lovely.
So, yeah, I tinctured them. That's it right there -- that bottle of bleached out hairballs. And the tincture does smell gorgeous.
*The tree isn't technically a 'mimosa' -- it was once classified as an acacia, but has since been reclassified. We still call them mimosa trees here because we're ignorant. It's sort of like how we call ourselves and others like us 'Okies' when not a single one of us originated from Oklahoma (my family is from Michigan and New Mexico). It's a regional thing. Goes back to the Dust Bowl era -- 'Grapes of Wrath'.