Once I was manning a booth at a ski show and a couple stopped to thank me for what Welch Village meant in their lives. They'd traveled the world together skiing. One day they were skiing at Welch; it was one of those rare Saturday nights that if you look to the east there's the moon rising right over you. He told her, "Let's take one more run," and, at the top of Dan's Dive, he proposed.

I hear a lot of great stories. I ask for them. Everyone has a story.

When I ski at Welch, I like to take at least one run from each lift that's open and talk to people. I ask people where they're from, where they learned how to ski and get input on how we can make Welch better. I get some great suggestions.

I grew up in Welch. My grandparents moved there in 1886, and I live on the property they purchased with Alaska gold bullion. I got my first pair of skis when I was 7. They were the old wooden skis with a binding made from an inner tube.

I got a degree in chemical engineering from the University of Minnesota and moved around the country for work. I skied occasionally when we lived in California and Montreal, but when I was in Houston, my brother, Clemens, suggested that we buy land in Welch and make a ski area.

I came back to Minnesota to work for 3M in 1962 and we bought about 300 acres of land and began planning the ski area. It was $50 an acre at the bottom and $12.50 an acre at the top.

Leigh Nelson skis Welch Village with his great-granddaughter, Camryn.

We studied the growing ski industry for three years, skiing at various locations in Minnesota and Upper Michigan, and decided to start up in 1965. My dad, who was also an entrepreneur, was delighted to have others in the family working in the village.

Skiing wasn't really my sport at the time; I was more interested in the opportunity. It was an industry that was really just emerging. Snow-making technology had become available, allowing ski areas in Minnesota to have a reasonable season.

The first snow-making machines at Welch were of my own invention. They were made for $50 each at a machine shop in Hastings. We pumped 150 gallons of water per minute to make snow. Today, our equipment pumps 5,000 gallons of water per minute.

The first year was terrible. We were only open for five weeks and had debts to pay. We'd borrowed $30,000 and only made $19,000. The first T-bar lift alone was $25,000. But people worked with us, and we raised capital by selling shares. By the fifth year, we were pushing a half-million dollars. Still, things were tight. My brother and I didn't take a salary from it for 25 years.

Now we're in our 50th season in business. I worked 28 years for 3M, I had four children, have been on the City Council and am very active in my church. I was blessed with a lot of energy. And here I am, 86 and I've still got it. I have good Scandinavian genes and faith.

I pray a lot. In 1963, before we had taken any trees down, three friends and myself climbed to the top of what would become the Lookout run. I said a prayer by a tree for everyone who would ultimately ski those slopes. Even today as I ski with people, I point to that tree and ask, "Did you have a good day today?" If they did — thanks be to God, because to me that's what life is about.

My kids and my brother's kids have all helped in the business, whether it was selling tickets or measuring the slope angles for new chairlifts. My mother made the doughnuts we sold. It was just a wonderful family affair. The kids got to see the good times, and also the times of struggle. My grandson is now the vice president of mountain services, and my daughter is on the board of directors. Many of the runs are named after family members, and I ski with my family throughout the season. I took my first runs this year with my great-granddaughter, Camryn.

In 1969, I took my whole family to a ski convention in Aspen. It was the greatest week of our lives as a family. We decided right then that we'd take a ski vacation every year — and we did, for seven straight years. It became our thing in the spring. My kids loved it, and they loved being with their parents. We created memories we could not make any other way. The kids started making a limerick song on that first trip and added to it every year. It got up to 42 verses, and they still remember every single one of them.

Then, in the 1980s, when the kids were out of the house, my first wife, Mary, and I decided to ski a lot. We probably skied more than 100 different places, including a lot of Europe and our mountain states. Our favorite place out West was Telluride. Our favorite place in Europe was Zermatt, Switzerland.

When [Mary] died in 1992, I skied in Europe by myself for more than two weeks. It was a part of my grieving process. We'd been married for 42 years. My wife now, Diane, is not a skier but she's so supportive of me and the time this takes. She travels with me to study other ski area operations, and shares her insight on the consumer side of our business. Her grandsons are all skiers and her son is on our board of directors.

My dad died in 1968, so he didn't get to see what this has become. Once I was selling tickets, and he stood with me in the ticket booth. He watched the people coming, and I'll never forget what he said. I can still hear his voice. He said, "Leigh, it's going to be big."

It's not really big. It will always be a small ski area in Minnesota. But think of all the people we've given joy to. I don't like to use the word fun. Fun is too shallow. The word joy is what I like because it's deeper than fun. A ski experience creates memories, especially with a family. If you can get kids skiing between ages 3 to 15, they'll be skiing for life. And skiing with you. â–¡