Found in the crawl space under the shop. It's decorated my loo for years, a reminder to myself that I am quite the criminal when I test fire .22s in the gun room.
Until the early 1960s, Camp J was a pasture. Land was cheap. Even so near the nice water, even within the village limits, it was economical to reserve grass and burr oaks for the contentment of cows. I suspect the farmer erected the sign to protect his herd from the autumn invasion of bookkeepers and insurance peddlers who might mistake a Guernsey for a grouse.