It took forty-one years. Since 1985, the Mirandese language has been taught in Miranda do Douro, a small town in northeastern Portugal near the Spanish border, but it has never had a proper school textbook. "We all have the textbook in our heads," says Duarte Martins, one of its authors, to Público. Until now, teachers created their own worksheets and exercises. This school year, first-year students (equivalent to the CP in France) will finally have their own book. In this remote region, the language is not lacking students: 485 of the approximately 580 schoolchildren in the municipality are taking this optional subject this year. Signs of this cultural growth are increasing. Público reports that the Portuguese Constitution has recently been translated into Mirandese, as has O Nosso Reino, the first novel by Valter Hugo Mãe. Flores Mirandezas, a founding work published in 1884 by linguist José Leite de Vasconcelos, is also being reissued. This book once introduced the Portuguese public to a reality they largely ignored: Portuguese was not the only language spoken in their country. On September 17, the day dedicated to the language, President António José Seguro paid tribute to Mirandese, according to the weekly Sol, saying: "Ua lhéngua ye muito mais do que palabras. Ye ua forma de ber l mundo" ("A language is much more than words. It is a way of seeing the world"). Mirandese is no longer confined to official texts. Diário de Notícias announces that in October, the book Astérix en Lusitanie will be published in this language. This won't be the first adventure of the little Gaulish character published in Mirandese. On TSF, Célio Pires, founder of Trasga, a group that sings exclusively in Mirandese, explains why: "It is our first language, the one in which we think." While touring Portugal, the musicians want to remind their compatriots that their country "has more than one language." In an op-ed published by Público, entirely written in Mirandese, Aníbal Fernandes, a "Mirandese citizen," brings the debate back to the Terra de Miranda region, which is affected by depopulation: "For a language to have a future, it needs speakers; for speakers, it needs living communities; and for these communities to exist, it is necessary to create conditions allowing people to live and prosper." However, this gives him hope: the young people, he writes, no longer feel ashamed to speak Mirandese. This language, which some have long wanted to "hide or belittle," is now claimed as a mark of identity. This is the whole challenge of the four-year plan of the new Mission Structure for the Mirandese language, detailed by Observador. The plan aims to train teachers, create new speakers, promote transmission between generations, and mainly make Mirandese live beyond school and family, in culture, administration, and daily life. The plan even aims to develop a "language economy," particularly through tourism. There is urgency: no numbers yet agree on the number of speakers. The ambition of the structure's commissioner, Alfredo Cameirão, is summed up in a few words: to make Mirandese "a language for all spaces."