The troughs remain

A fleeting burst of sunshine allowed me to take a picture of this unusual feature of the farmyard: slate troughs built into the wall with chutes (also of slate) down which swill, buttermilk or the lees of home-brewed beer could be poured for the benefit of the family pigs. There are no pigs here now but it's not hard to imagine the delighted grunts and squeals that must have greeted each fresh delivery, nor the farmer's satisfaction at seeing the weight piling on the porkers.
When I was a child every farm you visited had a flitch of two of salt-encrusted home-cured bacon hanging from the ceiling and if she was feeling generous the missus would reach up with a sharp knife and slice off a few rashers for you to take home.

Some people might fill these old troughs with flowers or the like, but I prefer to leave them as plain and simple as they are. Not everything has to look pretty.