John Varga

John was born in March 1951 and physically left in October 2025, but not before leaving a legacy so flavorful, so musical, and so joyfully irreverent that we’re still trying to figure out how to fit it all into one obituary. He leaves behind a trail of laughter, wild fish, jazz riffs, BBQ smoke, and hearts forever warmed by his love.

John, born to Ed and Joan, was the younger brother of Judy, with whom he maintained long daily conversations. He fostered lifelong friendships and close family ties. John was a man of many talents and even more quirks.

He started dating the love of his life in 7th grade, and despite the skeptics, they married at 19 on April Fool’s Day. John always said it was the perfect date in case they needed to say, “just kidding.” They never did. Fifty-five years later, their love story remains one for the ages, proving that soulmates do exist and sometimes meet in junior high. John and Brenda will never be bound by “till death do us part.”

He held countless jobs (sometimes three at once), but he was never comfortable behind a desk. He helped match homes to hearts when he owned The Real Estate Shop, always putting people before paperwork. His latest venture of hand-delivering wild-caught seafood for his business, Jammin’ Salmon Seafoods, was a perfect blend of his passions: healthy options, delicious meals, and human connection. He never lived to work, but always worked to play, and play he did—with racquetball tournaments, BBQ competitions (Hickory Dickory Hog), snow skiing in between work, and throwing pottery (Dos Rios).

John’s heart was enormous, and his schedule was flexible, especially when it came to family, friends, or a child wanting to play. He’d drop everything for needed support, a laugh, or a grandkid’s talent show (yes, even the virtual ones). He never missed a first-day- of- school photo and would stay up all night to perfect meals. He cheered them on at swim meets, soccer games, concerts, and online events of all kinds. John’s love has so many ripples we won’t ever know all the shores they touched.

His cooking was legendary—so good you would question your mom’s best dish and consider switching family loyalties. He was a man of traditions and taste. Christmas Eve meant clam chowder, Easter brought the “Easta Feasta,” Halloween was chili night, and his birthday demanded leg of lamb. Prime rib made Christmas complete, and no one else dared cook for his celebrations (or argued when he offered). John enjoyed spicy food, and it even spilled over to his favorite chili-printed Crocs. He was a tequila man, a scotch sipper, and a martini drinker in honor of his dad. He shared recipes freely, though he rarely followed them exactly.

John’s eyes were slightly crooked, which may explain why he saw the world differently, and maybe more beautifully than most. A music lover, John filled his home with melodies that spilled into the backyard and danced through the park where his children and grandchildren played. He sculpted beautiful practicality from clay, composed laughter with puns, and painted memories with meals. He loved “wings and gizzards”—both the edible kind and the kind that cooled Lake Powell days. His love for lakes and canyons came from his mom and stepdad. He could slice through glassy water on a single ski, scattering a million drops of sunrise crystals.

He loved sharing quotes for a laugh: “I know two things for certain in life: everything the government says is propaganda, and no recipe calls for enough garlic,” and “I smoke salmon, but it’s really hard to light the rolling paper.” Additionally, “Win if you can, lose if you must, but always cheat,” and “Everything in moderation—even excess.” Not just refined humor, they hinted at a life philosophy.

He was a fierce lover of his wife, children, extended family, and grandchildren, a loyal supporter of local businesses (especially those with good food), and a friend to many (including some for over 50 years).

John’s legacy is stitched into the lives of everyone and everything he touched. We’ll miss him fiercely, but we’ll carry him with us in every quick joke, every whiff of BBQ smoke, every connected song, and every garlic-heavy recipe.