Every morning, Tsering Dikyi, my mother-in-law, steps out to her back porch and lights up a handful of kindle in a small, beat up iron pan. She covers the incipient flame with juniper leaves, bits of dried fruit, an assortment of Tibetan incense, and tsampa (roasted barley flour). Most days she sets the pan with the smoke wafting outside the porch and finishes her prayers. Sometimes she takes the pan and walks around the house, letting the smoke drift around the corners of the property. In Tibetan, we call this saahng.