Colorado's Population Growth Slows to 0.5 Percent Amid Drought

A piratic flycatcher perches on a twig in Yuma County. It is the end of September, and the bird looks out of place, its feathers a stark contrast to the brown, drought-stricken grass beneath it. Binoculars snap into focus from every direction as birders converge on the spot, desperate for a glimpse of this visitor that ordinarily hangs out in Central and South America.

Peter Moore, writing for the Colorado Sun this week, points out that you can’t really blame the flycatcher. Who wouldn’t want to live here? Well, actually, lots of people would.

The state’s long-held reputation as "U-Haul Heaven" has lately taken a beating, and Moore argues that the demographic trends reveal a state full of its own rare species. In the early 1990s, Colorado’s population was growing at a robust 3.4%. Last year? A negligible uptick of 0.5%. The birthrate dropped from 34.67 live births per thousand women in 2004 to just 24.26 in 2024. Moore notes that a Colorado-born baby is becoming its own kind of piratic flycatcher phenomenon: spot one if you can. It’s a stark reality for schools across the state, where closures are increasingly driven by a simple shortage of students to walk the hallways.

Moore identifies five specific "rare birds" that define modern Colorado life, starting with the native. Only 41% of residents were actually born here, a statistic that comes as no surprise to anyone who has watched the population churn. But the other side of that coin is sharper: 37.5% of those native-born people are heading for greener pastures. It’s not hard to find them, either. Recent droughts have turned the whole state brown, prompting a wave of departures from neighbors who decided the view wasn’t worth the heat.

Then there are the registered Republicans and Democrats, a pair that Moore describes as rare species No. 2. Half of Coloradans are now unaffiliated, and socialists are on the rise. This leaves the two major parties to scrap over the leftovers, a dynamic Moore suggests could eventually produce a "High Country Mamdani" who insists on making housing more affordable. It’s a political landscape that feels less like a stable ecosystem and more like a shifting tide.

The list continues with the ever-shrinking suds of Colorado’s beer culture. Moore, who moved to Fort Collins in 2017 when it was touted as the Napa Valley of beer, notes that 140 breweries have closed since 2020. That is bad timing, given that the worst drought in the last 1,200 years began in 2000. Beer sales were down 6% last year, according to CU Boulder Today, a statistic that college students around the valley know all too well.

Perhaps the most jarring entry is Rare Species No. 5: the cross-border contingent. Moore points out that while some locals act as if immigrants aren’t welcome, 1 in 7 workers in Colorado are actually immigrants. According to FWD.us, these new arrivals contribute about $29 billion to the economy, working in construction, agriculture, transportation, meat packing plants, and bakeries.

Moore’s cartoon captures the absurdity of a state that celebrates its unique wildlife while losing its own people, its political center, and its cultural staples. The piratic flycatcher is a visitor, but the birds that are actually disappearing from the local ecosystem are the ones we should be worrying about.

Back in Yuma County, the flycatcher eventually takes flight, its wings catching the thin air. The birders lower their binoculars, satisfied with a momentary glimpse of something exotic. But the twig it left behind is bare, and the grass around it remains stubbornly brown. The bird will fly back to South America, where the climate suits its needs. For now, it’s just another rare sight in a state that is slowly becoming less like itself.