Junko Tamaki Farler

Junko Tamaki Farler, beloved mother, grandmother, and matriarch of her family, passed away on March 14 at the age of 92.

Born in Sapporo, Japan on November 6, 1933, the second of 4 children, Junko grew up with a deep love of snow and the outdoors and proudly described herself as a tomboy. Her father ran a bicycle shop and lovingly made bikes for the children of the neighborhood — a memory she carried warmly throughout her life.

After losing her parents at a young age, Junko and her sister moved in with their aunt and uncle, where they contributed to the family by working in the guest house they ran. Those early years shaped her remarkable work ethic, resilience, and a gift for making any place feel like home.

In 1958 Junko married Robert Farler and immigrated to the United States, settling in Olympia, Washington. She was embraced immediately and wholeheartedly by the entire Farler family (and there were a lot of them!). She treasured her 12 new brothers- and sisters-in-law. She felt welcomed by the family and held them and their families close to her heart forever. She spoke of her mother-in-law and father-in-law, Loretta and Fred Farler, with deep love and respect. One of her favorite stories was of a cross-country road trip she took with them to Kentucky. The journey gave her a glimpse into the values the Farlers helped instill in all their children.

Junko built a warm and beautifully run household, raising six children with what she called the Kentucky way — being both "soft" and "hard" — offering abundant love alongside the structure and discipline a family needs. On September 17, 1968, she became a proud United States citizen, and she carried both her Japanese heritage and her American identity with equal pride for the rest of her life.

After her divorce from Robert in the late 1970s, Junko, then in her late 40s, stepped into a new chapter with the same quiet determination that defined her. She joined the North Thurston School District as a cook, and it turned out to be one of the great loves of her life. For more than 30 years she worked at Timberline High School, where she fed students, built lasting friendships, and became a fixture in the lives of everyone who passed through that kitchen. She was there when her own daughter attended Timberline and later had the joy of cooking for two of her grandchildren when they walked those same halls. She often joked that she would have kept working forever if they hadn't rebuilt the kitchen and forced her to learn all new equipment. It wasn't the work she minded giving up, it was the people.

Junko loved to travel. She looked forward each year to the School Nutrition conferences with her coworkers and treasured her trips to Las Vegas with her girlfriends. With her family she explored the Grand Canyon, Niagara Falls, Hawaii, and Canada. She made two meaningful trips back to Japan. She went on a number of camping trips. For many years, her regular outings with her girlfriends to Seattle — to eat, shop, and stock up on DVDs and CDs — were among her greatest pleasures. She loved staying busy, but most of all she loved spending time with her friends and family.

Junko is survived by her children: Susie, Don (and Vida), Cathy (and John), Chris (and Shawn), and daughter-in-law Linna. She was preceded in death by her sons Frank and John. She leaves behind ten grandchildren: Matthew (Megan), Douglas (Brittney), Jessica (Jimmy), Tivoli (Steven), Paul (Sunnie), Sarunas (Hayley), Marissa, Lidija, Amonsey (Justin) and Jason. She was also blessed with eleven great-grandchildren: Rylie, Nolan, Carter, Ashton, Barrett, Cash, Daxlynn, Violet, Aribelle, Rhys, and Adelise. Whether she was called Obachan, Grandma June, or Great-Great-Grandma, you knew without question that she loved you. Her face lit up at the sight of any one of those grandchildren and great-grandchildren until the very end.

She also leaves behind so many other friends and family in the U.S. and Japan that it is impossible to name them all.

She was the heart and matriarch of her family, and she will be profoundly missed.