US Edition Michel Jalbert was not planning a diplomatic incident when he drove 20 yards into the United States last October to fill his car with cheap petrol.
Like almost everyone in Pohenegamook, a Quebec village facing the forests of northern Maine, he took a relaxed view of the border. It is hard not to when the frontier - fixed by Anglo-American treaty in 1842, then seemingly ignored until the 20th century - runs right through several villagers' houses.
But with security sharply tightened since September 11, 2001, there is now a serious border running an inch behind one man's fridge, and dividing an elderly couple's kitchen table in two.
Technically, Mr Jalbert should have registered his trip at a United States Customs post three-quarters of a mile away. But the post, which closes at 2pm, was already shut and, like dozens of others that afternoon, Mr Jalbert could not be bothered to wait until the next day.
The petrol station, Ouellet's Gaz Bar, lies at the end of a short loop of road, which can be reached only from Canada. With a bit of luck, and a quick tap on the accelerator, Mr Jalbert could be back in Quebec and no one the wiser.
Mr Jalbert's luck was out. He was being watched by a United States border agent whom locals accuse of bringing a "reign of terror" to their quiet village since security was stepped up.
Disastrous coincidences followed. Like countless locals during the partridge season, he was carrying a 20-bore shotgun in his Jeep. He had been formally cautioned about failing to register before - like many of his neighbours.
Unlike them, he also had a criminal record: a teenage conviction for breaking and entering, for which he had served probation.
Suddenly, Mr Jalbert was a felon and illegal alien in possession of a firearm - double charges carrying a maximum sentence of 10 years.
Remanded in an American prison for 32 days, he was finally released on bail after his case became a Canadian media sensation, prompting the personal intervention of Colin Powell, the United States secretary of state.
Mr Jalbert is surprised, to put it mildly, to find himself at the centre of an international storm. A 33-year-old unemployed lumberjack, he has no passport, and the furthest he has ever been from Quebec is Bangor, 250 miles to the south in Maine.
Sitting at home, awaiting trial on March 11, Mr Jalbert is backed by politicians and columnists across Canada.
Andre Senechal, the mayor of Pohenegamook and a former policeman, urges villagers to show more respect for the border.
"We must understand, that's another country just over there. Before September 11, the patrols weren't so visible, now it's more strict, and that's natural," he said.
But he believes that United States officials are making an example of Mr Jalbert, whom he calls "a good family man".
Strictness sits uneasily with Pohenegamook's extraordinary geography. At one point, the border jumps diagonally across a main road, marked only by a wooden post and a small steel obelisk.
To obey the law, villagers must drive to the edge of the woods on the American side, and tell the United States Customs post - in a lay-by with no exit to the United States - that they plan to fill up with petrol.
They then turn round, immediately leaving America, and drive three quarters of a mile through Canada to the junction for the petrol station.
After nipping into America to buy fuel, they must drive back out - there is no road further into the United States - and report to a Canadian customs post 100 yards away.
"If you haven't seen it, you can't understand it. It's an unusual place," said Mr Jalbert, braving -28C weather to offer a guided tour of the village, home to 3,097 people. "All along here, the houses are in Canada, but their garages are in America."
Many locals are quick to accuse Chris Cantrell, the border patrolman who arrested Mr Jalbert, of excessive zeal.
Business at the Gaz Bar has slumped by 50 per cent since Mr Jalbert's arrest, said the attendant, Joselyn Gagne.
A French speaker, Mr Gagne is technically an American from the neighbouring hamlet of Estcourt (population: four), living 10ft from the border. "I can spit into Canada from my front door," he noted. Yet Mr Gagne is a Jalbert supporter.
"That same officer who arrested Jalbert, he threatened my girlfriend. He saw her cross the border without reporting to the customs post, and said, 'One warning, next time I'll take you to jail'."
Mayor Senechal chose his words carefully. "Agent Cantrell takes his work to heart. But for us, the problem is not one individual," he said.
Pohenegamook is pushing for longer opening hours at the United States Customs post. The mayor also wants written assurances that Canadian fire engines and ambulances can enter Estcourt in an emergency, even if the border office is closed. American officials have yet to provide those assurances.
Paula Silsby, the chief prosecutor for Maine, said recently: "There are designated border crossings and people can't choose to ignore them just because it is convenient."
The mayor's own father-in-law, Edmond Levesque, lives right on top of the border, with one wall of his house and his garden in the United States. Several locals recounted, with outrage, that Agent Cantrell had decreed Mr Levesque could not enter his garden after his post closed at 2pm.
The garden ban offered an unexpected legal test, as a large snow drift blocked Mr Levesque's Canadian front door. A path led, temptingly, to his back door, four feet inside the United States.
A drive up the road to the United States Customs post appeared inevitable, followed by a trip to the Canadian customs office. But the Canadian customs officer was ill. A sign in his window read "Closed - to avoid penalties report to Clair". The border post at Clair was a 90-mile round-trip away, in the next door province of New Brunswick.
Looking left and then right, I easily jogged across the border. And that garden ban? Mr Levesque, 84, offered a studied ignorance. "There was some young agent . . ." he said. "They've never stopped me going in." He looked fierce. "It's my land."